An Unsung Hero: Tom Crean - Antarctic Survivor (14 page)

Crean showed great composure, despite the grave danger and the rawness of his colleagues. He bravely volunteered to go for help, hoping to climb aboard any passing ice floe which floated close enough to the Barrier that would allow him to climb up with the improvised aid of a ski stick. It was a desperate gamble.

Bowers stuffed Crean’s pockets with food and a note to Scott. The two men watched as Crean boldly jumped from one floe to another, eagerly looking for the one which would carry him closer towards the Barrier. But this was no instant rescue. Crean spent many hours waiting for the right floe to drift by and Bowers, writing afterwards, described the scene:

Luckily, Cherry-Garrard took the trouble to record Crean’s ‘modest account’ of the hair-raising escapade in his famous book of the expedition,
The Worst Journey in the World
, which was published many years afterwards.

In the semi-darkness, Crean had made for the Barrier over the best path of the ice, but was soon forced to retrace his steps and make for nearby White Island, jumping from floe to passing floe. A single slip on the ice would have killed the Irishman and possibly spelt death for the stranded Bowers and Cherry-Garrard. Crean himself took up the story:

Scott was full of praise for the Irishman and remembered to record the incident in his diary. He wrote:

Wilson, who was at Safety Camp with Scott, said Crean had considerable difficulty and ‘ran a pretty good risk’ in undertaking the solo walk to alert the others. Gran was despatched to run out on his skis and meet the lonely figure seen from a distance walking across the ice. He was the first to reach the weary Crean and in the circumstances feared the worst:

Crean, a Catholic, may have appreciated the irony of the occasion. It was Ash Wednesday – the first day of Lent and the start of the 40 days of penitence.

Bowers admitted that he had underestimated the danger signs on the sea-ice but did not forget to mention the ‘splendid behaviour of Cherry and Crean’. Teddy Evans, who was later to be the ultimate beneficiary of Crean’s courage, said the Irishman had acted with ‘great gallantry’.

In retrospect, it seems likely that the two stranded men could easily have abandoned their ponies and equipment and scrambled up the Barrier in the same fashion as Crean. However, this should not diminish the courage which he showed in setting out alone, without shelter in sub-zero temperatures, to bring help for his comrades.

Crean’s journey to alert Scott to the plight of Bowers and Cherry-Garrard was the first recorded occasion when the Irishman undertook a solo journey across treacherous terrain to help rescue stricken comrades. It displayed the first clear signs of Crean’s great physical and mental strength under pressure and showed the value of the Irishman’s fortitude and ability to improvise in the most testing circumstances. The incident also demonstrated that Crean had great confidence in his own ability and was not afraid to take risks.

It was also a foretaste of the heroics which Crean would perform on the Barrier a year later with an even more memorable solo escapade.

The rescue of his comrades also provided an early insight into the modest and unassuming nature of the Irishman. Frank Debenham, who wrote an appreciation of Crean’s life for the Scott Polar Research Institute in Cambridge, remembered chatting to the Irishman about his exploits on the ice floes. He recalled:

Meantime, Bowers and Cherry-Garrard spent an anxious few hours awaiting rescue before Crean, having recovered from his ordeal, reappeared with Scott and Oates. An alpine rope was used to drag the two men to the surface. But, despite intense efforts, the three remaining ponies were lost.

Crean’s reward, typical of the unforgiving Antarctic climate, came a few days later when he was struck by a severe case of
snowblindness, a painful and debilitating experience for even the toughest of individuals which is caused by too much white light entering the eye. Before the arrival of effective sunglasses, polar travellers were frequently struck by snowblindness and in Crean’s case he was so incapacitated that he could only hold the reins while the others struggled to rescue a pony which had fallen into the freezing waters.

Soon afterwards, the bulk of the depot-laying party reassembled at Hut Point. But the short journey back to base was impossible because the sea between the old
Discovery
quarters and Cape Evans had not yet frozen over. To add to their general discomfiture, their numbers were soon swollen to sixteen with the arrival of Griffith Taylor’s geological party from the western mountains.

On 16 March, Crean was in the eight-man party, the last of the season, which sledged out to Corner Camp, some 35 miles away, in poor weather. Temperatures had soon plunged to –40 °F (–40 °C), visibility was down to 10 yards and winds reached over 30 mph. The season was closing in and provided the men with a grim warning of the dangers facing the polar party, who were scheduled to be making their return at around this time the following year.

After returning to Hut Point on 24 March, the group waited patiently for the sea to freeze over. But they had to wait until 11 April, with the days shortening, before they could set out for Cape Evans. It was a risk because the sea had not fully frozen and some in the party were understandably concerned. But they arrived safely to a warm welcome from comrades they had not seen for almost three months.

They were an unkempt bunch, unshaven and dirty after ten weeks in tents out on the Barrier. Ponting, the photographer, wanted to catch a picture of Crean, but he had already clipped off his bushy black growth – thus robbing history of the sight of the Irishman with a full-set beard!

