Dan Snow's History Hit - Shackleton's Endurance Expedition

Episode Date: November 11, 2024

In this dramatic episode, Dan tells the incredible story of how Shackleton saved every single man on the fated Endurance expedition from perishing in Antarctica. In late 1914, the charismatic and brilliant explorer Ernest Shackleton led 27 men on a voyage to cross Antarctica from one side to the other. But what should have been a successful expedition turned into a two-year nightmare of hardship and catastrophe when their vessel the Endurance was crushed in the Weddell Sea pack-ice and sunk. Stranded with no ship, no contact with the outside world and limited supplies, it would be up to the men to find their own way back to civilisation.Do you have any questions for Dan after seeing the Endurance documentary on Disney+ or Nat Geo? If so send them to [e-mail] for a special episode where Dan answers your questions!Written and produced by Mariana Des Forges, edited by Dougal PatmoreEnjoy unlimited access to award-winning original documentaries that are released weekly and AD-FREE podcasts. Sign up HERE for 50% off for 3 months using code ‘DANSNOW’.We'd love to hear from you - what do you want to hear an episode on? You can email the podcast at [e-mail] can take part in our listener survey here.

This is History's Heroes. People with purpose, brave ideas, and the courage to stand alone. Including a pioneering surgeon who rebuilt the shattered faces of soldiers in the First World War. You know, he would look at these men and he would say, don't worry, Sonny, you'll have as good a face as any of us when I'm done with you. Join me, Alex von Tunzelman, for History's Heroes. Subscribe to History's Heroes wherever you get your podcasts. This episode is brought to you by The Lego Group. Hopefully you've been enjoying our earnest Shackleton season

on Dan Snow's History Hit to celebrate the release of the film Endurance, that documents our incredible adventure to Antarctica in 2022 to find Shackleton's lost shipwreck, Endurance. I've worked so closely on the project for so many years that now the film's been released, there's going to be a bit of an Endurance-shaped gap in my life. Luckily, I think I've found just the thing. The Lego Group have announced they will be releasing a 3,000-piece replica of Endurance from the dog kennels on the deck to a working helm that moves the rudder.

This model will be one of the best ways to fully appreciate the majesty and intricacy of Endurance for fans of the story like me. The beautiful multi-masted ship is on sale on LEGO..com and in lego stores from the 29th of november so when you get hold of it you too might spend a very happy afternoon assembling it just like the mighty norwegian shipbuilders who created the original maybe while you listen back on this podcast and marvel at the full story of shackackleton's fated endurance expedition. I cannot think of a better way to spend an afternoon. Enjoy.

The lure of the ice is a strange and powerful thing. American explorer Robert Perry. Strange and powerful thing. American explorer Robert Perry. Explorers call it the Great White Silence. The most remote and unforgiving place on Earth. Antarctica. It's a desert of ice and wind,

too harsh for humans to inhabit permanently. The southern ocean that girdles it has some of the roughest, coldest waters on the planet. Bad weather is the norm. Low-pressure systems rip across the ocean like runaway freight trains with no land to get in the way. 80 mile an hour winds whip up mountainous seas 50 feet high. Even today, 10 days sailing from the nearest port in Argentina or South Africa means 10 days from rescue. But Antarctica is breathtaking. Its landscape is dominated by majestic ice cliffs

that rise dramatically hundreds of feet out of the sea. Beyond the pack ice, entire mountain ranges are buried under snow, and for the few that are visible, only the very tops break the surface. Extraordinary wildlife thrives on land and sea. extraordinary wildlife thrives on land and sea. Antarctica is at once splendorous, mystifying and deadly. At the turn of the 20th century, European explorers were desperate to conquer this magnificent continent, including the blue-eyed, Irish-born Ernest Shackleton.

The expedition leader, Sir Ernest Shackleton, is an ambitious 40-year-old Anglo-Irishman. Anybody who ever met him saw that this was someone who was going to get on with people. Oh, Shackleton, as I say, he was a human being capable of beating misery. He had a huge amount of energy. He was full of enterprise. He was very good natured. He is known for his way of drawing men to him and for his ability to get out of tight situations. In late 1914, the charismatic, brilliant, controversial explorer Ernest Shackleton led 27 men on a voyage to cross the Antarctic from coast to coast via the South Pole. What he'd hoped would be his triumph turned into a two-year nightmare of hardship and catastrophe when their vessel, the Endurance, was crushed in the Weddell Sea

