An Unsung Hero: Tom Crean - Antarctic Survivor (30 page)

The three small life boats were untied and made ready for lowering. Below decks someone sang a sea shanty as the water continued to pour in and Green, the cook, dutifully made supper as though nothing was wrong.

Endurance
finally submitted on 27 October, the ship being mercilessly squeezed on both sides and her beams cracking under the immense strain. The ship, arching like a bow, was letting in torrents of water. Macklin recalled that no one actually ordered the men to stop pumping out water, they just simply gave up. At about 5 p.m., Shackleton gave the order to abandon ship.

It was a sorrowful moment, the official end of the Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition. But it was the start of the most remarkable fight for survival in Antarctica’s history.

The 28 men clambered off the ship and huddled together in a collection of tents on a relatively stable chunk of the ice a
few hundred yards from the doomed and sinking vessel. Around them was an untidy jumble of hastily-salvaged gear, food, sledges, 60 barking dogs and three small boats.

The men had drifted almost 1,200 miles (1,950 km) in a semi-circular direction over the past ten months and were stranded at 69° 5′ S in temperatures of –5 °F (–20 °C). It was 364 miles (585 km) to the uninhabited Paulet or Snow Hill Island to the northwest where, it was recalled, a small hut had been built and stored with supplies in 1902.

At this stage, the weary, disappointed men had not fully calculated how they would possibly haul supplies and equipment across the disorderly muddle of broken ice. Or whether anyone would bother looking for them when they were supposed to be tucked up 1,000 miles (1,600 km) away at Vahsel Bay.

It was 27 October 1915, and the outside world was not expecting to hear from
Endurance
until at least the following February or March, perhaps even later.

The reality was that the 28 men were stuck on the ice, they had no means of communicating with the outside world and no one was looking for them.

O
n the ice the men could hear the dying agonies of
Endurance
as the ship groaned and creaked under the weight of the immense pressure which slowly strangled the vessel in its vice-like hold. If the ship had been a living thing, someone would have ended her misery.

Few managed a good night’s sleep, partly because the ice floe beneath was constantly cracking and on three occasions they were forced to move the tents to a more secure-looking spot. Alongside the men were the three little boats which were lifted off the dying ship. They alone seemed to offer a tenuous chance of survival – if they could escape the ice and reach the open sea.

There were only five tents to accommodate the 28 men gathered together on the drifting ice floe as they sought shelter and comfort only 200 yards (182 m) from the doomed
Endurance
. Also there were only eighteen reindeer-fur sleeping bags and the unlucky ones had to sleep in woollen bags, which held the damp and offered less protection against the freezing temperatures. The unfortunate ten were wisely chosen by lot to avoid any unnecessary friction or claims of favouritism.

But Shackleton ensured that each tent had its own natural leader, aware that maintaining discipline and morale would be essential in the struggle ahead. A decline in morale could spread like wildfire and lead to anarchy. He chose leaders
carefully and placed Crean in charge of Number Four, a small hoop tent which also contained two polar veterans, Marston and Cheetham, and the cheerful, banjo-playing meteorologist, Hussey.

Over the next few days, the men made repeated trips to rescue precious supplies and equipment from
Endurance
before she met her inevitable end. These were melancholic little excursions for the men who understandably saw the ship as their last link with civilisation. Psychologically the loss of the ship meant severing the umbilical cord and on one trek a party of men respectfully hoisted the Union Jack. At least the ship would go down with colours flying.

The men were ordered to prepare themselves for the coming journey across the ice and hopefully to the edge of the open sea, where they would launch the little boats. Crean had already arranged the packing of the sledges with as many rations as he could reasonably stow and along with others, he was also deployed on frequent trips to hunt for seals.

With a tough journey ahead, the men were issued with a completely new set of underwear, socks and Burberrys and asked to limit their personal possessions to a modest 2 lb (0.9 kg) in weight. It meant many heartbreaking choices as the men considered what to keep and what to throw away in the snow.

Shackleton emphasised that nothing was of value if it worked against their survival. As he spoke, he took out his own gold watch, gold cigarette case and a few gold sovereigns and theatrically tossed them into the snow. He then opened the Bible which Queen Alexandra had given the ship a little over a year earlier and tore out the flyleaf containing her personal message. He also ripped out a single page containing verse a from the Book of Job, which reads:

There were exceptions. Hussey, for example, was ordered to keep his banjo even though it weighed about 12 lb (5.4 kg) because, as Shackleton explained, it was ‘vital mental medicine’. The surgeons’ medical instruments were kept for obvious reasons and those who kept diaries were allowed to hang onto them.

But all around them on the ice were scattered forlorn reminders of home and the ordinary trappings of a normal life – personal keepsakes, books, clothes, plus more practical reminders of their original purpose, like scientific instruments, telescopes and carpenter’s tools. Tom Crean kept the scapular around his neck.

Before they prepared to leave, Crean was called upon to administer a particularly grim chore. There was no room on the trek for those who could not pull their weight so three of Crean’s carefully nurtured pups and Chips McNeish’s popular cat, Mrs Chippy, were shot. It was Crean, who was so fond of animals, who executed the animals. Even a tough polar hand like Crean was affected by the unhappy, but necessary task and Worsley recalled:

It was decided to take only two of the three boats and the bulk of the gear was carefully loaded. Each boat, loaded with the vital food and supplies, was placed on specially prepared sledges and weighed nearly one ton (over 1,000 kg). With some trepidation, the party set out on Saturday 30 October.