After a brief stopover the group returned to Hut Point to pick up Wilson and six others who had stayed behind. Scott,
who led the group of eight back to Hut Point, took two of his talismen – Crean and Lashly – and was much impressed with their contributions. He wrote:

Crean had time before the season closed in to show that he was apparently impervious to the cold. He was sharing a tent with Bowers, Hooper and Nelson and during the night temperatures had fallen fast to –38 °F (–39 °C) or 70° of frost. Crean somehow managed to slip head first, half out of the tent and let in a freezing cold stream of air which disturbed the others. Crean, however, slept through the experience and a bemused Bowers was moved to observe:

The bulk of the group returned to Cape Evans on 21 April, tired after three months of hard, cold labour but relieved that the depot-laying work was now finished. But there was no disguising the disappointment felt throughout the group. What was supposed to be a fairly straightforward affair had fallen far short of expectations and delivered a major blow to Scott’s painstaking preparations for the Pole. Only one of the eight ponies had survived the journey and it had taken thirteen men over one month to drag supplies to 79° 28½′ south, about 140 miles from Hut Point.

In contrast, Amundsen and his dogs had carried considerably more supplies another 120 miles further south. Amundsen was equipped for faster travel, nearer the Pole and now better prepared.

While Scott had no idea of Amundsen’s progress, he was concerned at the threat posed by the Norwegian party. To compound his anxiety, the loss of the vital ponies would hamper his efforts to transport large caches of food and supplies across the Barrier. As he surveyed the pony losses and helped to pull Bowers and Cherry-Garrard from the ice floe,
Scott was heard to remark: ‘This is the end of the Pole’.

On 23 April, two days after most of the men were reunited at Cape Evans, the sun disappeared for four months and they settled down for another winter of blackened isolation. And to contemplate the challenges ahead.

C
ape Evans was a happier home base than
Discovery
, possibly because the individuals rubbed along together better and possibly because the routine was less rigid. For example, there were more scientists from civilian life on
Terra Nova
than on
Discovery
, which had been dominated by Royal Navy personnel and subject to the stricter naval codes of discipline. The civilians had neutralised the effect of the stiff naval routines.

To his credit, Scott worked hard to ensure that the men were not idle and devised a number of tasks and events which, generally speaking, kept people busy. While there were inevitably differences between individuals, the diaries and letters of the 25 men who lived at Cape Evans rarely display any deep sense of personal dislike among a diverse group of people who were, after all, literally living on top of one another for months on end. There were people who did not get along with others and their diaries show certain resentments, hardly surprising in the circumstances. There was also criticism of Scott’s methods and decisions. However, these differences never boiled over, perhaps because somehow individuals found a little space away from each other, even in the cramped confines of the 50 ft × 25 ft (15.2 m × 7.6 m) hut perched on a frozen outcrop in the blackness of an Antarctic winter.

With 25 people inside, the hut was inevitably crowded but comparatively cosy, even if the permanent pall of pipe and cigarette smoke would be frowned upon today. Comparisons with the
Discovery
routine, particularly the eating habits, were strong.

Breakfast began with lashings of hot porridge, freshly baked bread and generous helpings of butter and steaming mugs of cocoa. Occasionally fish might be served if someone had managed to catch something in the traps, although fishing was a thoroughly uncomfortable experience in the Antarctic winter.

Lunch, a more modest affair, was usually bread and cheese, washed down with ample supplies of cocoa. On odd occasions the cook, Thomas Clissold, would serve up tinned sardines or even lamb’s tongues. Supper was the most substantial meal, starting with tinned soup and followed on six days a week by seal meat and tinned fruit. Clissold would vary things a little by serving fried seal liver or seal steak and kidney pie. The highlight of the culinary week was undoubtedly Sunday when Clissold prepared best New Zealand lamb which had been brought down especially on
Terra Nova
, courtesy of the generous New Zealanders.

Midwinter’s Day, the surrogate Christmas Day for Antarctic explorers, was celebrated in lavish style. Gran said it was a day of ‘champagne and celebration’ and the tables were decorated with flags and bunting. Bowers and the seamen made a Christmas tree from ski sticks and penguin feathers and decorated it with candles and bunting. Drink flowed throughout the day with unusual freedom and the small party needed no second invitation to relieve the winter boredom. Gran remembered that he was forced to climb over 50 bottles of Heidsieck 1904 champagne stacked up in the crew’s quarters.

Ponting recalled that the meal was ‘food for the gods’ and years later members were able to recall the exact menu. A seal soup was followed by roast sirloin of beef, Yorkshire pudding, horseradish sauce, Brussels sprouts and potatoes. Afterwards a
huge plum pudding was carried in head-high to the table, accompanied by joyous shouts from the expectant diners. Those with room to spare could feast on a selection of mince pies, raspberry jellies, walnut toffee, butter bonbons and other delicacies. It was all rounded off with fine liqueurs and rum punch which were served long into the evening while the gramophone played a tinny, nostalgic reminder of home.