pack ice and sunk. Stranded with no ship, no contact with the outside world and limited supplies, it would be up to the men to find their own way out of Antarctica. You're listening to Dan Snow's history hit, and this is what you've been waiting for. to Dan Snow's history hit and this is what you've been waiting for. This is the story at the heart of the whole series. This is the reason for this whirlwind we've been on over the past two years that's taken this podcast to Antarctica

and back again and spurned even greater adventures. This is one of my favourite episodes, folks. This is our definitive account of the Endurance Expedition. Antarctica was first sighted in 1820, though who actually saw it first is up for debate. In the last week of January of that year, a Russian naval officer with the excellent name of Thaddeus von Bellingshausen reported seeing an ice shore of extreme height during a Russian expedition to the Antarctic. Around the same time, Irish Royal Navy officer Edward Brandfield reported seeing

high mountains covered with snow during a British mapping expedition. Soon after, Scottish whaler James Weddle took his ships into the sea that now bears his name, and a number of explorers circumnavigated the icy continent in the years that followed. But it was in 1899 when the first explorer, a Norwegian called Karsten Borskrevink, with a British crew, spent the first winter on the Antarctic mainland. It was the first expedition in what would become known as the heroic age of Antarctic exploration, an age that captured the imaginations of the public, the press, and one Ernest Shackleton. of the public, the press, and one Ernest Shackleton. In his early 20s, Shackleton was inordinately ambitious. He was searching for greatness and reputation. It just so happened that polar exploration offered him the opportunity he craved. He got the chance when a naval officer,

Robert Falcon Scott, was chosen to lead an expedition to Antarctica in 1901. A respected, Scott was chosen to lead an expedition to Antarctica in 1901. A respected, gallant officer, restless, also desperate to expand his horizons, Scott led a crew, including Shackleton, down to the ends of the earth. Their vessel was the specially designed Discovery, built in Dundee, Scotland, and it's still on show there to this day. It was the moment Shackleton's life changed. A young Ernest made a huge impression on Scott's 1901 discovery expedition. Scott said of him, he was always brimful of enthusiasm and good fellowship. As they traversed the frozen landscape they made extraordinary discoveries. Snow-free valleys, the longest river on the continent, the southernmost emperor penguin

colony and the Antarctic plateau where the South Pole is located. As a trail breaker for later ventures, the Discovery Expedition was a landmark in the history of British Antarctic exploration. The use of sled dogs played an integral role in the success of a number of polar expeditions, and Scott was the first British explorer to have them, having taken a leaf out of Norwegian Borshkrivink's book. They were imported from the frozen climates of the Arctic Circle and Siberia. But while the dogs might have known what they were doing on the ice,

both Scott and Shackleton had no idea. A year into the expedition, things took a turn for the worse. Though the party had sled dogs, they weren't experienced in using them. The food brought for the dogs was incorrect and had spoiled by the time they arrived. When the dogs began to weaken through the rigours of the environment and lack of food, the party decided that rather than kill the dogs and consume the meat, they would press on with the dogs running behind, for they'd become too weak to pull the sledge.

While Shackleton began to suffer from the effects of scurvy, all the men were enduring the hardship of a lack of food. Edward Wilson, the doctor, suffered from snow blindness. At one point Holt his sledge blindfolded to ease the pain caused by the light. They turned back on December 31st 1902. They were 480 miles from the South Pole. They'd travelled 300 miles further than anyone before them. It took them a month before they reached their base again, and as Scott put it, We are as near spent as three persons can be. Our ignorance is deplorable.

The expedition continued, but Shackleton was a broken man. Scott sent him home on health grounds, mortified. He was desperate to get back onto the ice. The seeds of adventure and ambition had been sown. It was 1911 before a flag was finally raised at the South Pole. It was red, white and blue, but it wasn't British. At around 3pm on the 14th of December, explorer Roel Amundsen planted the Norwegian flag in the ice. He reached the South Pole before Captain Scott finally arrived on a simultaneous expedition 33 days later. Apsley Cherry Garrard, a member of Scott's last expedition, offered an especially insightful assessment of the great explorers of the heroic age of Antarctic exploration. In the preface to his book, The Worst Journey in the World, he wrote,

In the preface to his book, The Worst Journey in the World, he wrote, For a joint scientific and geographical piece of organisation, give me Scott. For a winter journey, Wilson. For a dash to the pole and nothing else, Amundsen. And if I am in the devil of a hole and want to get out of it, give me Shackleton every time. Reading the news of Amundsen's triumph, back home Shackleton was miserable and growing restless. He took part in endless speaking engagements and when the public slowly lost interest he worried he faced obscurity. The race for the pole may have been won but Shackleton believed there was one more great expedition to be made. This is an extract from his diary.

