South: The Story of Shackleton's Last Expedition, 1914-1917
The solid floes had loosened their grip on the ship itself, but they
were packed tightly all around. The weather was foggy. We felt a slight
northerly swell coming through the pack, and the movement gave rise to
hope that there was open water near to us. At 11 a.m. a long crack
developed in the pack, running east and west as far as we could see
through the fog, and I ordered steam to be raised in the hope of being
able to break away into this lead. The effort failed. We could break
the young ice in the pool, but the pack defied us. The attempt was
renewed on the 11th, a fine clear day with blue sky. The temperature
was still low, –2° Fahr. at midnight. After breaking through some young
ice the _Endurance_ became jammed against soft floe. The engines
running full speed astern produced no effect until all hands joined in
“sallying” ship. The dog-kennels amidships made it necessary for the
people to gather aft, where they rushed from side to side in a mass in
the confined space around the wheel. This was a ludicrous affair, the
men falling over one another amid shouts of laughter without producing
much effect on the ship. She remained fast, while all hands jumped at
the word of command, but finally slid off when the men were stamping
hard at the double. We were now in a position to take advantage of any
opening that might appear. The ice was firm around us, and as there
seemed small chance of making a move that day, I had the motor crawler
and warper put out on the floe for a trial run. The motor worked most
successfully, running at about six miles an hour over slabs and ridges
of ice hidden by a foot or two of soft snow. The surface was worse than
we would expect to face on land or barrier-ice. The motor warped itself
back on a 500-fathom steel wire and was taken aboard again. “From the
mast-head the mirage is continually giving us false alarms. Everything
wears an aspect of unreality. Icebergs hang upside down in the sky; the
land appears as layers of silvery or golden cloud. Cloud-banks look
like land, icebergs masquerade as islands or nunataks, and the distant
barrier to the south is thrown into view, although it really is outside
our range of vision. Worst of all is the deceptive appearance of open
water, caused by the refraction of distant water, or by the sun shining
at an angle on a field of smooth snow or the face of ice-cliffs below
the horizon.”
The second half of February produced no important change in our
situation. Early in the morning of the 14th I ordered a good head of
steam on the engines and sent all hands on to the floe with
ice-chisels, prickers, saws, and picks. We worked all day and
throughout most of the next day in a strenuous effort to get the ship
into the lead ahead. The men cut away the young ice before the bows and
pulled it aside with great energy. After twenty-four hours’ labour we
had got the ship a third of the way to the lead. But about 400 yards of
heavy ice, including old rafted pack, still separated the _Endurance_
from the water, and reluctantly I had to admit that further effort was
useless. Every opening we made froze up again quickly owing to the
unseasonably low temperature. The young ice was elastic and prevented
the ship delivering a strong, splitting blow to the floe, while at the
same time it held the older ice against any movement. The abandonment
of the attack was a great disappointment to all hands. The men had
worked long hours without thought of rest, and they deserved success.
But the task was beyond our powers. I had not abandoned hope of getting
clear, but was counting now on the possibility of having to spend a
winter in the inhospitable arms of the pack. The sun, which had been
above the horizon for two months, set at midnight on the 17th, and,
although it would not disappear until April, its slanting rays warned
us of the approach of winter. Pools and leads appeared occasionally,
but they froze over very quickly.
We continued to accumulate a supply of seal meat and blubber, and the
excursions across the floes to shoot and bring in the seals provided
welcome exercise for all hands. Three crab-eater cows shot on the 21st
were not accompanied by a bull, and blood was to be seen about the hole
from which they had crawled. We surmised that the bull had become the
prey of one of the killer-whales. These aggressive creatures were to be
seen often in the lanes and pools, and we were always distrustful of
their ability or willingness to discriminate between seal and man. A
lizard-like head would show while the killer gazed along the floe with
wicked eyes. Then the brute would dive, to come up a few moments later,
perhaps, under some unfortunate seal reposing on the ice. Worsley
examined a spot where a killer had smashed a hole 8 ft. by 12 ft. in
12½ in. of hard ice, covered by 2½ in. of snow. Big blocks of ice had
been tossed on to the floe surface. Wordie, engaged in measuring the
thickness of young ice, went through to his waist one day just as a
killer rose to blow in the adjacent lead. His companions pulled him out
hurriedly.
On the 22nd the _Endurance_ reached the farthest south point of her
drift, touching the 77th parallel of latitude in long. 35° W. The
summer had gone; indeed the summer had scarcely been with us at all.
The temperatures were low day and night, and the pack was freezing
solidly around the ship. The thermometer recorded 10° below zero Fahr.
at 2 a.m. on the 22nd. Some hours earlier we had watched a wonderful
golden mist to the southward, where the rays of the declining sun shone
through vapour rising from the ice. All normal standards of perspective
vanish under such conditions, and the low ridges of the pack, with mist
lying between them, gave the illusion of a wilderness of mountain-peaks
like the Bernese Oberland. I could not doubt now that the _Endurance_
was confined for the winter. Gentle breezes from the east, south, and
south-west did not disturb the hardening floes. The seals were
disappearing and the birds were leaving us. The land showed still in
fair weather on the distant horizon, but it was beyond our reach now,
and regrets for havens that lay behind us were vain.
