SIR E. SHACKLETON
RETURN TO LONDON
STORY OF HIS EXPEDITION
Sir Ernest Shackleton, the great Antarctic explorer, arrived in London last night from America, and in conversation with a representative of The Daily Telegraph, recited a number of the interesting and exciting experiences that have befallen him during the past two or three eventful years. Speaking of the ill-fated expedition of the Endurance, Sir Ernest Shackleton remarked: “The expedition disposed of the myth of a New South Wales Greenland, or Morrell Island, for the Endurance drifted right over where this land was supposed to be, and by so doing clearly proved that it was not in existence.” Dealing with a criticism of his expedition’s course, Sir Ernest said the Weddel Sea was the worst sea in the world for ice, and stated that this was due to the lack of wind and the congestion of ice. But the only way to cross the Antarctic Continent with prudence and the greatest amount of safety was to go by the Weddel Sea, because there was a base in the latter, and through it one went from the unknown into the known. “When we got to South Georgia,” said Sir Ernest, “we were as men risen from the dead in regard to the events of the world. We were worse off than the man in gaol, for he is allowed to hear a little about what is going on outside his prison bars, whereas we had been entirely shut out of everything. “I personally knew nothing of the world’s doings from Oct. 26, 1914, to May 20, 1916. On the latter date I arrived with our party at South Georgia, and going up to the manager of the whaling station there the first question I asked was, ‘When was the war over?’ The sinking of the Lusitania, asphyxiating gas, liquid fire, and other terrors of the war were all thrown at us in a bunch, and we seemed to have come into a mad world. “We had just come 750 miles from Elephant Island to South Georgia. There were six of us in my boat, which was 22ft in length. The first night we landed we beached the boat, but were too weak to haul it up. We cut the gunwales off to make a fire with, and subsequently we occupied thirty-six hours in crossing South Georgia – thirtytwo miles. “It was a terrible journey, and in places we had to cut steps down the precipitous cliffs and lower each other down by ropes.
RESCUE OF THE 22
“We made four attempts in four different ships to reach the marooned men on Elephant Island,” observed Sir Ernest in describing the rescue, “and sailed under the Norwegian, Uruguayan, British, and Chilian flags, being ultimately successful in a vessel flying the latter. On one occasion we got to within 20 miles of the island, but could not land, because of the floating ice; another time it was 100 miles, a third time it was 75 miles, and at the last attempt we were successful. “My second in command, Frank Wild, was in charge of the men, and greatly cheered them by his optimism. Whenever he saw the sea clear of ice he would say, ‘Roll your sleeping bags up, boys, the boss may come to-day.’ The men lighted a fire to guide us in, and it was a stirring moment as our little boat shot through the waves straight to the beach where the 22 stranded men stood waving their caps and shouting to us. “As our boat grounded on the stones Wild came up, and, shaking hands with me, said: ‘We are all well, boss.’ There was not much time lost, for there was none to spare, as any moment the floating ice which runs past the island at four or five miles an hour might have been upon us. We were threequarters of a mile from camp when the fog lifted, and allowed us to see our comrades, and in threequarters of an hour we had got to the island, taken off the men, and were homeward bound, so that we did not lose much time. “And the thankfulness of those 22 men! Imagine it, they had been living for four and a half months on a little patch of beach about 200ft wide, at the foot of towering cliffs, wet through, and with a temperature 45 below zero. When I arrived they were conserving their rations by eating seaweed and limpets, and only had one warm meal a day. When we got off the ice was running at four to five miles an hour, and if we had not rushed in as we did we should have been too late. I rescued them on Aug. 1, and if I had not done so some of them must have died, but others might have held out to October. “As it was the two surgeons had to remove five of Blackborough’s toes, which had become frostbitten. When I left the bulk of the men on the island I decided to leave the two surgeons with them, arguing they would be more use there than in our boat.”