An Unsung Hero: Tom Crean - Antarctic Survivor

by Michael Smith

  ‘Mr Sorlle came out to the door and said, “Well.”

  “Don’t you know me?” I said.

  “I know your voice,” he replied doubtfully. “You’re the mate of the Daisy.”

  “My name is Shackleton,” I said.

  Immediately he put out his hand and said, “Come in, come in”.’9

  Anderson turned away and wept.

  22

  Beyond belief

  The scale of the achievement by Shackleton, Worsley and Crean is breathtaking by any standards. Indeed, it is almost beyond belief bearing in mind that the three men were hopelessly ill-equipped for either the 800-mile (1,300-km) journey across the Southern Ocean in an open boat or the forced march over the uncharted interior of South Georgia.

  They were poorly protected from the bitter elements, with their badly worn clothing and inadequate food supplies scarcely enough to sustain even modest physical effort – let alone the traumatic ocean crossing and the trek of about 40 miles (64 km) in 36 hours over the glaciers and icefields of South Georgia. The physical demands were immense and so, too, were the psychological strains which the ordeal imposed on the three men.

  Duncan Carse, the explorer who retraced their steps almost 40 years later in 1955, was astonished by what the three men had achieved and almost lost in admiration. He could barely understand how they survived and wrote a memorable assessment:

  ‘A man may travel on foot from the head of King Haakon Bay to the whaling station of Stromness, keeping either high or low. The high level route is circuitous, a gradual rise and fall via the spacious crest of the Kohl-Larsen Plateau. The low-level route is direct, a saw-tooth thrust through the tortured upheaval of mountain and glacier that falls in chaos to the northern sea. In distance, they are hardly comparable.

  We today are travelling easily and unhurriedly. We are fit men, with our sledges and tents and ample food and time. We break new ground, but with leisure and opportunity to probe ahead. We pick and choose our hazards, accepting only the calculated risk. No lives depend upon our success – except our own. We take the high road.

  They – Shackleton, Worsley and Crean – were desperate castaways with sick companions and their only asset a boat that would never sail again. They travelled under headlong duress, reduced by long privation to exhausted starvelings destitute of all but their own worn out clothing – no sledges, no tents, little food, and less time. They broke new ground in a race against falling reserves of strength. Their only safety lay in speed and the short cut regardless of danger; they dared not fail because “22 men were waiting for the relief that we alone could secure for them.” They took the low road.

  I do not know how they did it, except that they had to – three men of the heroic age of Antarctic exploration with 50 feet of rope between them – and a carpenter’s adze.’1

  It may be easier to guess the physical effect of the months of hardship, isolation and immense endurance, climaxing in the remarkable crossing of South Georgia in winter. The photographic evidence immediately after their arrival is limited, although some pictures taken in the following weeks still reveal gaunt, haggard faces.

  The journey had clearly exacted a heavy toll and it says enough of their unkempt appearance that station manager, Sorlle, did not recognise any of them. Or that a toughened Norwegian whaler should spontaneously burst into tears at the sight of the bedraggled men.

  The effect which is obviously less easy to detect is the mental strain imposed by the months of physical hardship and the ever-present knowledge that they were so close to a miserable death. The three men had tapped deep reserves of mental strength as they fought against one seemingly fatal hazard after another and after all these years, it is extremely hard to estimate what impact this had made.

  Shackleton’s inner strength and resolve were well known from two earlier expeditions to the South. But Crean, too, possessed special qualities of mental toughness and resilience which marked him out from the bunch and this was why Shackleton, a superb judge of character, chose the Irishman to accompany him on the boat journey and the South Georgia crossing.

  On no occasion is there is any suggestion from the recollections of Shackleton or Worsley that Crean had weakened, either mentally or physically. Amazingly, he also retained his sense of humour and, to the occasional irritation of his stressed-out colleagues, even found the capacity to break into song.

  But there was, in addition, another more surprising and inexplicable side effect of the men’s journey – a spiritual dimension that perhaps reveals more about the psychological effect of the ordeal than the more easily apparent physical damage. All three men confessed, at separate times, to a highly unusual experience on the South Georgia crossing. All three, it emerged, believed there was a fourth person accompanying them on the crossing.

  Worsley, writing in his book, The Great Antarctic Rescue, revealed:

  ‘Three or four weeks afterwards, Sir Ernest and I, comparing notes, found that we each had a strange feeling that there had been a fourth in our party and Crean afterwards confessed to the same feeling.’2

  In his other book, Endurance, published in 1931, Worsley was slightly more expansive:

  ‘There was no doubt that Providence had been with us. There was indeed one curious thing about our crossing of South Georgia, a thing which I have never been able to explain. Whenever I reviewed the incidents of that march I had the sub-conscious feeling that there were four of us, instead of three. Moreover this impression was shared by both Shackleton and Crean.’3

  Shackleton describes much the same feeling of a fourth presence in his book, South:

  ‘When I look back at those days I have no doubt that Providence guided us, not only across those snowfields, but across the storm-white sea that separated Elephant Island from our landing place on South Georgia. I know that during that long and racking march of 36 hours over the unnamed mountains and glaciers of South Georgia, it seemed to me often that we were four, not three. I said nothing to my companions on the point, but afterwards Worsley said to me, “Boss, I had a curious feeling on the march that there was another person with us.” Crean confessed to the same idea. One feels “the dearth of human words, the roughness of mortal speech” in trying to describe things intangible, but a record of our journeys would be incomplete without a reference to a subject very near to our hearts.’4

  Unfortunately, no documentary evidence has survived to show that Crean believed in the fourth person. But years later he told friends exactly the same story and evidently believed that he, too, had shared the experience. According to the recollections of his friend, Bob Knightly, Crean simply said:

  ‘The Lord brought us home.’5

  Equally the comments of Shackleton and Worsley are both unequivocal in showing that the Irishman shared their belief. In the circumstances, it might have been worthy of more comment from Shackleton and Worsley if Crean had confessed to not believing in the presence of a fourth person.

  Shackleton also provided another brief insight into the psychological effects of the journey while he was compiling his book on the expedition, South. Shackleton did not write his own books, preferring to dictate his version of events to a New Zealand journalist, Edward Saunders, who dutifully and painstakingly took down his every word. Shackleton’s adviser, Leonard Tripp, was present during the dictation session when the subject of the fourth presence came up and he thoughtfully recorded the strain which showed on Shackleton.

  Tripp gave an account of the session, with evidence of the severe emotional strain, to Shackleton’s friend and biographer, Dr Hugh Robert Mill in 1922, shortly after Shackleton had died. He told Mill:

  ‘I shall never forget the occasion. I was sitting in a chair listening; Shackleton walked up and down the room smoking a cigarette and I was absolutely amazed at his language. He very seldom hesitated, but every now and then he would tell Saunders to make a mark because he had not got the right word; but that was only occasionally. I watched him, and his whole face seemed to sw
ell, and I could see the man was suffering. After about half an hour he turned to me and with tears in his eyes he said, “Tripp, you don’t know what I’ve been through, and I am going through it all again, and I can’t do it.” I would say, “But we must get it all down”.

  He would go on for an hour and then all of a sudden would say, “I can’t do it – I must go and talk to the girls or play tennis”. He walked out of the room as if he intended to go away, lit a cigarette and then in about five minutes, he would come back and start again. The same thing happened after another hour or so. I could see that he was suffering when he came to his sensation of a fourth presence, when crossing the mountains, he turned around to me and said, “Tripp, this is something I have not told you”. As far as I can remember, his account of crossing South Georgia has practically not been altered in revision.’6

  Although no similar account exists for the other two, it is a strain that must have been shared equally by Crean and Worsley who had, after all, been through the same ordeal.

  The story of the mystical fourth presence inevitably created some controversy, with some suggesting that it was no more than a publicity stunt and even modern writers dismissing it as a hoax. Some saw it as reminiscent of the ‘Angel of Mons’, a mythical angel riding a white horse wielding a flaming sword who is said to have appeared to British troops on the battlefields of the First World War.

  Myth or not, the battle-weary soldiers at Mons shared several important things with Crean, Worsley and Shackleton – they were exhausted and under great stress. Contemporary reports of the dreadful Mons retreat speak of troops hallucinating with fatigue and that ‘very nearly everyone was seeing things …’

  Whether the story of the fourth person was fact or fiction, it helped inspire the poet, T.S. Eliot to write The Waste Land in which he also told of another presence. With the knowledge of their ordeal in mind, Eliot’s words are strongly evocative of the epic journey undertaken by Shackleton, Worsley and Crean. The relevant passage of the poem reads:

  Who is the third who walks always beside you? When I count, there are only you and I together But when I look ahead up the white road There is always another one walking beside you Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded I do not know whether a man or a woman – but who is that on the other side of you?7

  We shall, of course, never explain the ‘fourth person’. It may have been a simple case of wishful thinking on the part of three exhausted men nearing the end of their tether who in their darkest hour were involuntarily seeking some comfort from their God. At the depths of their plight, they would have called on any source for the last dregs of strength to carry them through their extraordinary journey. The instincts of survival have no bounds.

  However, it is known that exhaustion, hunger, thirst and inadequate diet over a long period can contribute to hallucinations. It may well be that the debilitated, underfed, parched and slightly disorientated men were simply hallucinating.

  Perhaps there is no adequate explanation.

  23

  Return to Elephant Island

  There was a quaint Englishness about the greeting for the two Irishmen and the New Zealander as they were taken to comfortable quarters by the Norwegian station manager. Tea was served.

  Shackleton, somehow, had the presence of mind to ask Sorlle to take a photograph of the three men. Unfortunately no one had any film, so the world was robbed of an opportunity to record the historic moment that Shackleton, Worsley and Crean stepped back from the dead. Or, as Worsley put it, the world lost a picture of ‘its three dirtiest men’.

