An Unsung Hero: Tom Crean - Antarctic Survivor

by Michael Smith

  The Southern Sky, heavily laden with coal for the 1,600-mile (2,600-km) round trip, set off to cross the Southern Ocean on 23 May 1916, to the noise of factory whistles from the whaling station and rousing cheers from the seamen on the quay. It was almost a month since they had sailed from Elephant Island carrying the hopes of their comrades.

  After a largely uneventful passage across the Southern Ocean, the vessel ran into heavy, impassable pack ice about 60 miles from Elephant Island. Attempts were made to force the ship through the ice, but the Southern Sky was not built with a steel reinforced bow and it was useless to persevere. Mile after mile the ship sailed up and down the ice looking for a way through, using up precious supplies of coal in a fruitless search for a safe channel. Even if they had managed to find a navigable lead, there was no guarantee that the ice would reopen to allow them safe retreat away from the island. Reluctantly, the ship turned and went back to the north.

  Shackleton headed for the Falkland Islands, which are a little closer than South Georgia and had the added benefit of cable facilities. It would enable the Endurance party to reestablish contact with the outside world.

  It was 31 May when Shackleton, Worsley and Crean entered Port Stanley in the Falklands. A cable was despatched to London announcing their return from the South and the loss of the Endurance. In London the news was a welcome diversion from the misery of the war. One missive was sent to the King, who took time off from the worsening conflict to respond:

  ‘Rejoice to hear of your safe arrival in the Falkland Islands and trust your comrades on Elephant Island may soon be rescued.’4

  Shackleton also wrote to his wife, Emily, with a brief outline of their ‘year and a half of hell’ and the inestimable support of close colleagues. He added:

  ‘It was Nature against us the whole time … Wild and Crean were splendid throughout discipline was always good: but towards the end about ten of the party were off their heads.’5

  At Port Stanley, the Governor Douglas Young invited the three men to stay with him while they searched for a new ship to go south to Elephant Island as quickly as possible. But Falkland Islanders, in general, were indifferent to the remarkable story of the Endurance party. The local newspaper, John Bull, reported:

  ‘Not a soul in Stanley seemed to care one scrap, not a flag was flown and no one seemed to care a cuss about him [Shackleton], are the words which describe Shackleton’s arrival at Port Stanley.’6

  One Falkland Islander, quoted in the same publication, said the men should have been at war long ago ‘… instead of messing about on icebergs’.7

  A little closer to the icebergs, the 22 men under Frank Wild were still stranded on the bleak rocky beach, eking out a life in the depths of the Antarctic winter.

  Cables were sent to Britain and surrounding South American countries pleading for a suitable vessel to rescue the men, although the Admiralty was among the first to throw a wet blanket on their hopes. No suitable vessel was available because of the war and the first relief from Britain could not be expected until October. It would mean at least another five months, possibly more, before rescuing the men on Elephant Island.

  Finally, the Uruguayan Government generously lent a steam trawler called Instituto de Pesca No 1 which duly reached Port Stanley on 10 June. The ship sailed on 16 June with Shackleton, Worsley and Crean on board, increasingly anxious about the welfare of their comrades. But their hopes were soon dashed.

  It was now approaching midwinter in the Southern Ocean and the weather was foul. Dawn broke on the third day with the sight of Elephant Island rising above the horizon far away in the distance. A little later the ship came to within 20 miles of shore but the pack was impenetrable and after another search for an opening, which consumed vital supplies of coal, they had to turn back. The disappointment was acute.

  After arriving back at Port Stanley on 25 June, the three men took a steamer to Punta Arenas, on the western side of the Straits of Magellan in Patagonia, Chile. Punta Arenas was still a major gateway for the constant stream of ships rounding Cape Horn, although the opening of the Panama Canal two years earlier in 1914 would eventually mark its rapid decline. The bustling little port on the Pacific flank of the South American continent flourished from the thriving wool and fishing industries and Shackleton knew it was the type of place where he might find a suitable vessel for the trip to Elephant Island.

  The three men were greeted like celebrities. They were heroes, particularly in the eyes of the sizeable local British colony and found themselves invited to an endless stream of parties and receptions and making frequent appearances in the local newspapers. But they were also greeted with great warmth and admiration by the Chileans. Over the years, Britain and Chile had developed fairly close links, partly because of trade and partly because they seemed like-minded people. Indeed, the Chileans have been described as the ‘English of South America’.

  Shackleton, who fully understood the value of good public relations, ensured that their names – and therefore the plight of the Elephant Island captives – would not be forgotten. It was essential to maintain a high profile throughout the search for a rescue and so the men were constantly in the public eye. Shackleton gave a series of lectures and all three attended various functions and gatherings which all helped ensure that nobody lost sight of the fundamental issue.

  The men frequently appeared in the newspapers, notably the local English-language newspaper, the Magellan Times, which faithfully recorded their comings and goings on the busy social circuit. While the priority was to arrange a rescue for their trapped colleagues, they did not lose their playful sense of humour.

