South: The Story of Shackleton's Last Expedition, 1914-1917
a serious misfortune. Two of our four bags of clothing had been placed
under the bilge of the _James Caird_, and before we realized the danger
a wave had lifted the boat and carried the two bags back into the surf.
We had no chance of recovering them. This accident did not complete the
tale of the night’s misfortunes. The big eight-man tent was blown to
pieces in the early morning. Some of the men who had occupied it took
refuge in other tents, but several remained in their sleeping-bags
under the fragments of cloth until it was time to turn out.
A southerly gale was blowing on the morning of April 18 and the
drifting snow was covering everything. The outlook was cheerless
indeed, but much work had to be done and we could not yield to the
desire to remain in the sleeping-bags. Some sea-elephants were lying
about the beach above high-water mark, and we killed several of the
younger ones for their meat and blubber. The big tent could not be
replaced, and in order to provide shelter for the men we turned the
_Dudley Docker_ upside down and wedged up the weather side with
boulders. We also lashed the painter and stern-rope round the heaviest
rocks we could find, so as to guard against the danger of the boat
being moved by the wind. The two bags of clothing were bobbing about
amid the brash and glacier-ice to the windward side of the spit, and it
did not seem possible to reach them. The gale continued all day, and
the fine drift from the surface of the glacier was added to the big
flakes of snow falling from the sky. I made a careful examination of
the spit with the object of ascertaining its possibilities as a
camping-ground. Apparently, some of the beach lay above high-water mark
and the rocks that stood above the shingle gave a measure of shelter.
It would be possible to mount the snow-slope towards the glacier in
fine weather, but I did not push my exploration in that direction
during the gale. At the seaward end of the spit was the mass of rock
already mentioned. A few thousand ringed penguins, with some gentoos,
were on these rocks, and we had noted this fact with a great deal of
satisfaction at the time of our landing. The ringed penguin is by no
means the best of the penguins from the point of view of the hungry
traveller, but it represents food. At 8 a.m. that morning I noticed the
ringed penguins mustering in orderly fashion close to the water’s edge,
and thought that they were preparing for the daily fishing excursion;
but presently it became apparent that some important move was on foot.
They were going to migrate, and with their departure much valuable food
would pass beyond our reach. Hurriedly we armed ourselves with pieces
of sledge-runner and other improvised clubs, and started towards the
rookery. We were too late. The leaders gave their squawk of command and
the columns took to the sea in unbroken ranks. Following their leaders,
the penguins dived through the surf and reappeared in the heaving water
beyond. A very few of the weaker birds took fright and made their way
back to the beach, where they fell victims later to our needs; but the
main army went northwards and we saw them no more. We feared that the
gentoo penguins might follow the example of their ringed cousins, but
they stayed with us; apparently they had not the migratory habit. They
were comparatively few in number, but from time to time they would come
in from the sea and walk up our beach. The gentoo is the most strongly
marked of all the smaller varieties of penguins as far as colouring is
concerned, and it far surpasses the adelie in weight of legs and
breast, the points that particularly appealed to us.
The deserted rookery was sure to be above high-water mark at all times;
and we mounted the rocky ledge in search of a place to pitch our tents.
The penguins knew better than to rest where the sea could reach them
even when the highest tide was supported by the strongest gale. The
disadvantages of a camp on the rookery were obvious. The smell was
strong, to put it mildly, and was not likely to grow less pronounced
when the warmth of our bodies thawed the surface. But our choice of
places was not wide, and that afternoon we dug out a site for two tents
in the debris of the rookery, levelling it off with snow and rocks. My
tent, No. 1, was pitched close under the cliff, and there during my
stay on Elephant Island I lived. Crean’s tent was close by, and the
other three tents, which had fairly clean snow under them, were some
yards away. The fifth tent was a ramshackle affair. The material of the
torn eight-man tent had been drawn over a rough framework of oars, and
shelter of a kind provided for the men who occupied it.
The arrangement of our camp, the checking of our gear, the killing and
skinning of seals and sea-elephants occupied us during the day, and we
took to our sleeping-bags early. I and my companions in No. 1 tent were
not destined to spend a pleasant night. The heat of our bodies soon
melted the snow and refuse beneath us and the floor of the tent became
an evil smelling yellow mud. The snow drifting from the cliff above us
weighted the sides of the tent, and during the night a particularly
stormy gust brought our little home down on top of us. We stayed
underneath the snow-laden cloth till the morning, for it seemed a
hopeless business to set about re-pitching the tent amid the storm that
was raging in the darkness of the night.
