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

by Alfred Lansing

  This anxiety had a solid basis in fact. The month of May - the equivalent to November in the Northern Hemisphere - was already one quarter over. Winter was only a matter of weeks, possibly days, away. When it did arrive, there was a strong possibility that ice might form completely around the island and thwart any attempts to bring a ship in. On May 12, Macklin wrote: `Wind from E. Expect we will get the Pack into the bay again - we do not want this just now, with daily hope of the Relief Ship.'

  There was plenty to keep them occupied - though they worked with one eye kept to seaward. There were penguins to be killed, and once in a while a seal, and there was ice to be gathered for water. They spent long hours trying to snare paddies - small pigeonlike scavenger birds which flitted around the pile of meat. An oar was made into a flagstaff and placed on the highest accessible point. From it, incongruously enough, the Royal Yacht Club burgee stood out before the Elephant Island gales as a signal to the anticipated relief ship.

  Macklin and Mcllroy were kept busy with patients. Kerr developed a bad tooth and Macklin had to pull it for him. `And a grimy quack of a dentist I must have looked,' wrote Macklin. `Not much refinement here - "Come outside and open your mouth" - no cocaine or anaesthesia.'

  Wordie's hand became infected, and Holness was troubled with a sty. Rickinson was slowly recovering from the heart attack he suffered the day they landed, but the salt-water boils on his wrists stubbornly refused to heal. Greenstreet's feet, which had been frostbitten in the boats, did not improve and he was confined to his sleeping bag.

  Hudson seemed in a serious way. His hands showed definite signs of healing, but the pain in his left buttock which had begun in the boats had developed into a very large abscess which pained him constantly. Mentally, too, the scars of the boat journey apparently were still with him. Much of the time he lay in his sleeping bag for hours without speaking, and he seemed disinterested and detached from what was going on around him.

  Skinning penguins

  The most serious invalid was Blackboro. His right foot appeared to be recovering, and there was hope that it might even be saved. But in the toes of his left foot gangrene had already set in. Mcllroy, who was attending him, was chiefly concerned with preventing the afflicted parts from developing what is called `wet gangrene,' in which the dead flesh remains soft and is likely to spread infection to other parts of the body. In dry gangrene, the parts turn black and become brittle. In time, the body builds up a wall separating the living tissue from the dead, and the threat of infection is greatly reduced. Mcllroy was intent on seeing that Blackboro's foot remained dry so that the separation would be complete before any operation was undertaken.

  More and more, as the days wore on, they fell inescapably into the routine of their existence. Each evening before supper they would take one final long look to seaward to make certain that the dark shape of a ship or a wisp of smoke on the horizon had not been overlooked. But when they had satisfied themselves that no relief vessel was to be seen, they would go into the hut for supper.

  Afterward Hussey would often play the banjo for a time. But the short period in the evening before the blubber lamps were extinguished was devoted mostly to talk. Almost anything could serve as a topic of conversation or debate, though their rescue was the primary subject, with food running a close second.

  Marston had a Penny Cookbook, and it was in constant demand. Each night he would loan it out to one group of men or another, and they would pore over it, planning the imaginary meals they would have when they got home. Orde-Lees wrote one night: `We want to be fed with a large wooden spoon and, like the Korean babies, be patted on the stomach with the back of the spoon so as to get in a little more than would otherwise be the case. In short, we want to be overfed, grossly overfed, yes, very grossly overfed on nothing but porridge and sugar, blackcurrant and apple pudding and cream, cake, milk, eggs, jam, honey and bread and butter till we burst, and we'll shoot the man who offers us meat. We don't want to see or hear of any more meat as long as we live.'

