South: The Story of Shackleton's Last Expedition, 1914-1917
Wild realized that the attempt must be made, and they both asked to be
allowed to accompany me on the voyage. I told Wild at once that he
would have to stay behind. I relied upon him to hold the party together
while I was away and to make the best of his way to Deception Island
with the men in the spring in the event of our failure to bring help.
Worsley I would take with me, for I had a very high opinion of his
accuracy and quickness as a navigator, and especially in the snapping
and working out of positions in difficult circumstances—an opinion that
was only enhanced during the actual journey. Four other men would be
required, and I decided to call for volunteers, although, as a matter
of fact, I pretty well knew which of the people I would select. Crean I
proposed to leave on the island as a right-hand man for Wild, but he
begged so hard to be allowed to come in the boat that, after
consultation with Wild, I promised to take him. I called the men
together, explained my plan, and asked for volunteers. Many came
forward at once. Some were not fit enough for the work that would have
to be done, and others would not have been much use in the boat since
they were not seasoned sailors, though the experiences of recent months
entitled them to some consideration as seafaring men. McIlroy and
Macklin were both anxious to go but realized that their duty lay on the
island with the sick men. They suggested that I should take Blackborrow
in order that he might have shelter and warmth as quickly as possible,
but I had to veto this idea. It would be hard enough for fit men to
live in the boat. Indeed, I did not see how a sick man, lying helpless
in the bottom of the boat, could possibly survive in the heavy weather
we were sure to encounter. I finally selected McNeish, McCarthy, and
Vincent in addition to Worsley and Crean. The crew seemed a strong one,
and as I looked at the men I felt confidence increasing.
The decision made, I walked through the blizzard with Worsley and Wild
to examine the _James Caird_. The 20-ft. boat had never looked big; she
appeared to have shrunk in some mysterious way when I viewed her in the
light of our new undertaking. She was an ordinary ship’s whaler, fairly
strong, but showing signs of the strains she had endured since the
crushing of the _Endurance_. Where she was holed in leaving the pack
was, fortunately, about the water-line and easily patched. Standing
beside her, we glanced at the fringe of the storm-swept, tumultuous sea
that formed our path. Clearly, our voyage would be a big adventure. I
called the carpenter and asked him if he could do anything to make the
boat more seaworthy. He first inquired if he was to go with me, and
seemed quite pleased when I said “Yes.” He was over fifty years of age
and not altogether fit, but he had a good knowledge of sailing-boats
and was very quick. McCarthy said that he could contrive some sort of
covering for the _James Caird_ if he might use the lids of the cases
and the four sledge-runners that we had lashed inside the boat for use
in the event of a landing on Graham Land at Wilhelmina Bay. This bay,
at one time the goal of our desire, had been left behind in the course
of our drift, but we had retained the runners. The carpenter proposed
to complete the covering with some of our canvas; and he set about
making his plans at once.
Noon had passed and the gale was more severe than ever. We could not
proceed with our preparations that day. The tents were suffering in the
wind and the sea was rising. We made our way to the snow-slope at the
shoreward end of the spit, with the intention of digging a hole in the
snow large enough to provide shelter for the party. I had an idea that
Wild and his men might camp there during my absence, since it seemed
impossible that the tents could hold together for many more days
against the attacks of the wind; but an examination of the spot
indicated that any hole we could dig probably would be filled quickly
by the drift. At dark, about 5 p.m., we all turned in, after a supper
consisting of a pannikin of hot milk, one of our precious biscuits, and
a cold penguin leg each.
The gale was stronger than ever on the following morning (April 20). No
work could be done. Blizzard and snow, snow and blizzard, sudden lulls
and fierce returns. During the lulls we could see on the far horizon to
the north-east bergs of all shapes and sizes driving along before the
gale, and the sinister appearance of the swift-moving masses made us
thankful indeed that, instead of battling with the storm amid the ice,
we were required only to face the drift from the glaciers and the
inland heights. The gusts might throw us off our feet, but at least we
fell on solid ground and not on the rocking floes. Two seals came up on
the beach that day, one of them within ten yards of my tent. So urgent
was our need of food and blubber that I called all hands and organized
a line of beaters instead of simply walking up to the seal and hitting
it on the nose. We were prepared to fall upon this seal _en masse_ if
it attempted to escape. The kill was made with a pick-handle, and in a
few minutes five days’ food and six days’ fuel were stowed in a place
of safety among the boulders above high-water mark. During this day the
cook, who had worked well on the floe and throughout the boat journey,
suddenly collapsed. I happened to be at the galley at the moment and
saw him fall. I pulled him down the slope to his tent and pushed him
into its shelter with orders to his tent-mates to keep him in his
sleeping-bag until I allowed him to come out or the doctors said he was
fit enough. Then I took out to replace the cook one of the men who had
expressed a desire to lie down and die. The task of keeping the galley
fire alight was both difficult and strenuous, and it took his thoughts
away from the chances of immediate dissolution. In fact, I found him a
little later gravely concerned over the drying of a naturally not
over-clean pair of socks which were hung up in close proximity to our
evening milk. Occupation had brought his thoughts back to the ordinary
cares of life.
