An Unsung Hero: Tom Crean - Antarctic Survivor Read online

  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.

  5

  Into the wilderness

  Scott 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.

  The depot-laying support party would be gone for 35 days and return in time to set off again on 20 December for a unique Christmas on ice. Before that the men would face a desperately hard struggle to overcome their own inexperience of polar travel, poor equipment and the first sustained journey over the ice. However, they completed their journey and were back in time to set off again shortly before Christmas.

  Scott, Wilson and Shackleton began their march on 2 November 1902, to another rousing send-off from their colleagues, with five heavily-laden sledges pulled by nineteen energetic dogs and with their pennants flying stiffly in the wind. In total the sledges weighed 1,852 lb (839 kg), with the heaviest 450 lb and the lightest 177 lb. But while Scott was initially preparing to rely on the dogs to cross the Barrier, it was clear that none of the men had so far mastered the art of leading and controlling the animals. Nor were the three men anywhere near to getting to grips with their skis, despite the practice sessions.

  In reality, all the men setting out for a hazardous journey into the unknown were complete novices and had mostly failed to come to terms with the two best methods of transport for the job – dogs and ski. Before long they would fall back on the outdated ordeal of man-hauling.

  It soon turned into a dreadfully hard slog, with the men sinking up to their knees in soft snow and the heavy sledges frequently getting caught up in the broken ice. Six of the supporting party turned for home on 13 November and two days later the remainder stopped at 79° 15′, the furthest south ever travelled. It was a hard-won, but notable achievement.

  But as Barne, Crean and the others turned northwards, Scott warned that the southern party faced ‘extreme toil’ to make fresh progress. It was a prophetic remark because the three men would take 30 days to cover the first 109 miles onto the Barrier, or a weary plod of under 4 miles a day. This was partly because of the heavy weights and poor handling of the dogs, but largely because Scott resorted to relaying the sledges. This meant that for each mile they travelled south, the tired men had to cover three – taking a share of the load one mile ahead, walking a mile back to pick up the remaining load and then retracing their steps for another mile back to the original spot.

  It was soul-destroying and doubly exhausting labour which lasted for up to ten hours a day. On 14 December, barely five weeks into the journey and still supposedly fit, they covered only 2 miles ‘by the most strenuous exertions’.

  The men were also getting hungry as the work became heavier. Even more worrying, they were developing early signs of scurvy. The first of the rapidly weakening dogs died on 10 December and Scott had to reconsider how far they would get if, as expected, others died. The dogs, who were also poorly fed, were ceasing to be of much value.

  Despite their deterioration, the three men made some progress and each day brought sightings of new land and mountains. On 28 December, weakened by lack of adequate food, heavy pulling and developing scurvy, the party pitched camp at 82° 11′ south and Scott wrote:

  ‘We have almost shot our bolt.’2

  Shackleton was feeling the effects more than the others and on 30 December, Scott and Wilson left him behind in the tent with the dogs and equipment and skied south for a few miles. Observations placed them at between 82° 16′ and 82° 17′, a new record ‘furthest south’ and about 480 statute miles from the Pole itself. Shackleton never forgot the slight at being left behind and not sharing the honour.

  The journey home became a desperate race against time, with the trio constantly hungry and scurvy beginning to take a grip. There is little doubt that they had underestimated the strain of the heavy work and their need for food. Food and supply depots, on which their lives depended, were poorly marked and difficult to spot. One lengthy blizzard at this critical stage, confining them to their tent, would probably have killed them.

  Disaster threatened when Shackleton’s health deteriorated and he came close to breaking down. Two exhausted, hungry men would have to haul about 500 lb (225 kg) meant for three. Scott jettisoned everything he could and killed the remaining dogs. Shackleton was forced to stumble alongside the sledges, gasping for breath while Scott and Wilson man-hauled for their lives. Significantly, Scott jettisoned all but one pair of skis.

  Shackleton, who was coughing blood, collapsed and was placed on the sledge and pulled by the two weary haulers. It was readily apparent to Wilson, as the doctor, that the pair could not possibly survive if they continued to haul the extra weights and carry the burden of their sick companion, Shackleton. At one point Wilson told Scott he did not expect Shackleton to survive the night. Shackleton overheard and remembered that conversation years later when both Scott and Wilson had perished not far from the same spot on the Barrier on their way back from the South Pole.