  On May 17, Mcllroy conducted a poll of the hut, asking each man what he would have if he were permitted any one dish of his choice. The results revealed that Orde-Lees was right - the craving for sweets was almost unanimous, and the sweeter the better. A sampling:

  CLARK Devonshire dumpling with cream

  JAMES Syrup pudding

  MCILROY Marmalade pudding and Devonshire cream

  R I C K I N S O N Blackberry and apple tart with cream

  WILD Apple pudding and cream

  H u S SEY Porridge, sugar and cream

  GREEN Apple dumpling

  GREENSTREET Christmas pudding

  KERR Dough and syrup

  There were a few men, however, whose first choice went to something other than sweets:

  MACLAN Scrambled eggs on toast

  BAKEWELL Baked pork and beans

  CHEETHAM Pork, apple sauce, potatoes, and turnips

  And BLACKBORO simply wanted some plain bread and butter.

  Green found himself the subject of much interest because he had once been employed as a pastry cook, and the men never seemed to tire of asking him about it - especially whether he had been permitted to eat all he wanted on the job.

  One night Hurley, lying in his sleeping bag, heard Wild and Mcllroy discussing food.

  `Do you like doughnuts?' Wild asked.

  `1Zather,' Mcllroy replied.

  `Damned easily made, too,' Wild said. `I like them cold with a little jam.'

  `Not bad,' said McIlroy, `but how about a huge omelette?'

  `Bally fine.'

  Later two of the forecastle hands were overheard by Hurley `discussing some extraordinary mixture of hash, apple sauce, beer and cheese.' Then Marston, referring to his cookbook, got into a heated debate with Green over whether breadcrumbs should form the base for all puddings.

  Through one means or another, they kept their spirits up - mostly by building dreams. But each day the ever-shortening hours of daylight told of the approach of winter. The sun now rose a little after nine o'clock and set about 3 p.m. Since they were more than 300 miles north of the Antarctic Circle, they did not have to face the prospect of the sun disappearing altogether. But the weather was becoming increasingly cold.

  Macklin wrote on May 22: `There is a big change in the scenery about here - everything is now covered with snow, and there is a considerable ice foot to both sides of the spit. For the last few days ice has been coming in, and dense pack extends in all directions as far as the eye can reach, making the chances of a near rescue seem very remote. No ship but a properly constructed ice-ship would be safe in this pack; an iron steamer would be smashed up very soon. Besides this there is very little daylight now .. '

  Indeed, the realization was spreading that, logically at least, a rescue before winter was becoming increasingly improbable, if not impossible. On May 23, one month and one day after the Caird had sailed, Hurley wrote: `Weather drifting snow and wind from east. Our wintry environment embodies the most inhospitable and desolate prospect imaginable. All are resigned now and fully anticipate wintering.'

  Chapter Five

  They were not resigned, though - not by any means. Perhaps logically there was so little chance for a ship to get through that it would be best to adopt an attitude of stoic resignation. But there was simply too much at stake.

  `Every morning,' Macklin wrote on June 6,'l go to the top of the hill, and in spite of everything I cannot help hoping to see a ship coming along to our relief.' Even Hurley, who had been so positive, recorded that `all [hands] scour the skyline daily in the expectancy of a mast or plume of smoke.'

  And though day after day no ship appeared, they attributed it to a dozen different reasons - the ice, the gales, the fog, arrangements for getting a proper ship, official delays - and all or any of these factors combined. There was almost never any mention of the most probable reason of all ... the Caird had been lost.

  In an entry notable for its candor, Orde-Lees wrote: `One cannot
help but be a bit anxious about Sir Ernest. One wonders how he fared, where he is now and how it is that he has not yet been able to relieve us. [But] the subject is practically taboo; everyone keeps their own counsel and thinks different, and no one knows just what anyone else thinks about it, and it is quite obvious that no one really dare say what they really do think.'

  But whatever each of them might think, there was nothing to do but to wait and hope. Each day one man took his turn as `stoker,' and it was his duty to tend the fire all day, keeping it going with penguin skins - and a minimum of smoke. There was also the job of `outside Peggy,' which entailed bringing in ice for water and gathering the necessary supplies of frozen meat to be cooked. Both tasks were tedious, and there was a fair amount of trading in order to escape them. Half a penguin steak would usually buy the services of a substitute stoker for one day.

