Endurance, Deluxe Ed: The Greatest Adventure Story Ever Told by Alfred Lansing

by Alfred Lansing

  When Shackleton gave the order that unlimited food would be permitted, the men in the Docker taunted Orde-Lees by making sure he saw them eating their fill in the hope that it would sicken him further.

  Lionel Greenstreet

  Toward eleven o'clock, the scattered pack began to thin out, though the boats were still faced with large patches of newly frozen slush. At one point the pancake ice was littered with thousands of dead fish about seven inches long, which apparently had been killed by a cold current. Vast numbers of fulmars and snow petrels swooped down to pick them off the ice.

  All the while the wind was increasing. By late morning it had risen almost to gale force and was driving the boats along at a remarkable clip.

  Just before noon they burst from the line of pack into the open sea.

  The change was breathtaking. The northwest swell, which had been cushioned by the pack, now advanced upon the boats in undisguised immensity. Their course lay directly into it, and within minutes they were struggling up a hill of water whose face was a quarter mile long. At its summit the wind shrieked, blowing the spray into thin, feathery lines. Then they started down, a slow but steep descent into the valley leading to the next swell. Over and over again the cycle was repeated. Before long the pack was lost from sight, and occasionally one or another of the boats disappeared behind one of these enormous rolling hills of water.

  It was as if they had suddenly emerged into infinity. They had an ocean to themselves, a desolate, hostile vastness. Shackleton thought of the lines of Coleridge:

  Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea.

  They made a pitiable sight - three little boats, packed with the odd remnants of what had once been a proud expedition, bearing twenty-eight suffering men in one final, almost ludicrous bid for survival. But this time there was to be no turning back, and they all knew it.

  The men clung to the sides of the pitching boats as they drove forward. Though they were making excellent headway, their progress was hard won. Both the Docker and the Wills were shipping water continually. The crews sat facing aft, with the wind directly in their faces - a position only slightly preferable to facing forward, where they would have been stung by the spray breaking over the side.

  By midafternoon, the wind had risen even more, so Shackleton ordered a second reef taken in the sails, and they proceeded this way until dusk. At sunset, Worsley drew the Docker alongside the Caird and urged that they continue, but Shackleton flatly refused. It was difficult enough, he said, to keep the boats together in daylight; at night it would be impossible. He even rejected Worsley's suggestion that they join up and row during the night.

  Shackleton was convinced that their best chance of reaching safety was to remain together. Both the Caird and the Wills were largely dependent on Worsley's skill as a navigator, and Shackleton was acutely aware that the Wills needed constant looking after. Not only was she the least seaworthy of the three boats, but Hudson, who was commanding her, was one of those less equal to the strain, and he was obviously weakening, both physically and mentally. Shackleton was certain the Wills would be lost if she got separated from the others.

  He decided that the three boats would spend the night hove to. He ordered the Docker to rig a sea anchor, and the Caird made fast to the Docker's stern with the Wills behind her. Working with stiffening fingers, Worsley, Greenstreet, and McLeod lashed three oars together and stretched a piece of canvas across them. The contrivance was then made fast to a long piece of line and pitched over the side. They hoped the sea anchor would act as a brake, holding the bows of the boats up into the wind as it was dragged through the water. When it was in position, the crews of all three boats settled down to wait for morning.

  Never was there a worse night. As the darkness deepened, the wind increased and the temperature dropped ever lower. Again an actual reading was impossible, but it was probably at least as low as 8 below. It was so cold that the seas that broke over them froze almost as soon as they hit. Even before the darkness was complete, it became apparent that the sea anchor could not hold them up into the wind effectively. The boats continually dropped off into the trough of the waves where they were swept broadside by the seas. The boats, the men - everything was soaked, then frozen. Most of the men tried to shelter themselves under the tent cloths, but the wind repeatedly tore them loose.