There was a lull in the bad weather on April 21, and the carpenter
started to collect material for the decking of the _James Caird_. He
fitted the mast of the _Stancomb Wills_ fore and aft inside the _James
Caird_ as a hog-back and thus strengthened the keel with the object of
preventing our boat “hogging”—that is, buckling in heavy seas. He had
not sufficient wood to provide a deck, but by using the sledge-runners
and box-lids he made a framework extending from the forecastle aft to a
well. It was a patched-up affair, but it provided a base for a canvas
covering. We had a bolt of canvas frozen stiff, and this material had
to be cut and then thawed out over the blubber-stove, foot by foot, in
order that it might be sewn into the form of a cover. When it had been
nailed and screwed into position it certainly gave an appearance of
safety to the boat, though I had an uneasy feeling that it bore a
strong likeness to stage scenery, which may look like a granite wall
and is in fact nothing better than canvas and lath. As events proved,
the covering served its purpose well. We certainly could not have lived
through the voyage without it.
Another fierce gale was blowing on April 22, interfering with our
preparations for the voyage. The cooker from No. 5 tent came adrift in
a gust, and, although it was chased to the water’s edge, it disappeared
for good. Blackborrow’s feet were giving him much pain, and McIlroy and
Macklin thought it would be necessary for them to operate soon. They
were under the impression then that they had no chloroform, but they
found some subsequently in the medicine-chest after we had left. Some
cases of stores left on a rock off the spit on the day of our arrival
were retrieved during this day. We were setting aside stores for the
boat journey and choosing the essential equipment from the scanty stock
at our disposal. Two ten-gallon casks had to be filled with water
melted down from ice collected at the foot of the glacier. This was a
rather slow business. The blubber-stove was kept going all night, and
the watchmen emptied the water into the casks from the pot in which the
ice was melted. A working party started to dig a hole in the snow-slope
about forty feet above sea-level with the object of providing a site
for a camp. They made fairly good progress at first, but the snow
drifted down unceasingly from the inland ice, and in the end the party
had to give up the project.
The weather was fine on April 23, and we hurried forward our
preparations. It was on this day I decided finally that the crew for
the _James Caird_ should consist of Worsley, Crean, McNeish, McCarthy,
Vincent, and myself. A storm came on about noon, with driving snow and
heavy squalls. Occasionally the air would clear for a few minutes, and
we could see a line of pack-ice, five miles out, driving across from
west to east. This sight increased my anxiety to get away quickly.
Winter was advancing, and soon the pack might close completely round
the island and stay our departure for days or even for weeks, I did not
think that ice would remain around Elephant Island continuously during
the winter, since the strong winds and fast currents would keep it in
motion. We had noticed ice and bergs, going past at the rate of four or
five knots. A certain amount of ice was held up about the end of our
spit, but the sea was clear where the boat would have to be launched.
Worsley, Wild, and I climbed to the summit of the seaward rocks and
examined the ice from a better vantage-point than the beach offered.
The belt of pack outside appeared to be sufficiently broken for our
purposes, and I decided that, unless the conditions forbade it, we
would make a start in the _James Caird_ on the following morning.
Obviously the pack might close at any time. This decision made, I spent
the rest of the day looking over the boat, gear, and stores, and
discussing plans with Worsley and Wild.
Our last night on the solid ground of Elephant Island was cold and
uncomfortable. We turned out at dawn and had breakfast. Then we
launched the _Stancomb Wills_ and loaded her with stores, gear, and
ballast, which would be transferred to the _James Caird_ when the
heavier boat had been launched. The ballast consisted of bags made from
blankets and filled with sand, making a total weight of about 1000 lbs.
In addition we had gathered a number of round boulders and about 250
lbs. of ice, which would supplement our two casks of water.
The stores taken in the _James Caird_, which would last six men for one
month, were as follows:
30 boxes of matches.
6½ gallons paraffin.
1 tin methylated spirit.
10 boxes of flamers.
1 box of blue lights.
2 Primus stoves with spare parts and prickers.
1 Nansen aluminium cooker.
6 sleeping-bags.
A few spare socks.
A few candles and some blubber-oil in an oil-bag.
_Food_:
3 cases sledging rations = 300 rations.
2 cases nut food = 200 ”
2 cases biscuits = 600 biscuits.
1 case lump sugar.
30 packets of Trumilk.
1 tin. of Bovril cubes.
1 tin of Cerebos salt.
36 gallons of water.
250 lbs. of ice.
_Instruments_:
Sextant.
Sea-anchor.
Binoculars.
Charts.
Prismatic compass.
Aneroid.
The swell was slight when the _Stancomb Wills_ was launched and the
boat got under way without any difficulty; but half an hour later, when
we were pulling down the _James Caird_, the swell increased suddenly.
Apparently the movement of the ice outside had made an opening and
allowed the sea to run in without being blanketed by the line of pack.