An Unsung Hero: Tom Crean - Antarctic Survivor (7 page)

However, successive expeditions underestimated the need to refuel the men with adequate amounts of food, and with the understanding of diets and vitamins still in its infancy, they also failed to ensure that the men ate the correct types of food.
In addition, the men rarely consumed enough liquid because ice had to be melted in the primus stove to produce drinking water. But the precious fuel had to be carefully rationed to cook hot meals, which meant they rarely bothered to stop, pitch a tent and rig up the primus simply for a mug of tea.

Man-haulers during this era were plagued by the intense cold, frost bite, blizzards, hurricane-force winds, snow blindness, life threatening crevasses and one final indignity – they were always thirsty and hungry.

The British, influenced by Markham, took special pride in the ability to cope with hardship, the test of real men pitted against the worst the elements could throw at them. Men battled against each other in silent resolution to ensure that their own piece of the harness did not slack. They gloried in the hardship and seemed unable or unwilling to adapt to more modern, less arduous methods of travel, such as dogs and skis.

Amundsen, who would become the greatest of all polar explorers, mastered the art of dog travel and skis long before travelling to Antarctica. He had travelled extensively in Norway and elsewhere in the frozen North, observing and learning the techniques and survival skills of the local people.

The preparation paid handsome dividends and during his successful journey to the South Pole in 1911, his party on occasions covered up to 60 miles (96 km) a day in ideal conditions. Overall, the Norwegian party averaged 23 miles a day while by contrast the man-hauling British explorers, Scott and Shackleton, covered the ground far more slowly. A distance of 12 or 13 miles (20 km) was considered very good going and 15 miles (24 km) a day was rarely exceeded.

At worst, British explorers of the Age covered only 3 or 4 miles a day after exhausting labour. Equally, the British parties were in their harnesses pulling about 200 lb per man for ten to twelve hours a day, sometimes even longer. It also meant that British teams had precious little strength left at the end of a day. The men were frequently only capable of erecting a tent, cooking a quick meal and collapsing into their sleeping bags.
In contrast, Amundsen and his dog teams generally ran for only about five hours a day which meant longer breaks and a greater margin of time to cope with emergencies. The difference in the scale of work and the amount of rest between the British and Norwegians in the Heroic Age was enormous.

Bernacchi, writing in the late 1930s, said that even by 1902 the man-hauling of sledges was ‘an out-moded idea’. But the
Discovery
expedition was already unloading its equipment and preparing for a season of sledging journeys into the unknown. And the sledges would be largely man-hauled by men like Tom Crean.

The expedition, which had got off to an unhappy start with the death of seaman Bonner at Lyttelton, was struck by a second tragedy only weeks into its stay in the South. A simple journey across the ice rapidly deteriorated into a nightmare ordeal and another loss of life. It was an early and dire warning of the party’s vulnerability.

Crean was not in the party of twelve asked to travel 40 miles across the Barrier in early March to leave a note at Cape Crozier, a pre-arranged spot for any relief expedition to learn of
Discovery
’s winter position. It was to prove a costly postal delivery.

The Cape Crozier party was divided into two, with each pulling a single sledge and each helped by four dogs. But the men had picked up very little experience of ice travel and, to make matters worse, even the basic preparation was hopelessly inadequate. Scott confessed to being ‘ashamed’ by the inefficient way the sledges had been packed and the clothing worn by the men.

Although Scott was indisputably in charge, he somehow managed to assume a lofty detachment from overall responsibility, almost as though someone else was carrying the can. In his book, written after the expedition had returned home, he wrote a damning assessment of his own shortcomings:

Despite the obvious dangers, the party set out on 4 March 1902. A blizzard struck soon afterwards and visibility was reduced to nil. The party’s inexperience and lack of control began to emerge with fatal consequences.

Although the tents had been pitched, the men, who were frightened at their vulnerability, panicked. It was the first time that many of them had been caught out in the open and they decided against sitting tight and allowing the blizzard to blow itself out. In their panic, they abandoned their tents and gear and blindly set out on foot to reach the ship. The party found itself on a steep icy slope, which ran down to a precipice overlooking the forbidding icy waters of the Ross Sea below. They began to slip and slide on the glassy slopes and soon realised that someone could slip and crash over the edge to a certain death.

George Vince, a seaman whose fur boots did not have spikes or modern day crampons, lost his footing with fatal consequences. He slipped and shot past his startled and helpless shipmates over the steep edge and down to a freezing, watery grave. Wild watched his messmate slide to his death and said it was a ‘straight drop of 300 ft into the sea’. His body was never found.

Far worse catastrophe threatened. The party, by now even more frightened and in disarray, was scattered across the swirling Antarctic landscape, with no one quite sure of their location or whether others had also been lost. Crean joined the search parties who soon came across Barne, Evans and Quartley dazed and wandering aimlessly about the slopes of nearby
Castle Rock. By late evening Royds had somehow returned with most of his party, which left only two lost souls – Clarence Hare, the steward, and George Vince, now presumed dead.

Scott said it was ‘one of our blackest days’ and, like everyone else at Hut Point, assumed that Hare had died alongside the hapless Vince. But at 10 a.m. the next day a lone figure was seen approaching, crawling down a nearby slope. It was Hare. The young steward had survived some 36 hours in the open and had not eaten a hot meal for 60 hours. He had wandered around in confusion and eventually curled up in the snow and dropped off to sleep. According to Wilson, Scott looked as though he felt ‘the dead was really walking in’.