  On the Caird they managed to make enough room for four Wien to huddle together at one time in the pile of sleeping bags in the bow, and they took turns trying in vain to sleep. On the Docker, however, there was only room enough for the men to sit upright, huddled together with their feet squeezed between the cases of stores. The seas that came on board ran down into the bottom of the boat, and since most of the men were wearing felt boots, their feet were soaked all night in the icy water. They did what they could to keep the boats bailed dry, but the water sometimes rose ankle-deep. To keep their feet from freezing, they worked their toes constantly inside their boots. They could only hope that the pain in their feet would continue, because comfort, much as they yearned for it, would mean that they were freezing. After a time, it took extreme concentration for them to keep wiggling their toes - it would have been so terribly easy just to stop.

  As the hours dragged by and their agony deepened, the men in the Docker fought back with the single pitifully ridiculous weapon they had - curses. They cursed everything cursable - the sea, the boat, the spray, the cold, the wind, and often one another. There was a kind of pleading tone to their curses, though, as if they were prayerfully appealing for deliverance from this wet and freezing misery. Most of all they cursed Orde-Lees, who had got hold of the only set of oilskins and refused to give them up. He maneuvered himself into the most comfortable position in the boat by shoving Marston out, and he would not move. He either ignored or was oblivious to the oaths flung at him. After a while, Marston gave up and made his way to the stern where he sat down alongside Worsley at the tiller. For a time there was only the moaning of the wind through the rigging. Then, to give vent to his rage, Marston began to sing. He sang one song, then waited, and then another. Finally he repeated over and over in a tired, thin voice, a song whose chorus went:

  Twankedillo, Twankedillo,

  And a roaring pair of bagpipes

  Made from the green willow.

  Throughout the night the men were troubled by the need to urinate frequently. Certainly the intense cold was a factor in this condition, and the two physicians believed it was aggravated by the fact that they were continually wet so that they absorbed water through their skin. Whatever the reason, it required a man to leave the slight comfort of the sheltering canvas and make his way to the lee side of the boat several times during the night. Most of the men also had diarrhea from their diet of uncooked pemmican, and they would suddenly have to rush for the side and, holding fast to a shroud, sit on the frozen gunwale. Invariably, the icy sea wet them from beneath.

  By far the worst off of the boats was the Wills. The water she was shipping was sometimes almost kneedeep. Little Wally How, the seaman, found it impossible to drive from his mind the fear that a killer whale would upset them into the water. Stevenson, the fireman, periodically buried his face in his hands and wept. Blackboro, who had insisted on wearing leather boots to save his felt pair for what he thought would be the future, lost all feeling in his feet after several hours. And Hudson, who had been at the tiller for almost seventy-two hours straight, developed a pain in his left buttock which became increasingly intense as the part began to swell. After a time he had to sit hunched sideways, and the rolling of the boat was agony to him. He was also suffering from severe frostbite in his hands.

  The line between the Wills and the Caird alternately tightened and slacked, dropping into the water and rising into the bitter cold air each time. As the hours passed, it accumulated an ever-thickening coat of ice. The lives of the eight men aboard the Wills depended on that line. If it parted, and it seemed almost certain to, the Wills would fall off into the troug
h of the sea and be swamped long before her crew could beat the ice off the sail and hoist it.

  All the boats were thick with ice, but the Wills was weighted down like a log. The seas poured on board her, flowing over the pile of sleeping bags in the bow and leaving them sheathed in ice. Ice formed in masses around her bow as she dipped into each sea, weighting her down that much more, so that every half hour or oftener, men had to be sent forward to beat the ice off her bow lest she go under.

  Finally, for the entire party, there was thirst. They had left the pack so abruptly and unexpectedly that they had failed to take on board any ice to be melted into water. There had been nothing to drink since the previous morning, and the men were beginning to crave water desperately. Their mouths were dry and their half-frostbitten lips began to swell and crack. Some men, when they tried to eat, found it impossible to swallow, and their hunger brought on seasickness.