  Their first concern was the war. Shackleton wanted to know when it had finished and Sorlle shocked them by reporting that millions were still being killed in the slaughter. It astounded the men and also underlined the fact the explorers had been out of contact with the rest of the world since December 1914. There were few people from the civilised world so out of touch with the momentous events elsewhere.

  The men also picked up the first hints that their sister ship, the Aurora, had run into trouble on the other side of Antarctica. According to the whalers, the Aurora had broken clear of her mooring at McMurdo Sound and drifted north, eventually reaching New Zealand. Ominously, there was no news of the landing party, scheduled to winter at Scott’s old quarters at Cape Evans before depoting supplies on the Barrier for the scheduled Trans-Antarctic Crossing.

  The next act of kindness from the Norwegians was to offer the three men a welcome and sorely needed bath. Shackleton had warned their hosts that, after months without changing clothes or a wash, the men smelt badly. It was then, as they peeled off their worn and tattered garments and looked into the mirror, that the realisation of their appalling state began to dawn on the trio. The men were filthy, their hair matted and their scraggy beards had grown uncontrollably. The dirt and grime helped obscure another side of their ordeal.

  Beneath the layers of dirt, the three men were gaunt and hollow. They had the look of men who had come face to face with death.

  After their hot bath, they ate a hearty meal and prepared to spend their first night between clean sheets for close on two years. Shackleton shared a room with Crean in Sorlle’s house and he recalled that the pair were so comfortable and unaccustomed to luxury they could hardly sleep.

  While Crean and Shackleton prepared to wallow in the comfort of a well-made bed, Worsley elected to fetch McCarthy, McNeish and Vincent who were still under the Caird at King Haakon Bay on the other side of the island. Worsley climbed aboard the steam-driven whaler, Samson, for the eleven-hour trip around South Georgia to Peggoty Camp, where McCarthy, McNeish and Vincent were waiting patiently.

  The exhausted Worsley slept through a raging gale on the stormy trip and landed on the beach to a surprising welcome. The three castaways, who had spent almost two years living close alongside Worsley, failed to recognise the well-dressed, clean-shaven man who stood before them. At first they thought it was a stranger and indignantly demanded to know why Shackleton, Crean or Worsley had not bothered to come to pick them up!

  Worsley also recovered the James Caird from the beach and took it back to Stromness Bay with the three men, where they were greeted with a touching little ceremony from the sailors. The whalers – hardened, experienced Norwegian seamen – were almost overwhelmed in their admiration for the three men. Their journey, especially the crossing of the Southern Ocean, had astonished these highly proficient seafarers and the Norwegians insisted on bringing the James Caird ashore themselves as a symbol of their deep respect. Every man at the whaling station wanted to share in the honour of touching the boat and personally hauling it up the shore.

  They refused to allow any of the Endurance party to touch the little vessel. It was a spontaneous gesture which, Worsley admitted, was ‘quite affecting’.

  In the evening the dingy smoke-filled local club room was packed with well-wishers who simply wanted to pay tribute to the remarkable men who had sailed the Southern Ocean in an open boat and made the first crossing of South Georgia. Worsley said the reception was ‘full of captains and mates and sailors and hazy with tobacco smoke’.

  One of the veteran whalers stepped forward from the crowd, saying that he had spent 40 years in the stormy Southern Ocean and had never heard of such a wonderful feat. According to Worsley, he said it was an honour to meet Shackleton and his comrades and finished with a dramatic gesture by declaring:

  ‘These are men!’1

  One by one the seamen stepped forward and shook hands with Shackleton, Worsley and Crean. It was a simple, informal gesture without the added ritual of the medals and fanfares which characterised the later, more formal celebrations of their achievements. But for the three men, it probably ranked higher than any other acclaim they would receive. Worsley spoke for all three when he wrote:

  ‘Coming from brother seamen, men of our own cloth, and members of a great seafaring race like the Norwegians, this was a wonderful tribute and one of which we all felt proud.’2

  ‘I th
ink I enjoyed this more than any honour bestowed upon us afterwards; for these fine seamen were men of the Viking brand who for years had been weathering the same storms through which we had come in our little boat. Congratulations from them meant something.’3

  But there was no time to dwell on events while their comrades remained in captivity 800 miles (1,300 km) away. While Worsley had been away, Shackleton had arranged for the British-owned whaler, Southern Sky, crewed by eager volunteer Norwegian sailors, to sail down to Elephant Island to pick up the 22 stranded men. On board would be their rescuers, Crean, Worsley and Shackleton himself. At the same time, McCarthy, McNeish and Vincent were placed aboard another vessel heading back to England.

  Because there was no telegraph on South Georgia in 1916, Shackleton had not been able to inform anyone at home about the fate of the Endurance. Or cable the owners and ask for permission to take the Southern Sky on the risky trip down to Elephant Island in the depth of the winter. But there was no time for courtesies and Shackleton assumed personal responsibility for the ship as the rescuers set off from Husvik.