  However, Shackleton’s phenomenal strength and mental resolve, which were to be a feature of his later exploits, surfaced and he somehow managed to get through the ordeal. He may have been driven by a growing dislike of Scott, who had reacted badly to Shackleton’s illness. Scott was irritated by Shackleton’s ‘failure’ and Wilson had to inte
rvene to prevent Scott from berating the sick man, even though all three faced a race for their very lives.

  On 3 February, still 11 miles from the safety of Discovery, the party unexpectedly ran into Bernacchi and Skelton. After three months on the Barrier, undernourished and struck with scurvy, the three men were almost unrecognisable. Scott wrote:

  ‘There is every reason to think however that our return was none too soon.’3

  While the southern party ordeal was unfolding, Barne’s party, including Crean, enjoyed a tough but manageable exploratory trip to the southwest. The party, pulling almost 1,200 lb (543 kg) on two sledges, set off on 20 December 1902, with five weeks’ supply of food and six weeks’ supply of oil. Five days later, the six men were crammed into their little tents for the first recorded Christmas party on the Barrier.

  Shipmates from Discovery had thoughtfully written greetings cards which were dutifully carried across the ice by Williamson and the men were happy to improvise, even in the coldest conditions, to ensure that the celebrations did not falter. After dinner, the six men somehow crowded into one three-man tent for what Barne described as a ‘concert’. Barne said each man did a ‘turn’, which would have suited the big Irishman.

  Crean was well known for breaking into song even under normal circumstances and now his voice was lubricated by a special gift which had been smuggled onto one of the sledges. Barne revealed:

  ‘Our efforts were stimulated by a bottle of port which had been brought for the purpose.’4

  Barne was fulsome in his praise of his fellow travellers, helped by the fact that no one had suffered any ill health which would have severely hampered the trip. He wrote to Scott:

  ‘I cannot speak too highly of the sledge crew, all of whom, during the entire trip, were in good spirits and from whom did I not hear a word of complaint, or notice a sign of dissatisfaction.’5

  Barne’s team returned to the mother ship on 30 January to learn that Discovery remained stuck fast, still trapped by about one mile of ice in McMurdo Sound. Unless the ship suddenly broke free, it would mean another year in the South.

  A relief ship, Morning, under Captain William Colbeck had arrived while the southern party had been away. But Colbeck was concerned that the ice might seize his ship, trapping them for another twelve months. Colbeck had been with Borchgrevink and Bernacchi on the Southern Cross expedition and was well aware of the hazards of the ice and was not prepared to take the risk.

  Also on board the Morning was a young naval Lieutenant, Edward ‘Teddy’ Evans. It was the first time that Evans – later to be Lord Mountevans – met Scott and the seamen Crean and Lashly, all of whom were to become significant figures in his life.

  Scott realised the vulnerability of their position and immediately began preparing for a second winter, stocking up the larder with fresh supplies of seal, skua gulls and lamb brought down from New Zealand. He also decided to send back eight men with Colbeck, mostly those from the merchant service. Significantly, the list of men returning home on the Morning included Shackleton.

  Shackleton, who felt slighted at not being invited to share in the prestige of the ‘furthest south’, was now further insulted at being invalided home. He felt the rebuke deeply and as the Morning slipped out of McMurdo Sound on 2 March 1903, and headed north, Shackleton broke down and wept.

  At Hut Point, the feelings were equally despondent as the Morning disappeared over the northern horizon and the party began to contemplate another year of isolation. On 13 March 1903 Scott wrote:

  ‘I have abandoned all hope of the ice going out.’6

  The winter months were spent much as the previous year, with various scientific duties and improvised games to keep the men as busy as possible. On one day a football match – ‘Married & Engaged versus Single’ – was played in a temperature of –40 °F (–40 °C). The result is not recorded, but the intense cold restricted the play to 30 minutes each way.

