South: The Story of Shackleton's Last Expedition, 1914-1917
difficulties on the last stage of the journey, and we camped cheerfully
for breakfast. Whilst Worsley and Crean were digging a hole for the
lamp and starting the cooker I climbed a ridge above us, cutting steps
with the adze, in order to secure an extended view of the country
below. At 6.30 a.m. I thought I heard the sound of a steam-whistle. I
dared not be certain, but I knew that the men at the whaling-station
would be called from their beds about that time. Descending to the camp
I told the others, and in intense excitement we watched the chronometer
for seven o’clock, when the whalers would be summoned to work. Right to
the minute the steam-whistle came to us, borne clearly on the wind
across the intervening miles of rock and snow. Never had any one of us
heard sweeter music. It was the first sound created by outside human
agency that had come to our ears since we left Stromness Bay in
December 1914. That whistle told us that men were living near, that
ships were ready, and that within a few hours we should be on our way
back to Elephant Island to the rescue of the men waiting there under
the watch and ward of Wild. It was a moment hard to describe. Pain and
ache, boat journeys, marches, hunger and fatigue seemed to belong to
the limbo of forgotten things, and there remained only the perfect
contentment that comes of work accomplished.
My examination of the country from a higher point had not provided
definite information, and after descending I put the situation before
Worsley and Crean. Our obvious course lay down a snow-slope in the
direction of Husvik. “Boys,” I said, “this snow-slope seems to end in a
precipice, but perhaps there is no precipice. If we don’t go down we
shall have to make a detour of at least five miles before we reach
level going. What shall it be?” They both replied at once, “Try the
slope.” So we started away again downwards. We abandoned the Primus
lamp, now empty, at the breakfast camp and carried with us one ration
and a biscuit each. The deepest snow we had yet encountered clogged our
feet, but we plodded downward, and after descending about 500 ft.,
reducing our altitude to 2000 ft. above sea-level, we thought we saw
the way clear ahead. A steep gradient of blue ice was the next
obstacle. Worsley and Crean got a firm footing in a hole excavated with
the adze and then lowered me as I cut steps until the full 50 ft. of
our alpine rope was out. Then I made a hole big enough for the three of
us, and the other two men came down the steps. My end of the rope was
anchored to the adze and I had settled myself in the hole braced for a
strain in case they slipped. When we all stood in the second hole I
went down again to make more steps, and in this laborious fashion we
spent two hours descending about 500 ft. Halfway down we had to strike
away diagonally to the left, for we noticed that the fragments of ice
loosened by the adze were taking a leap into space at the bottom of the
slope. Eventually we got off the steep ice, very gratefully, at a point
where some rocks protruded, and we could see then that there was a
perilous precipice directly below the point where we had started to cut
steps. A slide down a slippery slope, with the adze and our cooker
going ahead, completed this descent, and incidentally did considerable
damage to our much-tried trousers.
When we picked ourselves up at the bottom we were not more than 1500
ft. above the sea. The slope was comparatively easy. Water was running
beneath the snow, making “pockets” between the rocks that protruded
above the white surface. The shells of snow over these pockets were
traps for our feet; but we scrambled down, and presently came to
patches of tussock. A few minutes later we reached the sandy beach. The
tracks of some animals were to be seen, and we were puzzled until I
remembered that reindeer, brought from Norway, had been placed on the
island and now ranged along the lower land of the eastern coast. We did
not pause to investigate. Our minds were set upon reaching the haunts
of man, and at our best speed we went along the beach to another rising
ridge of tussock. Here we saw the first evidence of the proximity of
man, whose work, as is so often the ease, was one of destruction. A
recently killed seal was lying there, and presently we saw several
other bodies bearing the marks of bullet-wounds. I learned later that
men from the whaling-station at Stromness sometimes go round to Fortuna
Bay by boat to shoot seals.
Noon found us well up the slope on the other side of the bay working
east-south-east, and half an hour later we were on a flat plateau, with
one more ridge to cross before we descended into Husvik. I was leading
the way over this plateau when I suddenly found myself up to my knees
in water and quickly sinking deeper through the snow-crust. I flung
myself down and called to the others to do the same, so as to
distribute our weight on the treacherous surface. We were on top of a
small lake, snow-covered. After lying still for a few moments we got to
our feet and walked delicately, like Agag, for 200 yds., until a rise
in the surface showed us that we were clear of the lake.
At 1.30 p.m. we climbed round a final ridge and saw a little steamer, a
whaling-boat, entering the bay 2500 ft, below. A few moments later, as
we hurried forward, the masts of a sailing-ship lying at a wharf came
in sight. Minute figures moving to and fro about the boats caught our
gaze, and then we saw the sheds and factory of Stromness
whaling-station. We paused and shook hands, a form of mutual
congratulation that had seemed necessary on four other occasions in the
course of the expedition. The first time was when we landed on Elephant
Island, the second when we reached South Georgia, and the third when we
reached the ridge and saw the snow-slope stretching below on the first
day of the overland journey, then when we saw Husvik rocks.
