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

by Alfred Lansing

Worsley ordered Orde-Lees to take up an oar, but Orde-Lees begged to be let off, claiming that he was not a fit rower for such a perilous time, and that it was too wet for him. The two men screamed at one another in the darkness, and from every corner of the boat men cursed Orde-Lees. But it was no use, and finally Worsley disgustedly waved him forward. Orde-Lees immediately crawled into the bottom and refused to move, even though his weight unbalanced the boat.

  Greenstreet, Macklin, Kerr, and Marston were at the oars, and they had about reached the limit of their endurance. After a time, Worsley decided to risk hoisting sail again. He swung the Docker into the teeth of the wind, holding her as close to it as she would go, so that they were taking the seas more or less head on. He put all the skill of twenty-eight years at sea into holding her in that delicate position, but she was very nearly uncontrollable. Furthermore, she was becoming sluggish under her increasing burden of water. Orde-Lees, who had been lying in the bottom, sat upright. He seemed suddenly to realize that the boat was sinking, and he grabbed a pot and began to bail. Cheetham joined him, and together they worked furiously, hurling the water over the side. In time, the Docker rose again to the seas.

  It was now about three o'clock, and Worsley himself began to fail. He had faced the wind so long that his eyes refused to function properly, and he found it impossible to judge distance. Try as he might, he could no longer stay awake.They had been in the boats now for five and a half days, and during that time almost everyone had come to look upon Worsley in a new light. In the past he had been thought of as excitable and wild - even irresponsible. But all that was changed now. During these past days he had exhibited an almost phenomenal ability, both as a navigator and in the demanding skill of handling a small boat. There wasn't another man in the party even comparable with him, and he had assumed an entirely new stature because of it.

  Now, seated at the tiller, his head began to nod. Macklin saw him going and offered to take over. Worsley agreed, but when he tried to go forward he found he could not straighten out his body. He had sat for almost six days in the same position. McLeod and Marston came aft and pulled him out of the stern, dragging him over the seats and cases of stores. Then they laid him down in the bottom of the boat and rubbed his thighs and stomach until his muscles began to loosen. But by then he was asleep.

  Greenstreet, too, had taken a moment's exhausted rest, but now he awoke and took over the tiller from Macklin. Neither of them had any idea where they might be. But they shared the same dread as everybody else - the open sea. Between Elephant and Clarence Islands there is a gap about 14 miles wide, beyond which lies the Drake Passage. The last time the boats had been sure of their position was at dusk, when Elephant Island lay only about io miles away. But since then the wind had been out of the southwest -straight toward that fateful gap. If they were blown through, the chances of beating back to windward toward the island would be virtually nonexistent. Nevertheless, Greenstreet and Macklin admitted frankly to one another that very likely the Docker had already been driven out to sea.

  The Docker's compass had been smashed some time earlier, and all that remained to steer by was Worsley's little silver pocket compass. The two men spread the tent cover over their heads, and Macklin struck matches while Greenstreet tried to read the compass. But even under the shelter of the canvas, the wind snuffed out the matches almost as soon as they were lit. Macklin then took his knife and split the individual match heads to make them flare long enough so that Greenstreet could see the compass. Every few minutes they ducked under the tent cloth and took a reading, hoping to hold the Docker on a southwest course so that at least she would not be blown farther out to sea.

  As they seemed on the very brink of exhaustion, and as the wind screamed to new heights, the palest hint of light showed in the eastern sky and began to brighten, very slowly. There was no telling how long it took to get light enough to see, but it was a long, long time. Even their raging thirst, after forty-eight hours without water, was forgotten as they waited for the sun to reveal their fate. Secretly, each man tried to prepare himself for the shock of seeing only an empty sea, or at best a distant island far away to windward and unreachable.

  Gradually, the surface of the sea became discernible. And there, dead ahead, were the enormous gray-brown cliffs of Elephant Island rising out of the mists, sheer from the water, high above the boat - and less than a mile away. The distance seemed no more than a few hundred yards. There was no great joy in that moment. Only a feeling of astonishment which soon gave way to a sense of tremendous relief.

