South: The Story of Shackleton's Last Expedition, 1914-1917
safety, without danger from sea or wind in the heaviest winter gale.
Wild was to proceed westwards along the coast and was to take with him
four of the fittest men, Marston, Crean, Vincent, and McCarthy. If he
did not return before dark we were to light a flare, which would serve
him as a guide to the entrance of the channel. The _Stancomb Wills_
pushed off at 11 a.m. and quickly passed out of sight around the
island. Then Hurley and I walked along the beach towards the west,
climbing through a gap between the cliff and a great detached pillar of
basalt. The narrow strip of beach was cumbered with masses of rock that
had fallen from the cliffs. We struggled along for two miles or more in
the search for a place where we could get the boats ashore and make a
permanent camp in the event of Wild’s search proving fruitless, but
after three hours’ vain toil we had to turn back. We had found on the
far side of the pillar of basalt a crevice in the rocks beyond the
reach of all but the heaviest gales. Rounded pebbles showed that the
seas reached the spot on occasions. Here I decided to depot ten cases
of Bovril sledging ration in case of our having to move away quickly.
We could come back for the food at a later date if opportunity offered.
Returning to the camp, we found the men resting or attending to their
gear. Clark had tried angling in the shallows off the rocks and had
secured one or two small fish. The day passed quietly. Rusty needles
were rubbed bright on the rocks and clothes were mended and darned. A
feeling of tiredness—due, I suppose, to reaction after the strain of
the preceding days—overtook us, but the rising tide, coming farther up
the beach than it had done on the day before, forced us to labour at
the boats, which we hauled slowly to a higher ledge. We found it
necessary to move our makeshift camp nearer the cliff. I portioned out
the available ground for the tents, the galley, and other purposes, as
every foot was of value. When night arrived the _Stancomb Wills_ was
still away, so I had a blubber-flare lit at the head of the channel.
About 8 p.m. we heard a hail in the distance. We could see nothing, but
soon like a pale ghost out of the darkness came the boat, the faces of
the men showing white in the glare of the fire. Wild ran her on the
beach with the swell, and within a couple of minutes we had dragged her
to a place of safety. I was waiting Wild’s report with keen anxiety,
and my relief was great when he told me that he had discovered a sandy
spit seven miles to the west, about 200 yds. long, running out at right
angles to the coast and terminating at the seaward end in a mass of
rock. A long snow-slope joined the spit at the shore end, and it seemed
possible that a “dugout” could be made in the snow. The spit, in any
case, would be a great improvement on our narrow beach. Wild added that
the place he described was the only possible camping-ground he had
seen. Beyond, to the west and south-west, lay a frowning line of cliffs
and glaciers, sheer to the water’s edge. He thought that in very heavy
gales either from the south-west or east the spit would be spray-blown,
but that the seas would not actually break over it. The boats could be
run up on a shelving beach.
After hearing this good news I was eager to get away from the beach
camp. The wind when blowing was favourable for the run along the coast.
The weather had been fine for two days and a change might come at any
hour. I told all hands that we would make a start early on the
following morning. A newly killed seal provided a luxurious supper of
steak and blubber, and then we slept comfortably till the dawn.
The morning of April 17 came fine and clear. The sea was smooth, but in
the offing we could see a line of pack, which seemed to be approaching.
We had noticed already pack and bergs being driven by the current to
the east and then sometimes coming back with a rush to the west. The
current ran as fast as five miles an hour, and it was a set of this
kind that had delayed Wild on his return from the spit. The rise and
fall of the tide was only about five feet at this time, but the moon
was making for full and the tides were increasing. The appearance of
ice emphasized the importance of getting away promptly. It would be a
serious matter to be prisoned on the beach by the pack. The boats were
soon afloat in the shallows, and after a hurried breakfast all hands
worked hard getting our gear and stores aboard. A mishap befell us when
we were launching the boats. We were using oars as rollers, and three
of these were broken, leaving us short for the journey that had still
to be undertaken. The preparations took longer than I had expected;
indeed, there seemed to be some reluctance on the part of several men
to leave the barren safety of the little beach and venture once more on
the ocean. But the move was imperative, and by 11 a.m. we were away,
the _James Caird_ leading. Just as we rounded the small island occupied
by the ringed penguins the “willywaw” swooped down from the 2000-ft.
cliffs behind us, a herald of the southerly gale that was to spring up
within half an hour.
Soon we were straining at the oars with the gale on our bows. Never had
we found a more severe task. The wind shifted from the south to the
south-west, and the shortage of oars became a serious matter. The
_James Caird_, being the heaviest boat, had to keep a full complement
of rowers, while the _Dudley Docker_ and the _Stancomb Wills_ went
short and took turns using the odd oar. A big swell was thundering
against the cliffs and at times we were almost driven on to the rocks
by swirling green waters. We had to keep close inshore in order to
avoid being embroiled in the raging sea, which was lashed snow-white
and quickened by the furious squalls into a living mass of sprays.