  Chapter Four

  Toward 3 a.m., the wind began to fall, and by five o'clock it had dropped to a gentle breeze. Gradually the sea grew calmer.

  Cape Valentine, Elephant Island

  The sky was clear, and finally the sun rose in unforgettable brilliance through a pink mist along the horizon, which soon melted into flanging gold.

  It was more than just a sunrise. It seemed to flood into their souls, rekindling the life within them. They watched the growing light quenching the wild, dark misery of the night that now, at last, was over.

  As the sun climbed a fraction higher, they saw off the starboard bow the peaks of Clarence Island, and a little later, Elephant Island, dead ahead - the Promised Land, no more than 30 miles away. In the joy of that moment, Shackleton called to Worsley to congratulate him on his navigation, and Worsley, stiff with cold, looked away in proud embarrassment.

  They would land by nightfall - provided that not a moment was lost. Shackleton, inpatient to be on the move, gave the order to get under way immediately. But it was not that simple. The light of dawn revealed the results of the night. Many faces were marked by the ugly white rings of frostbite, and almost everyone was afflicted with salt-water boils that gave off a gray, curdlike discharge when they broke. Mcllroy called to Shackleton from the Wills that Blackboro's feet apparently were gone because he had been unable to restore circulation in them. And Shackleton himself looked haggard. His voice, which was usually strong and clear, had grown hoarse with exhaustion. Both the Docker and the Wills were severely iced up, inside and out. It took more than an hour to chip away enough to make them fit for sailing.

  When it came time to haul in the sea anchor, Cheetham and Holness leaned over the bow of the Docker trying to untie the icy knot in the rope with fingers so stiff they would hardly move. While they worked, the Docker rose to a sea, then pitched downward. Holness failed to pull his head away, and two of his teeth were knocked out on the sea anchor. Tears welled in his eyes, rolled down into his beard, and froze there. The two men gave up trying to untie the sea anchor; they cut it loose and brought it, ice and all, on board.

  OPPOSITE Ice stalactites On Elephant Island

  The oars were frozen to the sides of the boats and had to be broken free. The men then tried to knock off their coating of ice, but two of them remained so slippery that they slid through the oarlocks and fell overboard. Fortunately the Caird managed to retrieve one, but the other drifted away.

  The boats were finally under way at seven o'clock. A ration of nut food and biscuits was issued, but the men's thirst was now so intense that few of them could eat it. Shackleton suggested that they try chewing seal pleat raw in order to swallow the blood. Pieces of the frozen meat were quickly handed out, and after several minutes of chewing and sucking, the men obtained enough of the bloody juice so they could at least swallow. But they went at it so voraciously that Shackleton realized the supply would soon be exhausted, so he ordered that the seal meat be given out only when thirst seemed to be threatening the reason of any individual.

  The sails were set and they put out the oars and rowed at the same time, aiming for the west edge of Elephant Island to offset the gentle southwest wind that was blowing.

  In the Docker, both Macklin and Greenstreet took off their boots and found their feet frostbitten, Greenstreet's much worse than Macklin's. Surprisingly, Orde-Lees offered to massage Greenstreet's feet. He worked over them for a long time; then he opened up his shirt and placed Greenstreet's half-frozen feet against the warmth of his bare chest. After a while, Greenstreet began to feel pain as the blood flowed back into the constricted vessels.

  Hour after hour they rowed, and the outline of Elephant Island slowly grew larger. At noon, they had covered almost half the distance; by one-thirty they were less than 15 miles away.They had had no sleep for almost eighty hours, and their bodies had been drained by exposure and effort of almost the last vestige of vitality. But the conviction that they had to land by nightfall gave rise to a strength borne of desperation. It was pull or perish, and ignoring their sickening thirst, they leaned on their oars with what seemed the last of their strength.

  By 2 p.m., the snowy, 3,500-foot peaks of Elephant Island rose steeply out of the water dead ahead, probably no more than i o miles off. But an hour later, the island was still in the same position, hanging there, no closer and yet no farther away. Row as they might, they were standing still, apparently caught in a strong tidal current setting offshore. The wind had shifted to the north, so that they were also bucking a headwind, and the sails had to be lowered.