  Just then, without an instant's warning, offshore gusts of wind swept down off the cliffs, striking the surface of the sea at perhaps ioo miles an hour. A moment later a wall of water as high as the boat rolled toward the Docker.

  Greenstreet shouted to drop the sail. The oars were hurriedly put out and they pulled head-on into the blasts that shrieked down off the mountaintops. Somehow they managed to hold the Docker's head up into it, but the exertion required them to put forth strength they no longer really had. Looking forward, they saw a new wave, possibly 6 feet high, bearing down upon them.

  Somebody shouted to wake up Worsley, and McLeod shook him violently, trying to rouse him. But Worsley was like a dead man, sprawled over the cases of stores midships with the soaking wet tent cloth spread over him. McLeod shook him again, and when Worsley failed to stir, McLeod kicked hint, again and again; finally Worsley opened his eyes. He sat up, and instantly he realized what was happening.

  `For God's sake,' he shouted, `get her around - get away from it! Hoist the sail!'

  Greenstreet put the tiller over, and the men struggled feverishly to raise the sail. She had just caught the wind when the first wave hit them and rolled over the stern. Greenstreet was almost knocked off his seat. A moment later, the second wave engulfed them. The Docker, half-filled with water, slumped under the burden and lost most of her headway. Everything else was forgotten. The men seized the first thing that came to hand and began to bail. They threw the water over the side with mugs, hats, even their cupped bare hands. Gradually they got the Docker emptied out.Worsley took the tiller and turned north to run before the gale, with the seas pursuing the boat from astern. He guided her close inshore, just under the lofty glaciers fringing the island. Pieces of ice floated amongst the waves, and the men leaned over the sides as the boat drove past and scooped them up with their hands.

  A moment later they were chewing and sucking greedily, and the delicious water was running down their throats.

  Chapter Five

  Throughout the night, Shackleton on board the Caird had kept watch for the Docker. And as the hours passed, his anxiety mounted. He had faith in Worsley's seamanship, but such a night demanded something more than skill.

  However, there was more than enough to keep him occupied with the Cairo. Wild remained at the tiller, and as the southwest gale increased, he held them on a course as nearly into the wind as possible so that they wouldn't be blown past the island. Spray burst over the bow and swept across the dark forms of the nien huddled in the bottom of the boat. Hussey tried tending the line to the mainsail, but several times the wind tore it from his grasp, and Vincent had to take over for him.

  On board the Wills, towed astern of the Caird, conditions were even more miserable. The pain in Hudson's side had become almost intolerable, and it was more than he could bear to stay at the tiller. Tom Crean took over for him, and occasionally Billy Bakewell had a turn at steering. Rickinson, a slight individual, seemed on the point of collapse, and sat by himself off to one side. How and Stevenson, when they weren't bailing, clung to one another seeking to generate some bit of warmth between their bodies.

  The bow of the Wills plunged into almost every sea, so that the men sat kneedeep in water. Ironically, this was almost a comfort, for the water was warmer than the air. Blackboro's feet were long since beyond the point of hurting. He never complained, though he knew that it was only a platter of time until gangrene set in. Even if he lived, it
seemed unlikely that this youngster who had stowed away a year and a half earlier would ever walk again. Once during the night, Shackleton called to him in an attempt to raise his spirits.

  `Blackboro,' he shouted in the darkness.

  `Here, sir,' Blackboro replied.

  `We shall be on Elephant Island tomorrow,' Shackleton yelled. `No one has ever landed there before, and you will be the first ashore.'

  Blackboro did not answer.

  Shackleton sat in the stern of the Caird alongside Wild, with his hand on the line between them and the Wills. Before dark, he had instructed Hudson that if the Wills got adrift, he was to make for land to leeward, probably Clarence Island, and wait there until a rescue boat could be sent to pick up the men. But the order had been merely a routine pretense. Shackleton knew that if the Wills broke loose, she would never be seen again. And now, as he sat in the stern, he could feel the Wills seize up on the towline as she rose unwillingly to each wave. Looking back he could just see her in the darkness. Several times the line went slack and she disappeared from sight only to reappear suddenly, outlined against the whiteness of a breaking wave.