The weather was still bad on the morning of April 19. Some of the men
were showing signs of demoralization. They were disinclined to leave
the tents when the hour came for turning out, and it was apparent they
were thinking more of the discomforts of the moment than of the good
fortune that had brought us to sound ground and comparative safety. The
condition of the gloves and headgear shown me by some discouraged men
illustrated the proverbial carelessness of the sailor. The articles had
frozen stiff during the night, and the owners considered, it appeared,
that this state of affairs provided them with a grievance, or at any
rate gave them the right to grumble. They said they wanted dry clothes
and that their health would not admit of their doing any work. Only by
rather drastic methods were they induced to turn to. Frozen gloves and
helmets undoubtedly are very uncomfortable, and the proper thing is to
keep these articles thawed by placing them inside one’s shirt during
the night.
The southerly gale, bringing with it much snow, was so severe that as I
went along the beach to kill a seal I was blown down by a gust. The
cooking-pots from No. 2 tent took a flying run into the sea at the same
moment. A case of provisions which had been placed on them to keep them
safe had been capsized by a squall. These pots, fortunately, were not
essential, since nearly all our cooking was done over the
blubber-stove. The galley was set up by the rocks close to my tent, in
a hole we had dug through the debris of the penguin rookery. Cases of
stores gave some shelter from the wind and a spread sail kept some of
the snow off the cook when he was at work. He had not much idle time.
The amount of seal and sea-elephant steak and blubber consumed by our
hungry party was almost incredible. He did not lack assistance—the
neighbourhood of the blubber-stove had attractions for every member of
the party; but he earned everybody’s gratitude by his unflagging energy
in preparing meals that to us at least were savoury and satisfying.
Frankly, we needed all the comfort that the hot food could give us. The
icy fingers of the gale searched every cranny of our beach and pushed
relentlessly through our worn garments and tattered tents. The snow,
drifting from the glacier and falling from the skies, swathed us and
our gear and set traps for our stumbling feet. The rising sea beat
against the rocks and shingle and tossed fragments of floe-ice within a
few feet of our boats. Once during the morning the sun shone through
the racing clouds and we had a glimpse of blue sky; but the promise of
fair weather was not redeemed. The consoling feature of the situation
was that our camp was safe. We could endure the discomforts, and I felt
that all hands would be benefited by the opportunity for rest and
recuperation.
CHAPTER IX
THE BOAT JOURNEY
The increasing sea made it necessary for us to drag the boats farther
up the beach. This was a task for all hands, and after much labour we
got the boats into safe positions among the rocks and made fast the
painters to big boulders. Then I discussed with Wild and Worsley the
chances of reaching South Georgia before the winter locked the seas
against us. Some effort had to be made to secure relief. Privation and
exposure had left their mark on the party, and the health and mental
condition of several men were causing me serious anxiety. Blackborrow’s
feet, which had been frost-bitten during the boat journey, were in a
bad way, and the two doctors feared that an operation would be
necessary. They told me that the toes would have to be amputated unless
animation could be restored within a short period. Then the food-supply
was a vital consideration. We had left ten cases of provisions in the
crevice of the rocks at our first camping-place on the island. An
examination of our stores showed that we had full rations for the whole
party for a period of five weeks. The rations could be spread over
three months on a reduced allowance and probably would be supplemented
by seals and sea-elephants to some extent. I did not dare to count with
full confidence on supplies of meat and blubber, for the animals seemed
to have deserted the beach and the winter was near. Our stocks included
three seals and two and a half skins (with blubber attached). We were
mainly dependent on the blubber for fuel, and, after making a
preliminary survey of the situation, I decided that the party must be
limited to one hot meal a day.
A boat journey in search of relief was necessary and must not be
delayed. That conclusion was forced upon me. The nearest port where
assistance could certainly be secured was Port Stanley, in the Falkland
Islands, 540 miles away, but we could scarcely hope to beat up against
the prevailing north-westerly wind in a frail and weakened boat with a
small sail area. South Georgia was over 800 miles away, but lay in the
area of the west winds, and I could count upon finding whalers at any
of the whaling-stations on the east coast. A boat party might make the
voyage and be back with relief within a month, provided that the sea
was clear of ice and the boat survive the great seas. It was not
difficult to decide that South Georgia must be the objective, and I
proceeded to plan ways and means. The hazards of a boat journey across
800 miles of stormy sub-Antarctic ocean were obvious, but I calculated
that at worst the venture would add nothing to the risks of the men
left on the island. There would be fewer mouths to feed during the
winter and the boat would not require to take more than one month’s
provisions for six men, for if we did not make South Georgia in that
time we were sure to go under. A consideration that had weight with me
was that there was no chance at all of any search being made for us on
Elephant Island.
The case required to be argued in some detail, since all hands knew
that the perils of the proposed journey were extreme. The risk was
justified solely by our urgent need of assistance. The ocean south of
Cape Horn in the middle of May is known to be the most tempestuous
storm-swept area of water in the world. The weather then is unsettled,
the skies are dull and overcast, and the gales are almost unceasing. We
had to face these conditions in a small and weather-beaten boat,
already strained by the work of the months that had passed. Worsley and