The whole scene had a kind of horrifying fascination. The men stood by, tense and altogether aware that in the next instant they might be flung into the sea to be crushed or drowned, or to flounder in the icy water until the spark of life was chilled from their bodies. And yet the grandeur of the spectacle before them was undeniable.
Watching it, many of them sought to put their feelings into words, but they could find no words that were adequate. The lines in Tennyson's Morte d'Artllitr kept running through Macklin's head:'... I never saw, nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die, not though I live three lives of mortal men, so great a miracle...'
Shackleton climbed to a knoll a dozen feet high at one end of the berg, from which he could see the limitless expanse of ice. Here and there, far away, a black line or a small dark patch revealed a lead or a pool of open water. The party's only hope was that one of these openings would drift down and surround the berg, making possible their escape. But time and time again, a lead would approach to within a short distance, then veer to one side or another or vanish altogether as the ice closed up. Hour after hour they waited - eight, nine, ten o'clock. Since dawn the boats had been ready, and the stores and equipment lay close by for immediate loading.
The men stood looking up at Shackleton atop the little knoll. From beneath, the defiant line of his chin was accentuated, but the tired circles around his eyes told of the strain he was under. Occasionally he would call to them to stand by. A chance was coming.The men would rush to the boats and wait, but after a time Shackleton would look down and shake his head. The chance was gone.
While they waited, the berg was being systematically destroyed, piece by piece. Late in the morning, a huge sea burst against it, and a 20-foot section slipped into the water, leaving a half-submerged shelf of ice behind. This ice shelf was awash, and it greatly increased the strain on the berg by keeping it from rolling naturally with the swell. There was a good chance that the berg would split through horizontally, and that the whole top would be sheered off.
Noon came.The berg was smaller, but the ice was just as close. If anything, the swell was higher. Some sledging ration was issued and the men ate standing in little groups, talking quietly. By one o'clock, a sickening thought had begun to spread through the party. What if darkness came and the ice was still tight? With the beating it was taking, the berg could not possibly last until the next morning. They would be pitched into the sea during the night.
The men made feeble jokes about it, tried to resign themselves, or simply tried not to think about it. Greenstreet took his diary and attempted to write: `... a very anxious time as our floe was rocking and rolling heavily being ..: The diary ended there in midsentence. It was no good; he couldn't keep his mind on it.
Shortly before two o'clock, when only about three hours of daylight remained, a somber quiet came over the party. Lead after lead had drifted past, too far away to do them any good. They were watching Shackleton as he followed still another lead approaching from the north, but no one thought it would really be their chance.
There was an excited shout. A pool was opening in the opposite direction. They turned and stared. What they saw was almost beyond belief. The ice was mysteriously drawing away, as if under the influence of some invisible force. As they looked, eddies and swirls riffled the surface of the water. A freak current had apparently risen from the depths of the sea and been deflected against the deep underside of the berg. They jumped up and down, pointing and gesturing wildly toward the pool of inky water that was widening out from the berg.
`Launch the boats,' Shackleton cried as he raced down from his perch. `Chuck in the stores any old way.' Anxious hands seized the boats and hurried them to the edge of the berg. The surface of the sea was S feet beneath them, so the men almost pitched the boats off the ice into the water. Crewmen dropped into them and the stores were hurried on board. There was a bad moment when the ice shelf rose up and threatened to capsize the Docker, but she was hurriedly shoved out of danger, and in five minutes the boats were away.
They pulled to the center of the pool, and from there they could see still another pool beyond a narrow neck of brash ice. They pushed through the ice, and then the pack, in its inexplicable way, began to dissipate, leaving an ample margin of open water around them.