  When at last the first gray tinge of dawn appeared, the Wills, by some marvelous caprice of luck, was still doggedly astern of the Caivd. And there was land, too, looming on top of them off the port bow - great black headlands appearing through the mists, scarcely a quarter mile away. Immediately, Shackleton ordered them to put about and head west across the wind. And in the space of fifteen minutes, possibly less, the wind suddenly eased off. They had passed the northeast tip of the island - and they were under the lee of the land at last. They held to a westerly course with the hulking cliffs and glaciers rearing up alongside them. Dominican gulls screamed in flight along the rock faces that rose sheer from the water, great masses of volcanic formations against whose sides the seas broke furiously. But there was no sign of a landing place - not even the smallest cove or beach.

  There was ice, though. Large pieces of glaciers that had tumbled into the water floated on the surface. The men snatched up small chunks and thrust them into their mouths. For nearly an hour they searched the shoreline for a foothold, however small. Then somebody spied a tiny, shingled beach, halfhidden behind a chain of rocks. Shackleton stood up on one of the seats and saw that it was a treacherous place. He hesitated for a moment, then ordered the boats to make for it.

  When they were a thousand yards off, Shackleton signaled the Wills to come alongside and take him on board. Of the two boats, she had the shallower draft, and Shackleton wanted to approach the beach in her first to see if the Caird could negotiate the seething channel between the rocks.

  At that exact moment, the Docker was driving westward along the coast, looking for a place to land. Since sunrise, by Worsley's estimate, they had gone 14 miles, past point after point, without seeing a single site fit to beach the boat on. During all that distance, there had not been a glimpse of the other two boats, and it was now almost nine-thirty. The Docker's crew were sure that they alone had survived the night. `Poor blighters,' Greenstreet whispered to Macklin. `They're gone.'

  OV ERI.EAI The crew unload the James Laird on arrival at Elephant Island

  Then they rounded a tiny spit of land, and there, dead ahead, were the masts of the Caird and Wills, bobbing in the backwash from the breakers. By some incredible coincidence, the Docker's inability to find a suitable place to land had reunited her with the rest of the party. Had there been a haven somewhere in those 14 miles behind her, the two groups might now have been miles apart, each assuming the other had been lost.

  The men aboard the Docker gave three hoarse cheers to their shipmates, but the noise of the breakers drowned them out. A few minutes later, their sail was sighted from the Caird, and just then Shackleton himself looked up and saw the Docker bearing down upon them. By then the Wills was close inshore. A shallow reef lay across the opening, and heavy rollers foamed over it. Shackleton waited for his moment, then gave the order to pull, and the Wills rolled safely over the reef, With the next wave, her bow ground against the shore.

  Shackleton, remembering his promise, urged Blackboro to jump ashore, but the lad failed to move. He seemed not to comprehend what Shackleton was saying. Impatiently, Shackleton took hold of him and lifted him over the side. Blackboro dropped to his hands and knees, then rolled over and sat down with the surf surging around hint.

  `Get up,' Shackleton ordered.

  Blackboro looked up. `I can't, sir,' he replied.

  Shackleton suddenly remembered Blackboro's feet. In the excitement of the landing he had forgotten, and he felt ashamed. How and Bakewell jumped overboard and pulled Blackboro farther up the beach.

  The stores were rapidly unloaded, and the Wills was rowed out to the Docker. Stores and men were transferred and ferried ashore. Then the Caird was unloaded enough so she could negotiate the reef.

  As the boats were being pulled to safety, Dickinson suddenly turned pale, and a minute later collapsed of a heart attack. Greenstreet's frostbitten feet would hardly support him, and he hobbled ashore and lay down alongside of Blackboro. Hudson pulled himself through the surf, then sank down on the beach. Stevenson, a vacant expression on his face, was helped ashore, out of reach of the water.

  They were on land.

  It was the merest handhold, 10o feet wide and So feet deep. A meager grip on a savage coast, exposed to the full fury of the sub-Antarctic Ocean. But no matter - they were on land. For the first time in 497 days they were on land. Solid, unsinkable, immovable, blessed land.