Cautiously we started down the slope that led to warmth and comfort.
The last lap of the journey proved extraordinarily difficult. Vainly we
searched for a safe, or a reasonably safe, way down the steep ice-clad
mountain-side. The sole possible pathway seemed to be a channel cut by
water running from the upland. Down through icy water we followed the
course of this stream. We were wet to the waist, shivering, cold, and
tired. Presently our ears detected an unwelcome sound that might have
been musical under other conditions. It was the splashing of a
waterfall, and we were at the wrong end. When we reached the top of
this fall we peered over cautiously and discovered that there was a
drop of 25 or 30 ft., with impassable ice-cliffs on both sides. To go
up again was scarcely thinkable in our utterly wearied condition. The
way down was through the waterfall itself. We made fast one end of our
rope to a boulder with some difficulty, due to the fact that the rocks
had been worn smooth by the running water. Then Worsley and I lowered
Crean, who was the heaviest man. He disappeared altogether in the
falling water and came out gasping at the bottom. I went next, sliding
down the rope, and Worsley, who was the lightest and most nimble member
of the party, came last. At the bottom of the fall we were able to
stand again on dry land. The rope could not be recovered. We had flung
down the adze from the top of the fall and also the logbook and the
cooker wrapped in one of our blouses. That was all, except our wet
clothes, that we brought out of the Antarctic, which we had entered a
year and a half before with well-found ship, full equipment, and high
hopes. That was all of tangible things; but in memories we were rich.
We had pierced the veneer of outside things. We had “suffered, starved,
and triumphed, grovelled down yet grasped at glory, grown bigger in the
bigness of the whole.” We had seen God in His splendours, heard the
text that Nature renders. We had reached the naked soul of man.
Shivering with cold, yet with hearts light and happy, we set off
towards the whaling-station, now not more than a mile and a half
distant. The difficulties of the journey lay behind us. We tried to
straighten ourselves up a bit, for the thought that there might be
women at the station made us painfully conscious of our uncivilized
appearance. Our beards were long and our hair was matted. We were
unwashed and the garments that we had worn for nearly a year without a
change were tattered and stained. Three more unpleasant-looking
ruffians could hardly have been imagined. Worsley produced several
safety-pins from some corner of his garments and effected some
temporary repairs that really emphasized his general disrepair. Down we
hurried, and when quite close to the station we met two small boys ten
or twelve years of age. I asked these lads where the manager’s house
was situated. They did not answer. They gave us one look—a
comprehensive look that did not need to be repeated. Then they ran from
us as fast as their legs would carry them. We reached the outskirts of
the station and passed through the “digesting-house,” which was dark
inside. Emerging at the other end, we met an old man, who started as if
he had seen the Devil himself and gave us no time to ask any question.
He hurried away. This greeting was not friendly. Then we came to the
wharf, where the man in charge stuck to his station. I asked him if Mr.
Sorlle (the manager) was in the house.
“Yes,” he said as he stared at us.
“We would like to see him,” said I.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“We have lost our ship and come over the island,” I replied.
“You have come over the island?” he said in a tone of entire disbelief.
The man went towards the manager’s house and we followed him. I learned
afterwards that he said to Mr. Sorlle: “There are three funny-looking
men outside, who say they have come over the island and they know you.
I have left them outside.” A very necessary precaution from his point
of view.
Mr. Sorlle came out to the door and said, “Well?”
“Don’t you know me?” I said.
“I know your voice,” he replied doubtfully. “You’re the mate of the
_Daisy_.”
“My name is Shackleton,” I said.
Immediately he put out his hand and said, “Come in. Come in.”
“Tell me, when was the war over?” I asked.
“The war is not over,” he answered. “Millions are being killed. Europe
is mad. The world is mad.”
Mr. Sorlle’s hospitality had no bounds. He would scarcely let us wait
to remove our freezing boots before he took us into his house and gave
us seats in a warm and comfortable room. We were in no condition to sit
in anybody’s house until we had washed and got into clean clothes, but
the kindness of the station-manager was proof even against the
unpleasantness of being in a room with us. He gave us coffee and cakes
in the Norwegian fashion, and then showed us upstairs to the bathroom,
where we shed our rags and scrubbed ourselves luxuriously.
Mr. Sorlle’s kindness did not end with his personal care for the three
wayfarers who had come to his door. While we were washing he gave
orders for one of the whaling-vessels to be prepared at once in order
that it might leave that night for the other side of the island and
pick up the three men there. The whalers knew King Haakon Bay, though
they never worked on that side of the island. Soon we were clean again.
Then we put on delightful new clothes supplied from the station stores
and got rid of our superfluous hair. Within an hour or two we had
ceased to be savages and had become civilized men again. Then came a
splendid meal, while Mr. Sorlle told us of the arrangements he had made
and we discussed plans for the rescue of the main party on Elephant
Island.
I arranged that Worsley should go with the relief ship to show the