Until now, the destination had been either Clarence or Elephant Island - whichever the party happened to strike. These were the most logical choices, the closest bits of land. At the time the boats were launched from Patience Camp, Clarence Island lay just 39 miles almost due north. By sailing northwest, they had reduced that distance to about 25 miles NNE, Worsley estimated. However, it had been two days since the last observation, and during that time the strong winds out of the northeast had probably blown the party a considerable distance to the west. Furthermore, the greatest quantities of open water now extended to the southwest - toward King George Island, 8o-odd miles away. Shackleton made the decision on the spot: they would abandon the effort to reach Clarence or Elephant Island and take advantage of the following wind to make for King George Island.
It was a much more desirable destination anyhow. Both Clarence and Elephant Islands were remote, and so far as Shackleton knew, had never been visited. But from King George Island, a series of island-to-island voyages, the longest of which was 19 miles, would carry the party ultimately to Deception Island, some hundred miles beyond. Here the remains of a volcano's cone made an excellent harbor, and the place was a frequent port of call for whalers. Too, there was thought to be a cache of food at Deception Island for the use of castaways. But most important, there was a small, rude chapel there, built by the whalers. Even if no ships stopped at the island, Shackleton was sure they could tear down the church and use its lumber to build a boat large enough to accommodate all of them.
They held to a southwest course throughout the afternoon. About threethirty, Shackleton signaled from the Cairn to hoist sail, and almost immediately, the inequalities in the three boats became apparent once more. The Caird clove neatly through the water, followed by the Docker, but the Wills limped along astern, dropping farther back all the while. After a time, Shackleton brought the Caird up under the lee of some ice and shouted to Worsley to go back after the Wills. It took almost an hour for the Docker to beat her way to windward, take the Wills in tow, and return to the Caird.
By the time the three boats were joined up once more, darkness was rapidly approaching, and Shackleton was afraid of a collision with the ice. The boats took in their sails and proceeded under oars. In the last glimmer of light, they found a floe and drew alongside it. But there was to be no camping this night - nor ever again, so far as Shackleton was concerned. They had learned their lesson twice over, and they were through with the ice for good.The only man to debark now was Green, who carried his blubber stove and supplies onto the floe. He brewed up some seal hoosh and warmed some milk. The men ate sitting in the boats.
When they had finished, they cast off. The boats were made fast, one behind the other, with the Docker in the lead. Then the party began to row, very slowly, toward the southwest. They took spells at the oars, two men pulling at a time. Others hunched in the bows of the boats as lookouts, watching for the edge of the pack so that the boats might stay behind its protective line, and keeping an eye out for bergs or large floes that might catch and crush the boats. It had begun to snow - large, wet flakes that clung and melted. The snow doubled the discomfort of the lookouts, straining their eyes into the wind to watch for ice drifting down out of the darkness.
The period at the oars was kept short so that each plan had a turn as often as possible. It was the only way to keep warm. Those who were not rowing or on lookout did what they could to keep their blood moving. But sleep was out of the question, for there was nowhere to lie down. The bottom of each boat was so packed with stores that there was scarcely room for the men's feet. Sleeping bags and tents took up most of the space in the bows, and the two thwarts on which the oarsmen sat had to be kept free
. That left only a small space midships for the off-duty men to sit in a tight little group, huddled together for warmth.
Throughout the night, the sudden eruption of water nearby and a sound like a steam valve popping under pressure told of whales blowing close at hand. They became the primary worry during that long, black night. Whales had been seen on hundreds of occasions tossing aside vast chunks of floes as they surfaced to breathe. And the ability of a whale to discriminate between the underside of a floe and the white bottoms of the boats was open to serious question.
About 3 a.m., the entire party was suddenly electrified by an almost hysterical shout from Hudson. `A light! A light!' He was pointing to the northwest. Every man sat upright, staring off in the direction Hudson indicated. The excitement lasted for only one cruel moment - until they were alert enough to realize the absurdity of it. Then they settled down again, cursing Hudson for his stupidity and for having raised their hopes. Hudson insisted that he had seen it, and for several minutes he sat disconsolately mumbling to himself because nobody would believe him.