  Chapter One

  Many of the men half-stumbled about aimlessly, shuffling their feet on the pebbles, or bending down to pick up a handful of rocks; some even dropped full length to the ground to feel its sublime solidity beneath them. For a time a few men simply sat down, shivering uncontrollably and mumbling gibberish to themselves.

  Just then the sun came out. In its light their faces showed dead white from exhaustion and frostbite, and from being continually soaked with water. The circles around their eyes were so deep their eyes seemed to have sunk slightly into their heads.

  Green readied some milk as quickly as he could, and each man's mug was filled. They drank it almost boiling hot and its heat spread throughout their bodies, setting their nerves to tingling as if their blood had suddenly been thawed and begun to flow again.

  From where they stood around the blubber stove, the cliffs of their side of the island were less than 15 yards away. They rose straight up Boo feet into the air, leveled off for a bit, then climbed skyward again to a height of perhaps 2,500 feet. But their little niche of gravel was relatively thick with life - `a land of fatness, Antarctically speaking,' James noted. Farther down the beach, ten seals lay basking in the sun a short distance from the water. There was also a small rookery of ringed penguins high up on a rock to one side, and periodically little bands of gentoo penguins waddled up out of the water to survey these strange creatures who had come in from the sea. There were birds, too - skua gulls, paddies, cormorants, and Cape pigeons.

  Shackleton stood in the center of the group. He had removed his helmet and his long, uncut hair hung down over his forehead. His shoulders were bent with care, and his voice was so hoarse from shouting that he was unable to speak above a whisper. Yet he felt a profound sense of satisfaction and accomplishment to be standing at last on land, surrounded by his men.

  The men themselves spoke very little as they drank their milk. Each seemed absorbed in his own thoughts. Most of them were extremely unsteady, both from exhaustion and from the fact that they had fought the motion of the boats so long that their equilibrium was temporarily unbalanced. When they had finished their milk, a party was sent to bring in some seals. They brought back four, which were immediately stripped of blubber, and cut into thick steaks. Green set to work frying up all the steaks his pots could hold while the rest of the men pitched the tents and piled the stores well clear of the water.

  Finally the food was ready, and they ate.
It was not breakfast, lunch or dinner, but rather one long intermittent meal. As soon as they had finished the first round of steaks, Green put more on the fire. When these were ready the men stopped whatever they were doing and ate again. It wasn't until nearly 3 p.m. that they had eaten all they could hold.

  The first drink and hot food for three and a half days

  Then it was time to sleep. They unrolled their soaked sleeping bags and wrung out what water they could; the dampness that remained made little difference. James wrote: `Turned in and slept, as we had never slept before, absolute dead dreamless sleep, oblivious of wet sleeping bags, lulled by the croaking of the penguins.' It was the same for all of them. `How delicious,' wrote Hurley, `to wake in one's sleep and listen to the chanting of the penguins mingling with the music of the sea. To fall asleep and awaken again and feel this is real. We have reached the land! !'

  Most of the men were awakened once during that glorious night to stand an hour's watch, and even this was almost a pleasure. The night was calm, and the sky was clear. The moon shone on the little pebbled beach, washed by the waves, a scene of utter tranquility. Furthermore, wrote Worsley, the watchmen, during their i -hour tour of duty, `feed themselves, keep the blub ber fire going, feed themselves, dry their clothes, feed themselves, and then feed themselves again before turning in.'

  Shackleton permitted the men to sleep until nine-thirty the next morning. But at breakfast an ugly rumor began to circulate, and when they had finished eating, Shackleton confirmed the almost shocking truth of it. They would have to move.

  There could hardly have been a more demoralizing prospect. Having barely escaped the sea's hungry grasp a scant twenty-four hours before, now to have to return to it ... But the need was indisputable. They could see that only great good fortune had permitted them to land where they were. The cliffs at the head of the beach bore the marks of high tides and the scars of storm damage, indicating that the entire spit was frequently swept by seas. The place was obviously tenable only in good weather and while the tides were moderate.