After the conquest of the South Pole by Amundsen, who by a narrow margin of days only was in advance This is an extract from his diary. Determined to walk where no man has walked before, Shackleton began to assemble a crew and a ship to embark on the mission of traversing the Antarctic continent from one side to the other. He'd found a ship called Polaris, built in a Norwegian shipyard, designed to offer luxury cruises into the Arctic for big game hunters and other thrill-seekers. This scheme fell through, and the boatyard was happy to offload the redundant ship. Shackleton offered to buy it for £11,600. He didn't actually have the money, so he asked if he could pay in instalments. He changed her name from Polaris to Endurance, after his family motto, through endurance we conquer. Next, he assembled his crew. The first result of this was a flood of applications

from all classes of the community to join the adventure. I received nearly 5,000 applications, and out of these were picked 56 men. His second in command was Frank Wilde, a man in whom Shackleton had unshakable faith. He was a 40-year-old triple Antarctic veteran who'd been on Shackleton's previous Nimrod expedition. Next was New Zealander Frank Worsley, who joined the crew as captain of the ship. He was an astonishingly intuitive sailor and a superb navigator.

They were joined by Tom Crean, an Irish seaman described as hard-bitten, tough and determined. He'd been on the Discovery expedition with Scott and Shackleton. At this time, there was a huge appetite from the British public for images of Antarctica. So Frank Hurley, an adventurous photographer, was enlisted to capture the entire expedition. In total, there was a crew of 28 men on board Endurance, including Shackleton and one Stowaway, who became the ship's steward. They also took a cat called Mrs Chippy as a mascot. The expedition also advertised for men to join the Ross Sea Party, a 10-man shore crew responsible for laying down crucial supply deposits on the other side of Antarctica as the endurance explorers

made their way across the continent. Ponies and the motor car had proved a spectacular failure on the ice during the 1908 Nimrod expedition. So for the Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition, as it was being called, Shackleton took a leaf out of Amundsen's book and decided to take sled dogs. Dogs were purchased from Canada. They were crossbred from wolves and large strong dogs such as collies, mastiffs and hounds. Stocked and manned, the Endurance, a three-masted barquentine, sailed from Plymouth on the 6th of August 1914 and set course for Buenos Aires, Argentina under Captain Frank Worsley's command. Meanwhile Shackleton remained in Britain, desperately trying to finalise the expedition's organisation.

Despite Britain's entry into the First World War just days before, the first Lord of the Admiralty, Winston Churchill, had given his personal approval for Shackleton to get underway. This was Endurance's first major voyage following its completion. Having been originally built for the ice, the crew did feel the hull was too rounded for the open ocean, and the trip across the Atlantic took more than two months. Not long after, Shackleton took a steamer to Buenos Aires and caught up with his expedition a few days after Endurance's arrival. The voyage out to Buenos Aires was uneventful, and on October 26th we sailed from that port for South Georgia, the most southerly outpost of the British Empire.

Here for a month we were engaged in final preparations. The last we heard of the war was when we left Buenos Aires. Then the Russian steamroller was advancing. According to many, the war would be over within six months. the war would be over within six months. And so we left, not without regret that we could not take our place there, but secure in the knowledge that we were taking part in a strenuous campaign for the credit of our country. In South Georgia, the whalers told Shackleton that the Weddell Sea was full of ice. But for Shackleton, the prospect of returning to Britain with its creditors and domestic responsibilities was more terrifying than any conditions that he might face and so he pressed on. On the 5th of December 1914 they left South Georgia behind them.

As they went south conditions initially were calm. The northerly breeze had freshened during the night and had brought up a high following sea. The weather was hazy and we passed two bergs, several growlers and numerous lumps of ice. Staff and crew were settling down to the routine. Bird life was plentiful and we noticed cape pigeons, whale birds, terns, molly morks, nellies, sooty and wandering albatrosses in the neighbourhood of the ship. I was greatly pleased with the dogs, which were tethered about the ship in the most comfortable positions we could find for them. They were in excellent condition, and I felt that the expedition had the right tractive power.

