South: The Story of Shackleton's Last Expedition, 1914-1917
medicine-chest. The pangs of thirst attacked us with redoubled
intensity, and I felt that we must make a landing on the following day
at almost any hazard. The night wore on. We were very tired. We longed
for day. When at last the dawn came on the morning of May 10 there was
practically no wind, but a high cross-sea was running. We made slow
progress towards the shore. About 8 a.m. the wind backed to the
north-west and threatened another blow. We had sighted in the meantime
a big indentation which I thought must be King Haakon Bay, and I
decided that we must land there. We set the bows of the boat towards
the bay and ran before the freshening gale. Soon we had angry reefs on
either side. Great glaciers came down to the sea and offered no
landing-place. The sea spouted on the reefs and thundered against the
shore. About noon we sighted a line of jagged reef, like blackened
teeth, that seemed to bar the entrance to the bay. Inside,
comparatively smooth water stretched eight or nine miles to the head of
the bay. A gap in the reef appeared, and we made for it. But the fates
had another rebuff for us. The wind shifted and blew from the east
right out of the bay. We could see the way through the reef, but we
could not approach it directly. That afternoon we bore up, tacking five
times in the strong wind. The last tack enabled us to get through, and
at last we were in the wide mouth of the bay. Dusk was approaching. A
small cove, with a boulder-strewn beach guarded by a reef, made a break
in the cliffs on the south side of the bay, and we turned in that
direction. I stood in the bows directing the steering as we ran through
the kelp and made the passage of the reef. The entrance was so narrow
that we had to take in the oars, and the swell was piling itself right
over the reef into the cove; but in a minute or two we were inside, and
in the gathering darkness the _James Caird_ ran in on a swell and
touched the beach. I sprang ashore with the short painter and held on
when the boat went out with the backward surge. When the _James Caird_
came in again three of the men got ashore, and they held the painter
while I climbed some rocks with another line. A slip on the wet rocks
twenty feet up nearly closed my part of the story just at the moment
when we were achieving safety. A jagged piece of rock held me and at
the same time bruised me sorely. However, I made fast the line, and in
a few minutes we were all safe on the beach, with the boat floating in
the surging water just off the shore. We heard a gurgling sound that
was sweet music in our ears, and, peering around, found a stream of
fresh water almost at our feet. A moment later we were down on our
knees drinking the pure, ice-cold water in long draughts that put new
life into us. It was a splendid moment.
The next thing was to get the stores and ballast out of the boat, in
order that we might secure her for the night. We carried the stores and
gear above high-water mark and threw out the bags of sand and the
boulders that we knew so well. Then we attempted to pull the empty boat
up the beach, and discovered by this effort how weak we had become. Our
united strength was not sufficient to get the _James Caird_ clear of
the water. Time after time we pulled together, but without avail. I saw
that it would be necessary to have food and rest before we beached the
boat. We made fast a line to a heavy boulder and set a watch to fend
the _James Caird_ off the rocks of the beach. Then I sent Crean round
to the left side of the cove, about thirty yards away, where I had
noticed a little cave as we were running in. He could not see much in
the darkness, but reported that the place certainly promised some
shelter. We carried the sleeping-bags round and found a mere hollow in
the rock-face, with a shingle floor sloping at a steep angle to the
sea. There we prepared a hot meal, and when the food was finished I
ordered the men to turn in. The time was now about 8 p.m., and I took
the first watch beside the _James Caird_, which was still afloat in the
tossing water just off the beach.
Fending the _James Caird_ off the rocks in the darkness was awkward
work. The boat would have bumped dangerously if allowed to ride in with
the waves that drove into the cove. I found a flat rock for my feet,
which were in a bad way owing to cold, wetness, and lack of exercise in
the boat, and during the next few hours I laboured to keep the _James
Caird_ clear of the beach. Occasionally I had to rush into the seething
water. Then, as a wave receded, I let the boat out on the alpine rope
so as to avoid a sudden jerk. The heavy painter had been lost when the
sea-anchor went adrift. The _James Caird_ could be seen but dimly in
the cove, where the high black cliffs made the darkness almost
complete, and the strain upon one’s attention was great. After several
hours had passed I found that my desire for sleep was becoming
irresistible, and at 1 a.m. I called Crean. I could hear him groaning
as he stumbled over the sharp rocks on his way down the beach. While he
was taking charge of the _James Caird_ she got adrift, and we had some
anxious moments. Fortunately, she went across towards the cave and we
secured her, unharmed. The loss or destruction of the boat at this
stage would have been a very serious matter, since we probably would
have found it impossible to leave the cove except by sea. The cliffs
and glaciers around offered no practicable path towards the head of the
bay. I arranged for one-hour watches during the remainder of the night
and then took Crean’s place among the sleeping men and got some sleep
before the dawn came.