There is little doubt that Hare was extremely lucky. But the rest of the party had been given a very early and brutal lesson in the hazards of the Antarctic landscape and the rapid way in which the weather can change and bring catastrophe. A far worse disaster had only been narrowly averted and at least half the party had suffered bad frostbite.

Wild conceded that Evans had been ‘lucky not to lose an ear’ in the escapade. But the warning signs were starkly apparent and seaman Frank Plumley summed up the mood of the wintering party by reporting that all hands were ‘despondent’.

It was becoming colder as winter began to set in and on 23 April the sun disappeared for four months. But Bernacchi, who had seen it all before, was concerned about the experiences of the expedition so far and wrote:

Scott insisted that naval routine and naval discipline would be maintained throughout the stay in the South, notably the forced separation of officers and men. The officers, for example, ate at different times from the men. The pettiness, particularly the unbending insistence on enforcing traditional rigid naval
practice, irritated the men and seaman Williamson reported a ‘lot of discontent’ on the cramped mess deck. Only weeks after his remarkable survival in the snow, steward Hare complained in his diary about the monotony and low spirits.

Duncan also complained about the ‘sufficating’ sleeping accommodation and said the men were often kept standing out on deck in freezing temperatures for routine inspections. On one occasion his diary recorded:

A typical day involved parties of men rising early and quarrying chunks of ice for melting as drinking water. They assembled for breakfast at 8.30 a.m., which was a major meal of the day, usually starting with lashings of hot porridge and dollops of treacle. Seal’s liver was a typical fare for those who fancied it and there was an endless supply of fresh-baked bread and sticky jam.

The men ate and slept together in close confinement with their hammocks strung across the mess deck. There was no privacy. In contrast, many officers and scientists enjoyed the privacy of their own small rooms and dined together around a delightful mahogany wardroom table adorned with silver cutlery and fine wines. In the corner was an Edwardian piano.

Prayers followed soon after breakfast and the men were then employed in groups to repair and maintain equipment. Lunch followed at 1 p.m. when the men were also allowed a daily ration of rum and tobacco. Routine for the scientists included regular readings of the extensive meteorological, magnetic and other instruments, while others were busy on geology, biology, botany and physics. Supper was at the early time of 5 p.m. and the rest of the evening was free for sedate parlour games, such as ‘shove ha’penny’, chess or cards.

There was a permanent fog of smoke from the coarse, rough-cut Navy shag which, contrary to traditional regulations, the men were allowed to smoke at any time of the day. Crean,
a pipe-smoker all his life, was in his element, though some non-smokers complained about the stifling atmosphere.

Some wrote letters home or filled in diaries, while others preferred conversation or, in typical naval style, the spinning of a yarn. It was cheerfully estimated that the ‘thrilling experiences’ of the cook, Charles Clark, in many parts of the world before the
Discovery
expedition alone would extend over a period of 590 years!

The monotony was occasionally broken by a lecture from one of the scientists or officers, while some seaman earned a few extra pennies by doing the weekly washing of the odd idle officer. Sundays saw a regular religious service, but Crean as a Catholic was excused and allowed to make his own private arrangements.

People ventured outside at their peril, although the reading of scientific instruments was maintained throughout the winter. The cold was bad enough. But the biggest danger was the constant wind and swirling, engulfing blizzards. Bernacchi said the combination was ‘blinding and deafening’ and people could become lost and disoriented within yards of the safety of the hut or ship.

The great event of the winter was Midwinter’s Day, which was celebrated as a form of Christmas Day without the religion. Bernacchi mentioned feasting ‘like old time pagans’. Streamers decorated the separate messes and the party enjoyed a splendid menu of best turtle soup, New Zealand lamb, plum pudding and mince pies. Champagne flowed, followed by port. The men were served a slight variation of turtle soup, boiled ham, kidney beans and potatoes, followed by plum pudding and brandy sauce. Gifts were exchanged, including a present for every man on board from Mrs Royds, the mother of the first lieutenant, Royds.

Spirits picked up considerably on 22 August when the sun made its reappearance after four months’ total darkness. But the return of natural daylight also meant that the months of inactivity were now over and the real work of the expedition about to begin.

S
cott planned a series of sorties into the unknown land, climaxing with his own bid to establish a new record for travelling further south than anyone else and possibly, even a tilt at the Pole itself. This was to be the centrepiece of the
Discovery
expedition, though no one on earth at this stage knew what lay beyond the immediate horizon of the Barrier.

Crean was involved in two notable firsts in the opening skirmishes with the Antarctic hinterland. He was a member of the party which by mid-November 1902 had duly achieved a record of travelling further south than anyone before. On a more trivial note, he also became one of the first humans to celebrate Christmas in a tent on the great ice sheet.

Initially Crean was in the team of men who were called upon to support the first major journey onto the Barrier. The three-man team for the main southern journey was made up of Scott, Wilson and Shackleton, and the supporting parties intended to place supply depots on the featureless landscape, which the trio would pick up on the return trip.

The twelve-man supporting party, led by Barne, set out on 30 October amid great enthusiasm and ringing cheers from their colleagues. The sledges each flew colourful pennants and a Union Jack, while one rejoiced in the British penchant for deliberately making hard work of things by carrying a banner which read: ‘No dogs need apply.’

Crean’s sledge carried his own distinctive trademark, an Irish flag. Barne recorded a ‘fine show of bunting’ at the sendoff and made particular note of ‘… an Irish ensign belonging to Crean AB, consisting of a green flag with a jack in the corner and a gold harp in the centre’.
¹
In what was overwhelmingly an English occasion, Crean felt it necessary to demonstrate that he had not lost touch with his roots.