They were big, sturdy animals, chosen for endurance and strength, and if they were as keen to pull our sledges as they were now to fight one another, all would be well. The men in charge of the dogs were doing their work enthusiastically, and the eagerness they showed to study the natures and habits of their charges gave promise of efficient handling and good work later on. But as they drew closer to Antarctica and entered the Weddell Sea, things became more dangerous. Surrounded by one million square miles of densely packed ice,

endurance threaded its way towards the Antarctic mainland. Since entering the pack on December 11th, we had come 480 miles through loose and close pack ice. We had pushed and fought the little ship through, and she had stood the test well, though the propeller had received some shrewd blows against the hard ice, and the vessel had been driven against the flow until she had fairly mounted up on it

and slid back rolling heavily from side to side. The rolling had been more frequently caused by the operation of cracking through thickish young ice, where the crack had taken a sinuous course. They manoeuvred through a jigsaw of ice. On the 15th of January 1915, along the Antarctic coastline, they found a natural bay into which a glacier ran. Captain Frank Worsley begged Shackleton to land there.

It would be an excellent place to disembark and climb into the vast, untouched Antarctic interior. But Shackleton, despite not even knowing if it was accessible or appropriate, was determined to anchor in Vashall Bay, 200 miles further south. He felt that they couldn't afford to add an extra 200 miles to their overland journey, so they sailed onwards. It would be a fatal mistake. it would be a fatal mistake. On the night of the 18th of January 1915, the sea ice closed around Endurance.

In the morning, it was clear that they were firmly lodged in a million square miles of ice. The nearest human being was in South Georgia, 1,200 miles away. Although none of them knew it at the time, this was the beginning of one of the most remarkable feats of survival in history. One that would test Shackleton and truly stuck in the pack ice. Pack ice is any area of sea ice that isn't attached to land. It floats on the surface of the water and is made up of smaller pieces that are frozen together. It's almost impossible to sail through Antarctic waters without encountering enormous areas of pack ice that block a ship's

path. The ice was packed heavily and firmly all around the Endurance in every direction as far as the eye could reach from the masthead. There was nothing to be done till the conditions changed and we waited through the day and the succeeding days with increasing anxiety. Initially, the crew attempted to manually move the ship, cutting at 18-foot-thick ice with immense saws. For two days, they worked tirelessly and without rest, scraping ice from around the hull. Eventually, with their hands, they managed to push the ship backwards,

Shackleton standing alone on the deck. Ultimately, it was in vain. The ship travelled 400 metres and would go no further. By the end of February 1915, Shackleton gave up trying to free her. The days that followed were uneventful. Moderate breezes from the east and southwest had no apparent effect upon the ice, and the ship remained firmly held. On the 27th, the 10th day of inactivity, I decided to let the fires out. We had been burning half a tonne of coal a day to keep steam in the boilers, and as the bunkers now contained only 67 tonnes, representing 33 days steaming, we could not afford to continue this expenditure of fuel.

Land still showed to the east and south when the horizon was clear. Resigned to the will of the ice, the plan would be to sit tight until it melted and endurance would be freed. But sitting tight didn't necessarily mean sitting still. The ice flows were moving, gradually. And on the 22nd of February, Endurance reached her most southerly point, before she was moved north by the ice, at a rate of roughly a mile a day. With Antarctic winter fast approaching, Shackleton began to worry. My chief anxiety is the drift. Where will the vagrant winds and currents carry the ship during the long winter months that are

ahead of us? We will go west, no doubt, but how far? While the situation was certainly grim, spirits among the men remained high. The crew had faith in their leader, whom they affectionately referred to as the Boss. In front of his crew, Shackleton was steadfast and confident. Shackleton, though, rarely slept. He ensured there was routine and discipline for the men to avoid low morale. To stop cliques developing, he made sure everyone felt special. He chatted to them as opposed to barking orders. There were no favourites.

He tried to ensure there was little difference between the officers and the men. When winter clothes were handed out, they always went to the crew first, then to their superiors. Everyone, irrespective of rank, had to scrub the floors. Inevitably, groups did form and tensions arose. The scientists and the sailors didn't get on particularly well. One of the crew, Thomas Orr Lees, proved particularly unpopular with the rest of the crew. They found him surly, Thomas or Lise proved particularly unpopular with the rest of the crew. They found him surly, condescending and lazy. Shackleton referred to him privately as the old lady.