  There was also a good deal of bartering in the matter of rations, and several food pools were formed. Typical of these was the `sugar pool' in which each man who belonged passed up one of his three lumps of sugar each day in order to partake of a feast when his turn came around every sixth or seventh day. Wild made no objection to this sort of thing. In fact he permitted a wide range of flexibility in most matters. It served to avoid friction and it gave the men something to occupy their minds.

  There was, on the whole, an astounding absence of serious antagonisms, considering the conditions under which they were attempting to exist. Possibly it was because they were in a state of almost perpetual minor friction. Arguments rambled on the whole day through, and they served to let off a great deal of steam which might otherwise have built up. In addition, the party had been reduced to an almost classless society in which most of them felt free to speak their minds, and did. A man who stepped on another man's head trying to find his way out at night was treated to the same abuse as any other, regardless of what his station might once have been.

  This matter of going outside at night to relieve themselves was possibly the most disagreeable aspect of their existence. A man had to pick his way amongst the sleepers by the light of only a single blubber lamp, kept burning specifically for this purpose. It was almost physically impossible to avoid stepping on somebody somewhere. Then came the crawl through the hut entrance and out into weather which often approached blizzard conditions. Frequently a man could scarcely keep his feet outside. Pieces of rock and bits of ice flew unseen through the blackness. Rather than face such a prospect, the men came to practice bladder control to the limits of bodily endurance.

  After a time, however, Wild succumbed to mounting pressure and a 2gallon gasoline can was made into a urinal for use at night. The rule was that the man who raised its level to within 2 inches of the top had to carry the can outside and empty it. If a man felt the need and the weather outside was bad, he would lie awake waiting for somebody else to go so that he might judge from the sound the level of the can's contents.

  If it sounded ominously close to the top he would try to hold out until morning. But it was not always possible to do so, and he might be forced to get up. More than once, a man would fill the can as silently as possible, then steal back into his sleeping bag. The next man to get up would find to his fury that the can was full - and had to be emptied before it could be used.

  The unfortunate victim, however, could expect very little sympathy. Most of the men looked on this as a kind of practical joke, and anyone who really lost his temper about it was so roundly ridiculed by the others that he soon gave it up.

  But there were definite fluctuations in morale, in accordance with the weather and whether the pack was in or out. When the sun did shine, the island became a place of rugged beauty, with the sunlight shimmering off the glaciers, producing indescribably vivid colors that were constantly changing. For all the party, it was difficult to be unhappy on days like this. But most of the time the island was far from beautiful. Though the gales were fewer, there were long stretches of wet, gloomy weather, resulting in the kind of outlook Greenstreet recorded one evening: `Everyone spent the day rotting in their bags with blubber and tobacco smoke - so passes another goddam rotten day.'

  Throughout May, the more pessimistic members of the party - championed by Orde-Lees - had predicted that one day the penguins would migrate and never be seen again until the end of the winter. Orde-Lees felt so strongly, in fact, that he made a number of bets on the matter. Then one day early in June he lost three, all at the same time.

  He had wagered (1) that there would not be a single penguin on that day; (2) that no more than ten would appear on any one day after June 1, and (3) that no more than thirty would be secured during the entire month. On that particular day they killed 1 1S .

  Food was thus not a cause for immediate concern. But there were other matters that needed attention - notably Blackboro's foot. Early in June Mcllroy was satisfied that the separation between the dead and the living tissue was complete, and it would be dangerous to postpone the operation any longer. A rescue in time to get Blackboro to a hospital where the amputation might be done properly was now obviously out of the question. The operation would have to take place on the next warm day.

  June 15 dawned mild and misty. Mcllroy, after consulting with Wild and Macklin, decided to proceed. Blackboro had long before resigned himself to the operation. What few surgical supplies they had were made ready, and as soon as breakfast was over, the hoosh pot was filled with ice which was melted into water and brought to a boil to sterilize the instruments. A number of packing cases were placed side by side close to the stove and covered with blankets to serve as an operating table.