Toward five o'clock, the sky began to brighten. Before long the dawn of April 12 broke in radiant splendor along the horizon. The sun started its climb into a cloudless sky, and the mere sight of it seemed to change the whole shape of things. They rowed alongside a large floe, and Green again jumped ashore to prepare some seal hoosh and hot milk. After breakfast they cast off and set sail to the southwest under perfect conditions - wide stretches of open water protected by a line of pack on which hundreds of seals lay sleeping.
About ten-thirty, Worsley took out his sextant. Then, bracing himself against the mast of the Docker, he carefully took his sight - the first since leaving Patience Camp. At noon he repeated the procedure, as the boats lay to awaiting the result. Every face was turned toward Worsley as he sat in the bottom of the Docker working out his figures. They watched to see his expression when the two lines of position were plotted for a fix. It took him much longer than usual, and gradually a puzzled look came over his face. He checked his calculations over, and the expression of puzzlement gave way to one of worry. Once more he ran through his computations; then he slowly raised his head. Shackleton had brought the Caird alongside the Docker, and Worsley showed him the position - 62°15' South, 53 °7' West.
They were 1 24 miles nearly due east of King George Island and 61 miles southeast of Clarence Island - 22 miles farther from land than when they had launched the boats from Patience Camp three days before!
Chapter Three
They continually sailed west, with strong easterly winds driving them along - and yet they had actually been going in the opposite direction. They were 20 miles east of where they started and So miles east of where they had thought they were.
The news was so heartbreaking some men refused to believe it. It couldn't be. Worsley had made a mistake. But no. He obtained a third sight early in the afternoon which showed that Joinville Island, which had dropped from sight two weeks before, now was only 8o miles away.
Some unknown and undetectable easterly current had caught them - a current of such tremendous strength that it had driven them backward into the teeth of a gale.
To reach King George Island would mean sailing directly into that current, so for the third time, Shackleton announced that the destination had been changed. This time it became Hope Bay, about 130 miles away at the tip of the Palmer Peninsula, beyond Joinville Island. The boats were set on a southerly course, and the men sat in almost absolute silence, tired through and discouraged, their hopes for an early landing completely shattered.
Late in the afternoon, the wind increased from the NNW, and the boats came upon some scattered ice which Shackleton thought might prove troublesome in the dark. He gave the order to heave to. Worsley urged that they continue under oars, but Shackleton refused. They tried to find a floe they could tie up to for the night. But there was none - not even a piece large enough to accommodate Green and his stove. The best they could find was a small floe to which the Docker was made fast, with the Wills behind her and the Caird last. Even this was difficult in the heavy swell which made both the boats and the floe pitch violently. It was almost an hour before the job was done.
Canvas from the tents was stretched over each boat and with great difficulty the small prinius stoves were lighted so that some milk could be heated. They drank it scalding hot, huddled together under the flapping canvas of the tent cloths. They were enjoying the luxury of a moment's warmth, when a new menace appeared. Large blocks of ice began to drift around the edges of the floe to the lee side where the boats were tethered.
The tent cloths were thrown aside, and the men, using every available oar and boathook, positioned themselves around each boat and poled off the approaching chunks of ice, or held them at bay so that the boats would not be dashed against them in the swell. The struggle might have gone on all night. But about nine o'clock, in the space of only a few minutes, the wind suddenly veered around to the southwest. Immediately the floe ceased to provide a shelter and became instead a windward shore; the boats were being driven toward its jagged edge. Shackleton shouted to get away, and the oarsmen hurriedly got into position. It had happened so fast, and the wind was so strong, that there wasn't time even to get in the Docker's bow line that had secured them to the floe; it had to be cut. They pulled frantically until at last they were clear of the floe.
Again a thick, wet snow had begun to fall. The temperature, too, began to drop, with the wind blowing up from the Pole. Before long, the surface of the sea was freezing into rubbery patches that would later become `pancake ice.
