The Endurance_ Shackleton's Legendary Antarctic Expedition - Caroline Alexander [55]
“These, although windproof, were unfortunately not waterproof,” Worsley observed.
Shackleton hoped to run north for a few days, away from the ice and towards warmer weather, before bearing east and setting a course for South Georgia Island. This was not the nearest landfall—Cape Horn was closer—but the prevailing west erly gales made it the only one feasible.
The men took their first meal under the low canvas deck in a heavy swell, fighting to steady the little Primus stove on which hot food depended. Unable to sit upright, they ate with great difficulty, their chests almost pressed against their stomachs. The staple of their diet was “hoosh,” a brick of beef protein, lard, oatmeal, sugar, and salt originally intended as sledging rations for the transcontinental trek that now lay on the fringe of memory. Mixed with water, hoosh made a thick stew over which the coveted Nut Food could be crumbled. All but Worsley and McCarthy were seasick. After the meal, McNish, Crean, McCarthy, and Vincent crawled into their wet bags and lay down on the hard, shifting ballast of stones, while Worsley and Shackleton shared the first watch. With the Southern Cross shining from the clear, cold sky overhead, they sailed north by the stars.
“Do you know I know nothing about boat-sailing?” Worsley reports Shackleton as saying with a laugh, on this first night watch. He continues: “‘Alright, Boss,' I replied, ‘I do, this is my third boat-journey.' “
Worsley's report of the conversation was intended as a tribute to Shackleton's courage in undertaking such a dangerous voyage as a land explorer whose seafaring days were behind him. But in fact, it is striking how many of the British polar explorers were experienced sailors. Not only had Shackleton served twenty years in the Merchant Service, but each member of the James Caird 's small crew had so many years of experience at sea that expertise was taken for granted. Each man had the assurance that when he went “below deck” to crawl into his bag, his companions above who worked the sails and tiller knew, even under the unprecedented conditions, exactly what they were doing.
By dawn, when Crean emerged to light the Primus, the Caird had made forty-five miles from Elephant Island. Breakfast was prepared below deck, with the sea breaking over the canvas covering and running down the men's necks. In the afternoon, the wind rose to a gale from the west-southwest, with a dangerous high cross sea that racked the heavily ballasted boat with a hard, jerky motion. Shackleton divided the crew into two watches, with himself, Crean, and McNish taking one, and Worsley, McCarthy, and Vincent the other, rotating four-hour shifts.
“The routine,” wrote Worsley, “was, three men in bags deluding themselves that they were sleeping, and three men ‘on deck'; that is one man steering for an hour, while the other two when not pumping, baling or handling sails were sitting in our ‘saloon' (the biggest part of the boat, where we generally had grub).” Going “below” was a dreaded ordeal: The space amid the increasingly waterlogged ballast was only five by seven feet. The men had to line up one behind the other and crawl, in heavy, wet clothes, over the stones and under a low thwart to reach their bags. With the boat rolling and shipping water, entrapment in this narrow space held all the horror of being buried alive, and many times men who had nodded off awoke to the sickening sensation that they were drowning.
“Real rest we had none,” wrote Shackleton. The worn-out reindeer-skin bags were shedding badly,