The sea went down in the early hours of the morning (May 11), and after
sunrise we were able to set about getting the boat ashore, first
bracing ourselves for the task with another meal. We were all weak
still. We cut off the topsides and took out all the movable gear. Then
we waited for Byron’s “great ninth wave,” and when it lifted the _James
Caird_ in we held her and, by dint of great exertion, worked her round
broadside to the sea. Inch by inch we dragged her up until we reached
the fringe of the tussock-grass and knew that the boat was above
high-water mark. The rise of the tide was about five feet, and at
spring tide the water must have reached almost to the edge of the
tussock-grass. The completion of this job removed our immediate
anxieties, and we were free to examine our surroundings and plan the
next move. The day was bright and clear.
King Haakon Bay is an eight-mile sound penetrating the coast of South
Georgia in an easterly direction. We had noticed that the northern and
southern sides of the sound were formed by steep mountain-ranges, their
flanks furrowed by mighty glaciers, the outlets of the great ice-sheet
of the interior. It was obvious that these glaciers and the precipitous
slopes of the mountains barred our way inland from the cove. We must
sail to the head of the sound. Swirling clouds and mist-wreaths had
obscured our view of the sound when we were entering, but glimpses of
snow-slopes had given us hope that an overland journey could be begun
from that point. A few patches of very rough, tussocky land, dotted
with little tarns, lay between the glaciers along the foot of the
mountains, which were heavily scarred with scree-slopes. Several
magnificent peaks and crags gazed out across their snowy domains to the
sparkling waters of the sound.
Our cove lay a little inside the southern headland of King Haakon Bay.
A narrow break in the cliffs, which were about a hundred feet high at
this point, formed the entrance to the cove. The cliffs continued
inside the cove on each side and merged into a hill which descended at
a steep slope to the boulder beach. The slope, which carried
tussock-grass, was not continuous. It eased at two points into little
peaty swamp terraces dotted with frozen pools and drained by two small
streams. Our cave was a recess in the cliff on the left-hand end of the
beach. The rocky face of the cliff was undercut at this point, and the
shingle thrown up by the waves formed a steep slope, which we reduced
to about one in six by scraping the stones away from the inside. Later
we strewed the rough floor with the dead, nearly dry underleaves of the
tussock-grass, so as to form a slightly soft bed for our sleeping-bags.
Water had trickled down the face of the cliff and formed long icicles,
which hung down in front of the cave to the length of about fifteen
feet. These icicles provided shelter, and when we had spread our sails
below them, with the assistance of oars, we had quarters that, in the
circumstances, had to be regarded as reasonably comfortable. The camp
at least was dry, and we moved our gear there with confidence. We built
a fireplace and arranged our sleeping-bags and blankets around it. The
cave was about 8 ft. deep and 12 ft. wide at the entrance.
While the camp was being arranged Crean and I climbed the tussock slope
behind the beach and reached the top of a headland overlooking the
sound. There we found the nests of albatrosses, and, much to our
delight, the nests contained young birds. The fledgelings were fat and
lusty, and we had no hesitation about deciding that they were destined
to die at an early age. Our most pressing anxiety at this stage was a
shortage of fuel for the cooker. We had rations for ten more days, and
we knew now that we could get birds for food; but if we were to have
hot meals we must secure fuel. The store of petroleum carried in the
boat was running very low, and it seemed necessary to keep some
quantity for use on the overland journey that lay ahead of us. A
sea-elephant or a seal would have provided fuel as well as food, but we
could see none in the neighbourhood. During the morning we started a
fire in the cave with wood from the top-sides of the boat, and though
the dense smoke from the damp sticks inflamed our tired eyes, the
warmth and the prospect of hot food were ample compensation. Crean was
cook that day, and I suggested to him that he should wear his goggles,
which he happened to have brought with him. The goggles helped him a
great deal as he bent over the fire and tended the stew. And what a
stew it was! The young albatrosses weighed about fourteen pounds each
fresh killed, and we estimated that they weighed at least six pounds
each when cleaned and dressed for the pot. Four birds went into the pot
for six men, with a Bovril ration for thickening. The flesh was white
and succulent, and the bones, not fully formed, almost melted in our
mouths. That was a memorable meal. When we had eaten our fill, we dried
our tobacco in the embers of the fire and smoked contentedly. We made
an attempt to dry our clothes, which were soaked with salt water, but
did not meet with much success. We could not afford to have a fire
except for cooking purposes until blubber or driftwood had come our
way.
The final stage of the journey had still to be attempted. I realized
that the condition of the party generally, and particularly of McNeish
and Vincent, would prevent us putting to sea again except under
pressure of dire necessity. Our boat, moreover, had been weakened by
the cutting away of the topsides, and I doubted if we could weather the
island. We were still 150 miles away from Stromness whaling-station by
sea. The alternative was to attempt the crossing of the island. If we
could not get over, then we must try to secure enough food and fuel to
keep us alive through the winter, but this possibility was scarcely
thinkable. Over on Elephant Island twenty-two men were waiting for the