After two hours of strenuous labour we were almost exhausted, but we
were fortunate enough to find comparative shelter behind a point of
rock. Overhead towered the sheer cliffs for hundreds of feet, the
sea-birds that fluttered from the crannies of the rock dwarfed by the
height. The boats rose and fell in the big swell, but the sea was not
breaking in our little haven, and we rested there while we ate our cold
ration. Some of the men had to stand by the oars in order to pole the
boats off the cliff-face.
After half an hour’s pause I gave the order to start again. The _Dudley
Docker_ was pulling with three oars, as the _Stancomb Wills_ had the
odd one, and she fell away to leeward in a particularly heavy squall. I
anxiously watched her battling up against wind and sea. It would have
been useless to take the _James Caird_ back to the assistance of the
_Dudley Docker_ since we were hard pressed to make any progress
ourselves in the heavier boat. The only thing was to go ahead and hope
for the best. All hands were wet to the skin again and many men were
feeling the cold severely. We forged on slowly and passed inside a
great pillar of rock standing out to sea and towering to a height of
about 2400 ft. A line of reef stretched between the shore and this
pillar, and I thought as we approached that we would have to face the
raging sea outside; but a break in the white surf revealed a gap in the
reef and we laboured through, with the wind driving clouds of spray on
our port beam. The _Stancomb Wills_ followed safely. In the stinging
spray I lost sight of the _Dudley Docker_ altogether. It was obvious
she would have to go outside the pillar as she was making so much
leeway, but I could not see what happened to her and I dared not pause.
It was a bad time. At last, about 5 p.m., the _James Caird_ and the
_Stancomb Wills_ reached comparatively calm water and we saw Wild’s
beach just ahead of us. I looked back vainly for the _Dudley Docker_.
Rocks studded the shallow water round the spit and the sea surged
amongst them. I ordered the _Stancomb Wills_ to run on to the beach at
the place that looked smoothest, and in a few moments the first boat
was ashore, the men jumping out and holding her against the receding
wave. Immediately I saw she was safe I ran the _James Caird_ in. Some
of us scrambled up the beach through the fringe of the surf and slipped
the painter round a rock, so as to hold the boat against the backwash.
Then we began to get the stores and gear out, working like men
possessed, for the boats could not be pulled up till they had been
emptied. The blubber-stove was quickly alight and the cook began to
prepare a hot drink. We were labouring at the boats when I noticed
Rickenson turn white and stagger in the surf. I pulled him out of reach
of the water and sent him up to the stove, which had been placed in the
shelter of some rocks. McIlroy went to him and found that his heart had
been temporarily unequal to the strain placed upon it. He was in a bad
way and needed prompt medical attention. There are some men who will do
more than their share of work and who will attempt more than they are
physically able to accomplish. Rickenson was one of these eager souls.
He was suffering, like many other members of the Expedition, from bad
salt-water boils. Our wrists, arms, and legs were attacked. Apparently
this infliction was due to constant soaking with sea-water, the chafing
of wet clothes, and exposure.
I was very anxious about the _Dudley Docker_, and my eyes as well as my
thoughts were turned eastward as we carried the stores ashore; but
within half an hour the missing boat appeared, labouring through the
spume-white sea, and presently she reached the comparative calm of the
bay. We watched her coming with that sense of relief that the mariner
feels when he crosses the harbour-bar. The tide was going out rapidly,
and Worsley lightened the _Dudley Docker_ by placing some cases on an
outer rock, where they were retrieved subsequently. Then he beached his
boat, and with many hands at work we soon had our belongings ashore and
our three craft above high-water mark. The spit was by no means an
ideal camping-ground; it was rough, bleak, and inhospitable—just an
acre or two of rock and shingle, with the sea foaming around it except
where the snow-slope, running up to a glacier, formed the landward
boundary. But some of the larger rocks provided a measure of shelter
from the wind, and as we clustered round the blubber-stove, with the
acrid smoke blowing into our faces, we were quite a cheerful company.
After all, another stage of the homeward journey had been accomplished
and we could afford to forget for an hour the problems of the future.
Life was not so bad. We ate our evening meal while the snow drifted
down from the surface of the glacier, and our chilled bodies grew warm.
Then we dried a little tobacco at the stove and enjoyed our pipes
before we crawled into our tents. The snow had made it impossible for
us to find the tide-line and we were uncertain how far the sea was
going to encroach upon our beach. I pitched my tent on the seaward side
of the camp so that I might have early warning of danger, and, sure
enough, about 2 a.m. a little wave forced its way under the tent-cloth.
This was a practical demonstration that we had not gone far enough back
from the sea, but in the semi-darkness it was difficult to see where we
could find safety. Perhaps it was fortunate that experience had inured
us to the unpleasantness of sudden forced changes of camp. We took down
the tents and re-pitched them close against the high rocks at the
seaward end of the spit, where large boulders made an uncomfortable
resting-place. Snow was falling heavily. Then all hands had to assist
in pulling the boats farther up the beach, and at this task we suffered