The Endurance_ Shackleton's Legendary Antarctic Expedition - Caroline Alexander [58]
Their ordeal had already taken a heavy toll on Vincent, who from late April, to use Shackleton's enigmatic words, had “ceased to be an active member of the crew.” Worsley attributed the trouble to rheumatism, but the collapse appears to have been mental as much as physical, for later in the journey he does not appear to have been entirely incapacitated. Physically, he had been the strongest member of the entire Endurance company.
McCarthy shamed them all.
“[He] is the most irrepressable optimist I've ever met,” Worsley wrote in his navigating book. “When I relieve him at the helm, boat iced & seas pourg: down yr neck, he informs me with a happy grin ‘It's a grand day, sir.' “
Between Shackleton and Crean was a special rapport. As Worsley wrote,
Tom Crean had been so long and done so much with Sir E that he had become a priviledged retainer. As they turned in, a kind of wordless rumbling, mutter ing, growling noise could be heard issuing from the dark & gloomy lair in the bows sometimes directed at one another, sometimes at things in general, & sometimes at nothing at all. At times they were so full of quaint conceits & Crean's remarks were so Irish that I ran risk of explosion by suppressed laughter. “Go to sleep Crean & don't be clucking like an old hen.” “Boss I can't eat those reindeer hairs. I'll have an inside on me like a billygoats neck. Let's give 'em to the Skipper & McCarthy. They never know what they're eating” & so on.
Worsley, despite the rank discomfort, was in his element. He was conscious of being in the midst of a great adventure—which had been his life's ambition. The fact that he was able to continue taking bemused stock of his shipmates is proof that he retained his sense of humor. Of McNish, there is little record. Shackleton stated only, “The carpenter was suffering particularly, but he showed grit and spirit.” McNish appears to have endured each day's developments with his customary dour, matter-of-fact forbearance; he had not been born to a life that had promised things to be easy. Shackleton himself was in extreme discomfort; on top of everything else, his sciatica had returned.
At midnight on May 2, Shackleton relieved Worsley at the helm just as he was being struck full in the face by a torrent of water. The gale had been gaining strength for eight hours, and a heavy cross sea was running under snow squalls. Alone at the helm, Shackleton noticed a line of clear sky behind them, and called out to the men below that it was at last clearing.
“Then a moment later I realized that what I had seen was not a rift in the clouds but the white crest of an enormous wave,” wrote Shackleton. “During twenty-six years' experience of the ocean in all its moods I had not encountered a wave so gigan tic. It was a mighty upheaval of the ocean, a thing quite apart from the big white capped seas that had been our tireless enemies for so many days. I shouted, ‘For God's sake, hold on! It's got us!'”
After an unnatural lull, a torrent of thundering foam broke over them. Staggering under the flood, the boat nonetheless rose, emerging, to use Shackleton's words, “half-full of water, sagging to the dead weight and shuddering under the blow.” The men bailed with all their energy until they felt the Caird float true beneath them. Then it took a full hour of bailing to clear her.
On the morning of May 3, after blowing for forty-eight hours at its height, this fierce, bitter gale at last subsided, and the sun appeared amid great, clean cumulus clouds. The sails were unreefed, and the wet sleeping bags and clothing were hung from the mast and the deck, as they