  The weather throughout the winter was colder than the previous year but the men had learned some valuable lessons. Bernacchi admitted that the second winter was ‘wearisome’ but explained:

  ‘In fact, knowledge gained by experience, particularly in relation to food, made us more fit when summer dawned in 1903 than had been the previous year.’7

  Lashly, too, longed to get back to civilisation ‘just for a change’ and wrote in his diary on 1 April 1903:

  ‘The worst time of the year is just coming on. In three weeks time we shall lose the sun, then for the darkness. But we shall be all right as long as we continue in good health.’8

  Scott said the winter passed away in the ‘quietest and pleasantest fashion’ despite the weather. But inside the living quarters, plans for another season of sledging were also under way. Scott intended to lead a party across the Ferrar Glacier and Royds and Wilson were setting out for Cape Crozier to collect eggs from the colony of Emperor penguins. Barne, assisted by Crean, was due for a run towards the mountains first sighted on Scott’s southern journey.

  But this time there was a renewed urgency about the preparations because Scott was clearly concerned about freeing Discovery from the ice to avoid the grim prospect of a third winter in the South. As a result, he ordered all sledging trips to be completed by mid-December so that each and every man would be available for the essential work of breaking Discovery out of its captivity. A third year of captivity was too much to contemplate.

  In mid-September Crean was in Barne’s party to lay a depot to the southeast of White Island on the Barrier, which was very early in the season and left the men highly vulnerable to severe weather. In the event, the conditions were worse than anyone imagined and the party suffered badly.

  The six man team – Barne, Lt Mulock (who had replaced Shackleton), Quartley, Smythe, Joyce and Crean – met temperatures of –40 °F (–40 °C) as soon as they left the ship and conditions deteriorated badly as they made painfully slow progress dragging their sledges onto the Barrier. As conditions worsened, it was evident that the harsh lessons of the previous year, particularly the suffering endured by Scott’s ‘furthest south’ party, had not been fully learned.

  Temperatures plunged to more than 100° of frost and one member of the party was lucky to survive without losing some toes. Scott pointed out that a mere tent and sleeping bag had never before afforded protection to men in such extreme circumstances. He recounted the harrowing tale in his diary:

  ‘The temperature was well below –40° when they left the ship; it dropped to –50 °F (–45 °C) as they reached the corner of White Island and a little beyond to –60°; but even at this it did not stop, but continued falling until it reached and passed –65°.

  At –67.7 °F (–55 °C) the spirit column of the thermometer broke and they found it impossible to get it to unite again; we shall never know exactly, therefore, what degree of cold this party actually faced but Barne, allowing for the broken column, is sure that it was below –70°.

  Joyce was the only one who suffered seriously from these terribly severe conditions. After his features had been frostbitten several times individually, they all went together and he was seen with his whole face quite white. Though, of course, it is in a very bad state now, the circulation was restored in it at the time without much difficulty; but worse was to follow, for on the march he announced that one of his feet was gone and, having pitched the tents, Barne examined it, and found that it was white to the ankle. It was quite an hour before they could get any signs of life in it, and this was only accomplished by the officers taking it in turns to nurse the frozen member in their breasts.

  All the party, and especially the owner of the frozen foot, seem to regard this incident an excellent jest; but for my part I would be slow to see a joke when I had a frostbitten foot myself, or even when I had to undo my garments in a temperature of –70° to nurse someone else’s. It appears that those who were giving the warmth found that they could keep the icy foot in contact with their bodies for nearly ten minutes, but at the end of that t
ime they had to hand it on to the next member of the party; they own that it was not a pleasing sensation, but think that it increased their appetites. However their ministrations have brought Joyce safely back to the ship with his full allowance of toes, which is the main point.’9

  Fortunately, the men were out on the Barrier for only eight days. But it had been a harrowing experience and another reminder of the risks. Nevertheless, within days of their return, Crean and his colleagues prepared to launch themselves on a fresh trip to the area around what is now called the Barne Inlet, a little over 200 miles across the Barrier to the south. Once again, though, the weather, driven by a southerly gale, was appalling.

  The party of six left the ship on 6 October and was provisioned for 70 days. In the event, they were out for 69 days which in the context of the poor weather suggests the party cut things pretty finely. A lengthy blizzard at the wrong time would have trapped the men in their tents with disturbing consequences. As it was, the bad weather forced the party to remain in their tents for nine whole days when supplies were plentiful. On another fourteen days, they either started late or were stuck in their tents for half the day. Further hold-ups would have eroded their margin of safety.