It was obvious from the start that it would require prodigious effort to haul the boats across the tortured, broken landscape of ice hummocks which surrounded them on the drifting ice floe. A team of four man-haulers went ahead with picks and shovels, trying to smooth out the undulating surface and ease the path of the boat-pullers. There followed the dog teams pulling seven sledges, who went back and forth in a monotonous routine of relaying their dreadfully heavy
loads. Behind them came fifteen men, yoked to the largest boat in a long sledging harness. After moving on a short distance, they regrouped and began the same process of hauling the smaller boat, which offered the prospect of only slightly lighter pulling.

The long procession of men, dogs, sledges and boats stretched for half a mile across the disturbed commotion of ice. They calculated that, at best, the most distance they could manage would be 5 miles (8 km) a day, which implied many weeks and possibly months of strenuous exertion to reach the safety of land or open seas. The cost in human effort would be enormous and another very real fear was that at any moment, the ice could open up and swallow them or separate them from the relative safety of their camp. Any realists in the party must have doubted their chances of survival.

The men received a painful reminder of their slim chances after the first back-breaking day in the wet, soft snow which made the going appalling. Occasionally the men sank to their waists in the soggy, slushy conditions. Each step was terribly heavy labour and after the most colossal effort, they were near to exhaustion when they stopped for the day.

To their utter dismay they discovered that they had covered barely one mile. They made the same distance on 31 October, arriving physically worn out after a day when they flogged themselves to the point of collapse. The next morning, the march was abandoned.

The 28 men were now camped on a sizeable, solid-looking floe about one mile across which offered some degree of stability in comparison with their ordeal during the slow death of
Endurance
. But they were still inside the Antarctic Circle, drifting slowly northwards on a chunk of ice which at any time might split apart. Shackleton appropriately named it ‘Ocean Camp’.

The aim was to remain as comfortable as possible at Ocean Camp and let the floe travel gently northwards towards open seas before setting out in the boats to row for the safety
of Paulet or Snow Hill Island off to the west. Since they had abandoned the march only 2 miles away from the broken hulk of
Endurance
, the men made repeated journeys back to retrieve supplies and equipment which might help sustain them through the coming months.

Two important decisions were taken at this time. First it was decided to return to the vicinity of the ship and recover the third small boat. Second, to bring back more lengths of timber and nails from the mother ship which would be used to build up the sides of the three small boats for the proposed journey across the ocean to dry land.

Wild also managed to bring back
Endurance
’s wheelhouse which was modified to make a useful galley and storehouse on the ice. From the patchwork roof they defiantly flew the Union Jack which King George had given to Shackleton on the eve of departure from London.

It was also decided to rescue some of Hurley’s precious and memorable photographs, mostly glass plates which had been stored in metal cases on
Endurance
, now over 3 ft (1 m) under the mushy ice. It was not possible to keep all 600 plates and camera equipment so Hurley sat on the ice and calmly assessed the merit of each picture. As a negative was rejected, he summarily smashed the plate, thus ensuring that there would be no second thoughts. However, he retained one small pocket camera and about 120 plates which contain some of the most outstanding Polar pictures ever taken and are a fine memorial to a truly great photographer.

Crean, meanwhile, ensured that the sledges were kept loaded and ready for instant departure in case of any break in the ice and others were sent on a daily search for penguins, seals or anything else that might be eaten. Fortunately, there were sufficient supplies in the vicinity, although Shackleton was anxious not to stockpile too much food. He reckoned that storing large supplies of seal and penguin meat would send out the wrong signals to the men, suggesting that they were preparing to endure the unthinkable – another winter on the ice.

Above all, he wanted to keep up morale and hope. To counter any developing fears or loss of heart, Shackleton talked frequently about going home and the future expeditions on which they would all sail. He also moved Ocean Camp a little way onto firmer, more comfortable snow, which also helped make life a little more bearable.

The men filled their time with a mixture of duties like searching for food and maintaining the equipment, or alternatively with games of cards or a browse through the handful of books – like
Encyclopaedia Britannica
– which had been salvaged from
Endurance
. At night the twang of Hussey’s banjo – the ‘mental medicine’ – could be heard drifting across the eerie landscape.

In early November, temperatures began to revive which was a mixed blessing. It was warmer but it also meant that the area around Ocean Camp became a slushy, waterlogged mess, with men’s feet frequently sinking deep into the morass. Everything was wet through.

There was almost a sense of relief when, on 21 November,
Endurance
finally succumbed to the Antarctic. At around 5 p.m., Shackleton suddenly called out, ‘she’s going, boys’ and everyone scrambled to snatch a final farewell to their ship. She went down, bows first, her stern raised in the air before the ice swallowed the broken vessel.

The loss of
Endurance
was the moment when the 28 finally cut their ties with civilisation. They were, officially, castaways at 68° 38′ south, 52° 28′ west, adrift in one million square miles of ocean and 1,000 miles (1,600 km) from the nearest human settlement.

It was also the moment when the morale of the men would be severely tested and Shackleton was coming to realise the full value of men like Crean and Wild who, in the face of the growing adversity, were becoming the mainstays of the party. Both men gave invaluable support to Shackleton at a time when the spirits of the party were under enormous strain from the loss of the ship and dreadful living conditions on the drifting ice floe.

Shackleton had already been forced to handle a minor mutiny from the carpenter, Chips McNeish, and there was simmering discontent from others as anxiety over their position began to take hold. Shackleton had threatened to shoot McNeish if he failed to obey orders and the mental condition of several others was deteriorating under the pressure of their isolation.

Shackleton’s biographer, Huntford, concluded that, at this point, Crean and Wild were ‘the only men he could absolutely trust’.
²

An inventory of stores confirmed that the men had about three months’ full rations, not counting the concentrated sledging rations which were originally earmarked for the expedition across the Continent. These were now on standby for emergencies such as a long boat journey or, at worst, another winter on the drifting ice. But with summer approaching, it was felt there would soon be ample supplies of seals and penguins to feed the men.