Shackleton's Boat Journey by Frank Arthur Worsley

Author:Frank Arthur Worsley [Worsley, F. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780857905468
Publisher: Birlinn

As a rule, when a sea wets a sailor through, he swears at it, and comprehensively and impartially curses everything in sight, beginning with the ship and the ‘old man’ – if he’s not within hearing; but on this passage we said nothing when a sea hit us in the face. It was grin and bear it; for it was Sir Ernest’s theory that by keeping our tempers and general cheeriness we each helped to keep one another up. We all lived up to this to the best of our ability, but Macarty was a marvel.

After the third day our feet and legs had swelled, and began to be superficially frostbitten from the constant soaking in sea water, with the temperature at times nearly down to zero; and the lack of exercise. During the last gale they assumed a dead-white colour and lost surface feeling.

Our footgear consisted of two pairs of Jaeger wool socks, homemade felt shoes, ankle-high (mine were Greenstreet’s handiwork), and, over all, finneskoe (reindeer-skin boots), hair out and skin in, when we started – now it was skin inside and out. When your feet got unbearably cold you took off your footgear and, rinsing your socks in the sea, wiped your feet, wrung out your socks, and again wiped your feet before replacing your footgear. This was the wag’s opportunity. While busily engaged with your socks he would prick your toe with a ‘Primus’ pricker. Getting no response he would prick higher and higher up foot and leg, till the victim suddenly jumped, yelled, or swore according to temperament. This was not merely horseplay or idle curiosity – it was also an index as to how one’s feet and legs were standing the rigours of the passage.

To prevent my feet getting worse, I adopted a system of wriggling them constantly, contracting and relaxing my toes until quite tired, waiting a minute, then wriggling them again, and so on. I think it saved my feet a good deal.

At midnight Shackleton relieved me. The southwest gale had been steadily increasing with snow squalls for eight hours and there was a heavy cross sea running which caused us to ship more seas over the boat even than usual. Just before he crawled out from under the canvas a sea struck me full in the face and the front as I stood aft steering with the lee yoke line to keep her out of the wind. The water was running out of me as he relieved me at the helm and then another sea dashed over the two of us. ‘Pretty juicy,’ he said, and we both forced a laugh. I crawled below and into my sodden sleeping bag. In spite of wet and cold I fell asleep instantly, but soon after something awakened me. Then I heard Shackleton shout ‘It’s clearing, boys!’ and immediately after, ‘For God’s sake, hold on! It’s got us!’ The line of white along the southern horizon that he had taken for the sky clearing was, in fact, the foaming crest of an enormous sea.

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