Endurance: Shackleton's Incredible Voyage

by Alfred Lansing

As the sun climbed a fraction higher, they saw off the starboard bow the peaks of Clarence Island, and a little later, Elephant Island, dead ahead—the Promised Land, no more than 30 miles away. In the joy of that moment, Shackleton called to Worsley to congratulate him on his navigation, and Worsley, stiff with cold, looked away in proud embarrassment. They would land by nightfall—provided that not a moment was lost. Shackleton, impatient to be on the move, gave the order to get underway immediately. But it was not that simple. The light of dawn revealed the results of the night. Many faces were marked by the ugly white rings of frostbite, and almost everyone was afflicted with salt-water boils that gave off a gray, curdlike discharge when they broke. McIlroy called to Shackleton from the Wills that Blackboro’s feet apparently were gone because he had been unable to restore circulation in them. And Shackleton himself looked haggard. His voice, which was usually strong and clear, had grown hoarse with exhaustion. Both the Docker and the Wills were severely iced up, inside and out. It took more than an hour to chip away enough to make them fit for sailing. When it came time to haul in the sea anchor, Cheetham and Holness leaned over the bow of the Docker trying to untie the icy knot in the rope with fingers so stiff they would hardly move. While they worked, the Docker rose to a sea, then pitched downward. Holness failed to pull his head away, and two of his teeth were knock...

The darkness before the dawn