  On one public occasion, Shackleton warmly thanked the Norwegians on South Georgia for their hospitality and generosity and pointed out that Crean was still wearing a suit donated by one of the whalers. Crean, not to be outdone, drew uproarious laughter from the audience by pointedly gazing at Shackleton’s boots and honours were even.

  His instinct was right and after raising £1,500, the three men chartered a 40-year-old oak schooner, Emma, at a rate of £18 per day for the third rescue attempt. Luckily the Chilean navy provided a steam driven vessel, Yelcho, to tow the Emma as far south as possible, which would conserve coal until they had to navigate through the pack.

  With all due officialdom, Shackleton was appointed Master, Worsley First Mate and Crean Second Mate for the voyage. The seamen were drawn from eight different countries. They included a sailor from landlocked Andorra who had recently been released from jail for seal-poaching and therefore had something in common with the three explorers who had survived only because of their skills at poaching.

  At dawn on 21 July the schooner came to an abrupt halt about 100 miles (160 km) from Elephant Island. The vessel, Shackleton remembered, was tossing about like a cork in the swell and it soon became apparent that further progress was impossible. Reluctantly, Emma returned to Port Stanley.

  Slightly better news awaited the men as they arrived in the Falklands on 8 August after three failed attempts to rescue their comrades. Discovery, Scott’s old ship, was preparing to leave England, but would not arrive until mid-September. It had already been over three months since Shackleton, Worsley and Crean had sailed away from the beach. The men on Elephant Island had endured the scourge of a southern winter huddled under the boats on their bleak rocky foothold. Another six or eight weeks of privation would surely be too much.

  Crean played a vital role during the long frustrating weeks in the Falklands and on the South American mainland while the men anxiously searched for suitable vessels to carry their colleagues out of captivity. Although Shackleton was very much the frontman, negotiating and pleading with the authorities for help, the support of Crean – and Worsley – was very important.

  Crean was a tower of strength for his leader. He went everywhere with Shackleton during these frustrating weeks and kept him from exploding over the irritating delays or drowning his sorrows in a bottle. One man who testified to Crean’s quiet inf
luence was Tom P. Jones, a local English businessman who many years later remembered the pair in his book, Patagonian Panorama. Jones got to know the men very well during their stay at Punta Arenas and he wrote:

  ‘Tom Crean seemed to be his [Shackleton’s] bodyguard and at cocktail parties he would watch over him, even to the extent of warning him not to have another drink.’8

  Crean, who had proven beyond any doubt that he possessed truly remarkable qualities as a polar traveller, was now displaying the other side to his character – the more mature qualities of support and guidance.

  Crean was a straightforward and simple man who considered loyalty and obedience as paramount. These were features which had attracted Scott fifteen years earlier and were now giving Shackleton vital help to cope with the great challenge ahead to rescue the men on Elephant Island. Without the support and loyalty of Crean at this stage it is unlikely that Shackleton, after the draining ordeal of the open boat journey and crossing of South Georgia, would have been able to cope with the frustrations of battling with seemingly endless bureaucracy to find a suitable vessel. Crean had become indispensable in the physical ordeal over the past few months and he now became indispensable in the diplomatic and personal mission to find a vessel to rescue their comrades.

  The Irishman had also taken time off to write a few consoling words of hope to Hazel Marston, the wife of George Marston, the artist who was still stranded on the beach at Elephant Island. Crean, perhaps writing at the request of Shackleton, contacted the expedition’s agent, Ernest Perris, in London, who forwarded the letter to the Marston family home in Petersfield, Hampshire.

  The letter was written on 3 July while Crean, Shackleton and Worsley were onboard the British mail-boat, Orita, crossing from Port Stanley to Punta Arenas in their search for a rescue ship. It was about ten weeks since they had left Marston behind on Elephant Island but Crean was unequivocal about liberating his colleagues. He told Mrs Marston:

  ‘Just a few lines to inform you about the welfare of your husband which no doubt you are anxiously awaiting for. But I must tell you, you don’t want to be alarmed for I am positive we shall get them safely back.

  And I must inform you when I parted from him he was looking fit and well and he wanted very much to accompany us on our journey. But never mind we shall all be home soon. Please [God].’9

  The three men once again passed through the Straits of Magellan to Chile, where Shackleton begged the Government to let him have the Yelcho for one more rescue attempt. The Chileans, who much admired the indomitable fighting spirit of the men, readily agreed.

  On 25 August, the 150-ton steel-built steamer chugged out of Punta Arenas, through the Straits of Magellan and headed south. The crew, mostly volunteers, were drawn from Chile’s navy and the Captain, Luis Pardo, was content to allow the peerless Worsley to navigate. Shackleton quickly assumed overall responsibility and faithfully promised the Chileans that he would not risk the Yelcho by taking her into the ice.

  For once in the two-year Endurance expedition, luck was with the men as they progressed southwards in reasonably favourable seas. As they closed in on Elephant Island, the pack ice began to prise open. Even a bank of fog, which descended shortly afterwards, did not deter them and they slipped through the pack to the clearer ice-free seas which normally appear near to land.