  Shackleton, who was becoming progressively more anxious to get the party ashore, called the boats together and had them made fast one behind the other, with the Docker in the lead. He seemed to think it would increase their speed. It didn't. About four o'clock, the wind swung around to the west. Hurriedly they took in their oars and hoisted sail, trying to beat up into the wind. But for the Wills it was an impossible task, so the Cairn had to take her in tow. They made almost no headway against the current.

  Toward 5 p.m., the wind fell off. Immediately they took to the oars once more and pulled frantically in the gathering dusk, hoping to make a landing before night. But half an hour later the wind suddenly sprang up out of the WSW, and within fifteen minutes it was blowing nearly 50 miles an hour. Worsley brought the Docker alongside the Caird. Screaming to make himself heard above the wind, he told Shackleton he thought it would be best if the boats separated to try to make land independently along the southeast shore of Elephant Island.

  Shackleton, for once, agreed to the separation; at least, he granted Worsley permission to proceed independently. The Wills, however, was kept fast astern of the Caird, and Shackleton admonished Worsley to do everything in his power to stay within sight. It was dark by the time the Docker cast off. The island was close, but just how close was now impossible to tell - maybe i o miles, probably less. High in the sky was a ghostly, pale white image, the light of the moon shining through the clouds and reflecting back up from the glaciers on the island. It was all they had to steer by as the boats pounded forward into the cross sea. At times the wind was so strong they had to let go the lines holding the sails to avoid capsizing. The men in the Caird crouched low to escape the driving spray, but in the Docker, and especially the Wills, there was no escape.

  Those who were steering took the worst punishment of all, and about eight o'clock, the strain began to tell on Wild, who had been at the Caird's tiller for twenty-four hours without relief. Shackleton ordered McNeish to take over, but the carpenter himself was very nearly exhausted. After about half an hour at the tiller, though the icy wind tore at his clothing and the spray stung him in the face and soaked him through, McNeish's head slumped forward and he fell asleep. Instantly, the Caird's stern swung to leeward and a huge wave swept over them. It awakened McNeish, but Shackleton ordered Wild to resume the helm.

  Their immediate goal was the southeast corner of the island. Once around that, they would have the protection of the land; then they could look for a place to beach the boats. About nine-thirty, th
e reflection in the sky looked very close, and they knew they were almost on top of the land. But then, inexplicably, they began to lose ground. Looking over the sides of the boats they could see that they were traveling rapidly through the water, yet ever so gradually, the land was slipping from their grasp. There was nothing to do but to push on.

  About midnight, Shackleton glanced to starboard and saw that the Docker was gone. He jumped to his feet and peered intently across the stormy waters, but there was no sign of her. Anxiously, he ordered the candle in the compass binnacle lighted and then had the binnacle hoisted up the mast so that it shone on the Caird's sail. But no answering light appeared in the distance.

  Shackleton called for a box of matches. He instructed Hussey to light one every few minutes and hold it so that it flared against the sail. One at a time, Hussey struck the matches as Shackleton peered into the darkness. Still there was no signal from the Docker.

  But she tried to answer. She was hardly more than a half mile away, and her men had seen the Caird's signal in the dark. On Worsley's instructions they took their only candle under the tent cloth and lighted it. Then they tried to hold it so that its light would show through the canvas in reply to Shackleton's signal - but the reply was never seen.

  A moment later, all thought of trying to signal the Caird was forgotten as the Docker suddenly lurched violently in the grip of a fierce tide rip. Worsley was barely able to keep control of the boat. The crew hurriedly took in the sail and even unstopped the mast, which threatened to snap off in the wildly pitching boat. They put out the oars and tried to hold her steady by rowing. One moment she collided with a solid, unseen wave, then the water opened beneath her and she dropped into a dark chasm.