“We must wait for the spring, which may bring us better fortune. If I
had guessed a month ago that the ice would grip us here, I would have
established our base at one of the landing-places at the great glacier.
But there seemed no reason to anticipate then that the fates would
prove unkind. This calm weather with intense cold in a summer month is
surely exceptional. My chief anxiety is the drift. Where will the
vagrant winds and currents carry the ship during the long winter months
that are ahead of us? We will go west, no doubt, but how far? And will
it be possible to break out of the pack early in the spring and reach
Vahsel Bay or some other suitable landing-place? These are momentous
questions for us.”
On February 24 we ceased to observe ship routine, and the _Endurance_
became a winter station. All hands were on duty during the day and
slept at night, except a watchman who looked after the dogs and watched
for any sign of movement in the ice. We cleared a space of 10 ft. by 20
ft. round the rudder and propeller, sawing through ice 2 ft. thick, and
lifting the blocks with a pair of tongs made by the carpenter. Crean
used the blocks to make an ice-house for the dog Sally, which had added
a little litter of pups to the strength of the expedition. Seals
appeared occasionally, and we killed all that came within our reach.
They represented fuel as well as food for men and dogs. Orders were
given for the after-hold to be cleared and the stores checked, so that
we might know exactly how we stood for a siege by an Antarctic winter.
The dogs went off the ship on the following day. Their kennels were
placed on the floe along the length of a wire rope to which the leashes
were fastened. The dogs seemed heartily glad to leave the ship, and
yelped loudly and joyously as they were moved to their new quarters. We
had begun the training of teams, and already there was keen rivalry
between the drivers. The flat floes and frozen leads in the
neighbourhood of the ship made excellent training grounds. Hockey and
football on the floe were our chief recreations, and all hands joined
in many a strenuous game.
Worsley took a party to the floe on the 26th and started building a
line of igloos and “dogloos” round the ship. These little buildings
were constructed, Esquimaux fashion, of big blocks of ice, with thin
sheets for the roofs. Boards or frozen sealskins were placed over all,
snow was piled on top and pressed into the joints, and then water was
thrown over the structures to make everything firm. The ice was packed
down flat inside and covered with snow for the dogs, which preferred,
however, to sleep outside except when the weather was extraordinarily
severe. The tethering of the dogs was a simple matter. The end of a
chain was buried about eight inches in the snow, some fragments of ice
were pressed around it, and a little water poured over all. The icy
breath of the Antarctic cemented it in a few moments. Four dogs which
had been ailing were shot. Some of the dogs were suffering badly from
worms, and the remedies at our disposal, unfortunately, were not
effective. All the fit dogs were being exercised in the sledges, and
they took to the work with enthusiasm. Sometimes their eagerness to be
off and away produced laughable results, but the drivers learned to be
alert. The wireless apparatus was still rigged, but we listened in vain
for the Saturday-night time signals from New Year Island, ordered for
our benefit by the Argentine Government. On Sunday the 28th, Hudson
waited at 2 a.m. for the Port Stanley monthly signals, but could hear
nothing. Evidently the distances were too great for our small plant.
CHAPTER III
WINTER MONTHS
The month of March opened with a severe north-easterly gale. Five
Weddells and two crab-eaters were shot on the floe during the morning
of March 1, and the wind, with fine drifting snow, sprang up while the
carcasses were being brought in by sledging parties. The men were
compelled to abandon some of the blubber and meat, and they had a
struggle to get back to the ship over the rough ice in the teeth of the
storm. This gale continued until the 3rd, and all hands were employed
clearing out the ’tween decks, which was to be converted into a living-
and dining-room for officers and scientists. The carpenter erected in
this room the stove that had been intended for use in the shore hut,
and the quarters were made very snug. The dogs appeared indifferent to
the blizzard. They emerged occasionally from the drift to shake
themselves and bark, but were content most of the time to lie, curled
into tight balls, under the snow. One of the old dogs, Saint, died on
the night of the 2nd, and the doctors reported that the cause of death
was appendicitis.
When the gale cleared we found that the pack had been driven in from
the north-east and was now more firmly consolidated than before. A new
berg, probably fifteen miles in length, had appeared on the northern
horizon. The bergs within our circle of vision had all become familiar
objects, and we had names for some of them. Apparently they were all
drifting with the pack. The sighting of a new berg was of more than
passing interest, since in that comparatively shallow sea it would be
possible for a big berg to become stranded. Then the island of ice
would be a centre of tremendous pressure and disturbance amid the
drifting pack. We had seen something already of the smashing effect of
a contest between berg and floe, and had no wish to have the helpless