  A glacier on Elephant Island

  When everything was ready, the men were herded outside to wait until the operation was over. The two other invalids, Hudson and Greenstreet, remained in the hut. Hudson lay at the far end, but Greenstreet's berth across the seats of the Docker was directly over the operating scene. Wild and How both stayed inside to assist, and Hurley remained to stoke the fire. As soon as the men had left, he began to pile penguin skins onto the blaze.

  As the temperature started to rise, Blackboro was lifted onto the operating table. Every available blubber lamp was lighted, and the dingy interior of the hut grew fairly light in the little circle around the stove. When it was warm enough, Mcllroy and Macklin stripped to their undershirts, the cleanest garments they had.

  The anesthetic was to be chloroform - not a very good one, especially close to an open fire. But it was all they had, and there were only 6 ounces of that. Macklin, who was to administer it, waited for the hut to get warm enough so that the chloroform would vaporize. As Hurley fed skins into the stove, the temperature crept upward. Within twenty minutes it had reached a sweltering 8o degrees, and Macklin uncorked the bottle of chloroform and poured a small amount onto a piece of surgical gauze. Then he patted Blackboro's shoulder reassuringly and held the gauze across his face. He instructed Blackboro to close his eyes and breathe deeply, and Blackboro obediently did as he was told. Within five minutes he was unconscious, and Macklin nodded to Mcllroy that he could begin.

  Blackboro's foot was propped up and extended over the edge of the packing cases. A large empty tin can was placed underneath. When the bandage was removed, the flesh of Blackboro's toes looked almost mummified, black and brittle. Wild removed a scalpel from the hoosh pot sterilizer and handed it to McIlroy.

  At the far end of the hut, Hudson turned his face away so that he wouldn't have to watch. Greenstreet, however, peered down from his perch, thoroughly absorbed in what was going on beneath him.

  McIlroy cut across the end of Blackboro's foot, then peeled the skin back. Macklin glanced at Wild and saw that he never flinched. `A hard case,' Macklin thought to himself.

  Mcllroy then asked for a pair of forceps, and Wild removed them from the boiling water. To Greenstreet they looked like a pair of tin snips. Carefully, Mcllroy reached well up under the flap of skin to where the toes joined the foot. Then one at a time he cut them off. Each dropped
with a metallic clatter into the empty tin can below.

  Next Mcllroy meticulously scraped away the dead, blackened flesh, and when the wound was clean, he carefully stitched it up. Finally it was done; Blackboro's foot had been neatly trimmed off just at the ball joint. Altogether it had taken fifty-five minutes.

  Before long Blackboro began to moan, and in a little while he opened his eyes. He was groggy for a time, but then he smiled up at the two doctors. `I'd like a cigarette,' he said.

  James Mcllroy, the ship's surgeon

  So Mcllroy tore a page out of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, rubbed up some plug tobacco and rolled a cigarette for his patient.The tension in the hut eased, and Wild, seeing the hoosh pot full of water, suggested that they use it to wash. Mcllroy and Macklin were delighted with the idea. A tiny scrap of soap was found, and they removed their undershirts and washed themselves as best they could down to their waists. Still a small amount of hot water remained, so they borrowed three lumps of sugar from the next day's ration and brewed themselves some hot sugar water.

  The rest of the men, meanwhile, had sought shelter in the cave which had been dug in the face of the glacier. They had spent the time cutting one another's hair.

  Chapter Six

  Though the winter's pack ice on most days extended all the way to the horizon, and the relief ship - even if it had come - would have been held several miles offshore, there were rare occasions when the pack moved out. Thus the possibility that a rescue vessel might just slip through could never be entirely ruled out. So there was always that niggling little ray of hope which kept them climbing the lookout bluff religiously each day. But it also served to slow the passage of time.

  One by one the wearisome days crept by. There was only one high point - Midwinter's Day on June 22. They celebrated it with a hearty breakfast in the morning and a marvelous nut-food pudding for supper consisting of twenty-three biscuits, four sledging rations, two boxes of powdered milk, and twelve pieces of nut food.