Death of Endurance
Endurance had been drifting immobilised in the Antarctic pack ice from late January 1915 through the southern winter. It was in October, as the ice broke up, that Shackleton realised his ship was in extreme peril
Great blocks of ice weighing many tons were lifted into the air and tossed aside as other masses rose beneath them. We were helpless intruders in a strange world, our lives dependent upon the play of grim forces which made a mockery of our puny efforts. I scarcely dared hope now that Endurance would live and throughout that anxious day I reviewed again the plans laid long before for the sledging journey we must make in the event of our having to take to the ice. We were ready, as far as forethought could make us, for every contingency. Stores, dogs, sledges and equipment were ready to be moved from the ship at a moment’s notice.
The following day brought bright, clear weather, with a blue sky. The sunshine was inspiriting. The roar of pressure could be heard all around us. New ridges were rising, and I could see as the day wore on the lines of major disturbance were drawing nearer to the ship. The Endurance suffered some strains at intervals. Listening below, I could hear the creaking and groaning of her timbers, the pistol-like cracks that told of the starting of a trenail or plank, and the faint, indescribable whispers of our ship’s distress. Overhead the sun shone serenely; occasional fleecy clouds drifted before the southerly breeze, and the light glinted and sparkled on the million facets of the new pressure ridges. The day passed slowly. At 7 p.m. very heavy pressure developed, with twisting strains that racked the ship fore-and-aft. The butts of planking were opened four and five inches on the starboard side, and at the same time we could see from the bridge that the ship was bending like a bow under titanic pressure. Almost like a living creature, she resisted the forces that would crush her; but it was a one-sided battle. Millions of tons of ice pressed inexorably upon the little ship that had dared the challenge of the Antarctic. The Endurance was now leaking badly, and at 9 p.m. I gave the order to lower boats, gear, provisions and sledges to the floe, and move them to the flat ice a little way from the ship. Then came a fateful day - Wednesday October 27. The position was Lat. 69º 5’ S., and the Long 51º 30’ W. The temperature was -8.5º Fahr, a gentle southerly breeze was blowing and the sun shone in a clear sky. ‘After months of ceaseless anxiety and strain, after times when hope beat high and times when the outlook was black indeed, the end of the Endurance has come. But though we have been compelled to abandon the ship, which is crushed beyond all hope of ever being righted, we are alive and well, and we have stores and equipment for the task that lies before us. The task is to reach land with all the members of the expedition. It is hard to write what I feel. To a sailor his ship is more than a floating home, and in the Endurance I had centred ambitions, hopes and desires. Now, straining and groaning, her timbers cracking and her wounds gaping, she is slowly giving up her sentient life at the very outset of her career. She is crushed and abandoned after drifting more than 570 miles in a north-westerly direction during the 281 days since she became locked in the ice. The distance from the point when she became beset to the place where she now rests mortally hurt in the grip of the floes is 573 miles, but the total drift between all observed positions has been 1186
miles, and probably we actually covered more than 1500 miles. [...] This morning, our last on the ship, the weather was clear, with a gentle south-south- easterly to southsouth-westerly breeze. From the crow’s-nest there was no sign of land of any sort. The pressure was increasing steadily, and the passing hours brought no relief or respite for the ship. The attack of the ice reached its climax at 4 p.m. The ship was hove stern up by the pressure, and the driving floe, moving laterally across the stern, split the rudder and tore out the rudder post and stern post. Then, while we watched, the ice loosened and the Endurance sank a little. The deck for breaking upwards and the water was pouring in below. Again the pressure began, and at 5 p.m. I ordered all hands onto the ice. The twisting, grinding floes were working their will at last on the ship. It was a sickening sensation to feel the decks breaking up under one’s feet, the great beams bending and then snapping with a noise like heavy gunfire. The water was overmastering the pumps, and to avoid an explosion when it reached the boilers I had to give orders for the fires to be drawn and the steam let down. The plans for abandoning the ship in case of emergency had been made well in advance, and men and dogs descended to the floe and made their way to the comparative safety of an unbroken portion of the floe without a hitch. Just before leaving, I looked down the engine room skylight as I stood on the quivering deck and saw the engines dropping sideways as the stays and bed-plates gave way. I cannot describe the impression of relentless destruction that was forced upon me as I looked down and around. the floes, with the force of millions of tons of moving ice behind them, were simply annihilating the ship.’