  With impeccable timing the fog soon lifted and the bleak cliffs and glaciers of Elephant Island came into full view. Crean, Shackleton and Worsley scanned the coastline for familiar features and a hopeful sight of their lost comrades. After a tense period scouting back and forth, Worsley suddenly spotted the camp about 1½ miles away, though it was barely visible under a covering blanket of winter snow.

  The rescuers and the rescued spotted each other almost simultaneously. Through binoculars it was possible to see tiny black figures scampering around the shore and waving frantically. Shackleton counted the animated little figures until he reached 22 and shouted that they were all there.

  Standing on the gently rolling deck, Shackleton, Worsley and Crean looked at each other, each moved by the moment when their ordeal was finally over and the men had been saved. It was an outstanding achievement but Worsley said they were ‘all unable to speak’. Alongside them, some of the Yelcho’s crew broke down and cried.

  Within minutes a boat was lowered and they began to pull towards the shore. Crean and Shackleton were on board, standing up, eagerly trying to identify the dark shapes moving about on the beach. As they rowed nearer to shore, Shackleton anxiously yelled out:

  ‘Are you all well?’10

  Wild, the faithful lieutenant who had held the men together for so long, shouted back:

  ‘We are all well, Boss.’11

  As the Chilean sailors rowed the boat to shore, someone threw a packet of cigarettes which, Shackleton remembered, were leapt upon like ‘hungry tigers’. It was 30 August 1916, or 128 days (4½ months) since Shackleton, Worsley and Crean and the three others had sailed for help in the James Caird.

  24

  Life and death

  Life on the beach at Elephant Island was close to becoming intolerable for the 22 men when they caught sight of their rescuers. Early optimism of rescue had slowly evaporated, food supplies had declined alarmingly and morale had faded. Hopes of a rescue had all but gone and some were in sorry decline.

  Each morning Wild raised the men with the cry: ‘Lash up and stow, boys, the Boss may come today.’ At first the call was greeted with some enthusiasm, but this began to evaporate as the days, weeks and finally months began to pass.

  Initially, the little group was optimistic that Shackleton, Worsley and Crean would reach South Georgia and bring help. Hurley had estimated that the trip would take only fourteen days, which was not very far wrong. In fact the James Caird had taken seventeen days, but it took another ten days for recuperation, preparation and the incredible crossing of South Georgia.

  But as time wore on, a mood of increasing despondency began to take hold and by August, three months after the James Caird had sailed, spirits had sunk very low. Many feared that the rescuers had been swallowed by the Southern Ocean and that the survivors under the boats on Elephant Island would have to make another open boat journey to Deception Island, where the whalers were known to gather in the summer months. It was a dreadful prospect for the weakened men.

  The boats, the Dudley Docker and Stancomb Wills, had been turned upside down and scraps of old tent and some hurriedly arranged stones were utilised to make a crude shelter against the violent winds which tore down upon them almost every day. Winds of up to 100 mph were recorded and blizzards kept them confined to their sleeping bags for days at a time.

  Five men slept ‘upstairs’ on the thwarts of the Wills and four in the Docker, while the other thirteen were laid cheek-by-jowl on the floor. In these closely confined quarters, the 22 men had little option but to adjust to the foul-smelling environment, where the unpleasant stench of unwashed bodies and filthy clothing mixed with the rancid odour of rotting animal flesh and droppings. The smoke from the permanently lit stove stung their eyes until the resourceful engineer, Kerr, made a simple chimney with the lining from a biscuit tin, improving the atmosphere a little.

  Food was in reasonable supply until early August when they were forced to dig up discarded seal bones and for a while there was the welcome diversion of a highly potent concoction of hot water, sugar and methylated spirits, which briefly helped blot out some of the misery and deprivation. But by August the meths had been drunk and the men were reduced to boiling seaweed for their sole pleasure.

  Wild, who modelled his leadership on Shackleton’s style, maintained a regular routine and tried to keep the men as busy as possible. But there were long periods of idleness which offered them full scope to speculate about rescue or the most popular of all subjects – food.

  Many of the men suffered badly from the ordeal, but there were three particular patients. Hudson had suffered a breakdown and developed a severe abscess on his
left buttock which eventually had to be drained of two pints of stinking fluid. Rickinson had a heart attack soon after reaching Elephant Island. But the most severe case was Blackborrow, the young Welshman who had stowed away on Endurance and whose feet were struck by acute frostbite. In mid-June the doctors, McIlroy and Macklin, amputated the toes of his left foot. Thankfully there was just enough chloroform to put Blackborrow out for the 55-minute operation in the half-light under the two little boats.

  30 August dawned, just like the countless other days on Elephant Island, with some men scrambling around on the shoreline for limpets to help enliven the hoosh and others sweeping away the snowdrifts. Food supplies had dwindled and at that time of the year, seals and penguins were in short supply. Initial preparations were already being made for sailing to Deception Island.

  Marston and Hurley were out on the nearby rocks shelling limpets for supper, occasionally taking a perfunctory look at the horizon. Suddenly Marston yelled out: ‘Ship O!’ and pandemonium broke out.