Shackleton ordered the Docker into the lead. The Caird was made fast to her stern, and the Wills brought up the rear. Two oars were put out from the Docker to keep the line of boats head up into the wind, and to prevent them from bumping into one another. By ten o'clock they were in position.
For the second night running, there was no sleep, though a few men snuggled together in hopes of generating enough warmth to drop off for a moment. But it was achingly cold. Hussey's thermometers were packed away so that no accurate temperature reading could be taken, but Shackleton estimated it to be 4 below zero. They could even hear the water freezing. The snow fell on the newly formed ice with a tiny crackling sound, and the ice itself made a creaking hiss as it rose to the swell.
The clothes the men wore, now that they were sitting almost motionless, froze stiff. Not only were their garments wet from the spray and the snow, they were also worn and saturated with the oil secreted from the men's own bodies during six months of constant wear. If a man shifted his position, even slightly, his skin came in contact with a new, unwarmed surface of his clothing. Everyone tried to sit still, but it could not be done. The weariness, the lack of food, the exertion, and the worry had weakened them so that the harder they tried to sit still, the more they shivered - and their own shivering kept them awake. It was better to row. Shackleton in the Caird doubted that some men would survive the night.
A hundred times, it seemed, Worsley was asked what time it was. Each time, he reached under his shirt and took out the chronometer he carried slung around his neck to keep it warm. Holding it up close to his face, he read its hands in the feeble light of the moon, shining through the thin snow clouds. In time, it became a kind of gruesome game - seeing who could hold out the longest before asking again what time it was. When finally somebody succumbed to the temptation, every head rose to await Worsley's answer.
But the dawn did come - at last. And in its light the strain of the long dark hours showed on every face. Cheeks were drained and white, eyes were bloodshot from the salt spray and the fact that the men had slept only once in the past four days. Matted beards had caught the snow and frozen into a mass of white. Shackleton searched their faces for an answer to the question that troubled him most: How much more could they take? There was no single answer. Some men looked on the point of breaking, while others showed an unmistakable determination to hold out. At least, all of th
em had survived the night.
Shortly after sunrise, the wind swung around to the southeast and freshened considerably. Shackleton called to Worsley to bring the Docker alongside the Caird. After a hurried conference, they announced that, for the fourth time, the destination was changed. In view of the southeast wind, they would run for Elephant Island once more, now 10o miles to the northwest - and pray God the wind held fair till they arrived.
After redistributing the stores so that the Wills was less crowded, the boats hoisted sail and set off with the Caird in the lead. They worked their way through the floes, and the men took turns leaning over the bows, trying to fend off the ice. Even so, there were a number of collisions, and the Caird was stove in slightly when she ran into a particularly large piece. Fortunately the hole was above the waterline, but Shackleton ordered the boats to reduce sail to avoid further damage.
The primus stoves were lighted once more and a ration of hot milk was prepared. In addition, Shackleton said that all hands could eat all they wanted to make up for the cold and lack of sleep. It offered no enticement for some nlen, to whom seasickness was an additional misery. Orde-Lees was worst off, or at least he complained the most. But there was little sympathy for him. He had done less than the others ever since they had taken to the boats. Often when it came to his turn to row, he pleaded with Worsley to let him off, claiming that he was sick or that he didn't know how to row well enough. As usual, Worsley found it difficult to be stern, and since there were always plenty of volunteer oarsmen wanting to get warns, Orde-Lees was frequently allowed to skip his turn. On the rare occasions when he was ordered or shamed into taking up an oar, he managed to exhibit an ineptitude which won him a speedy relief. Several tines when he was rowing ahead of Kerr, he kept just enough out of rhythm so that when he leaned back after every stroke he smashed into Kerr's fingers behind him. Curses, threats - nothing had any effect on him. He seemed not even to hear. Finally Kerr would ask Worsley to replace Orde-Lees.
Endurance, Deluxe Ed: The Greatest Adventure Story Ever Told by Alfred Lansing Page 17