Nevertheless, it turned out that Thomas would be an efficient storekeeper with a keen interest in physical fitness. He took a bicycle on the expedition and when endurance was trapped, he frequently took cycling trips on the ice. Such activities were crucial for maintaining morale. On February 24th, we ceased to observe ship routine, and the Endurance became a winter station. All hands were on duty during the day and slept at night, except a watchman who looked after the dogs

and watched for any sign of movement in the ice. We cleared a space of 10 foot by 20 foot round the rudder and propeller, soaring through ice two feet thick and lifting the blocks with a pair of tongs made by the carpenter. Crean used the blocks to make an ice house for the dog Sally, which had added a little litter of pups to the strength of the expedition. Seals appeared occasionally and we killed all that came within our reach. They represented fuel as well as food for men and dogs. Orders were given for the afterhold to be cleared and the stores checked so that we might know exactly how we stood for a siege by an Antarctic winter. The dogs went off the ship on the following day. Their kennels

were placed on the flow along the length of a wire rope to which the leashes were fastened. The dogs seemed heartily glad to leave the ship and yelped loudly and joyously as they were moved to their new quarters. We had begun the training of teams and already there was a keen rivalry between the drivers. The men took pleasure in finding ways to occupy themselves until they'd be able to continue the mission. The flat flows and frozen leads in the neighbourhood of the ship made excellent training grounds. Hockey and football on the flow were our chief recreations, and all hands joined in many a strenuous game. Worsley took a party to the flow on the 26th, and started building a line of igloos and dogloos round the ship. These little buildings were constructed Eskimo fashion, of big blocks of

ice, with thin sheets for the roofs. Boards or frozen seal skins were placed over all, snow was piled on top and pressed into joints, and then water was thrown over the structures to make everything firm. The ice was packed down flat inside and covered with snow for the dogs, which preferred, however, to sleep outside, except when the weather was extraordinarily severe. They took to hunting and tactic game. The Platte du Jour offered crab-eater seal steak. We were accumulating gradually a stock of seal meat during these days of waiting.

Fresh meat for the dogs was needed, and seal steaks and liver made a very welcome change from the ship's rations aboard the Endurance. Four crab-eaters and three weddles, over a tonne of meat for dog and man, fell to our guns on February 2nd, and all hands were occupied most of the day getting the carcasses back to the ship over the rough ice. The men began to call their living quarters on endurance the Ritz.

Many had brought musical instruments from England, banjos, accordions, mandolins and the like. There was even a piano on board around which they gathered for costume and music reviews. Supposedly, Shackleton took the award for worst singer. We said goodbye to the sun on May the 1st and entered the period of twilight that would be followed by the darkness of midwinter. The sun, by the aid of refraction, just cleared the horizon at noon and set shortly before 2pm. A fine aurora in the evening was dimmed by the full moon, which had risen on April the 27th, and would not set again until May 6th. The disappearance of the sun is apt to be a depressing event in the polar regions, where the long months of darkness involve mental as well as physical strain. But the Endurance's company refused to abandon their customary cheerfulness, and a concert in the evening made the ritz a scene of noisy merriment

in strange contrast with the cold, silent world that lay outside. The real enemy during all this time was the tedium. They cut their hair short and took ridiculous photographs together. Shackleton turned his cabin into a library. For the hundred years that have passed since Shackleton's death, researchers have wondered what Shackleton turned his cabin into a library. For the hundred years that have passed since Shackleton's death, researchers have wondered what Shackleton read while passing the time on endurance. Then in 2016, thanks to innovations in digital technology, a picture taken by Frank Hurley, the expedition photographer, was remastered to reveal in detail the titles sitting on Shackleton's cabin shelves.

His library housed the poetry of Shelley, the expeditions of Amundsen and Nares. He read Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamasoff, and the best-selling World's End by Amelie Rives. Given the limited space on board, there were also more unusual choices, including the concise Oxford Dictionary and the Manual of English Grammar and Composition. The days turned into weeks. March came and went. April arrived, edging closer to Antarctic winter. During the night of the 3rd, we heard the ice grinding to the eastward, and in the morning we saw that young ice was rafted 8 to 10 feet high in places.

This was the first murmur of the danger that was to reach menacing proportions in later months. Regular rumblings began to occur in the ice. Shackleton ordered watches on the ship as the assault mounted. He'd run up to the deck to see what was happening. Like tectonic plates, he saw ice sheets lifting up and buckling in the air. Worse still, endurance was drifting closer to the Antarctic Peninsula, where ice and land crash into each other. On the 13th of July 1915, a strong southerly gale blew. The ship was pressed on from all sides. After the wind died down, Captain Frank Worsley remembered. He took his trusted deputies into his cabin and said, the ship can't live like this, skipper.

You'd better make up your mind. It's only a matter of time. What the ice gets, the ice keeps. Essential supplies were hurriedly piled on the deck in case a sudden escape was required. The men took bets on when the ship would be freed. Shackleton blithely predicted October. He wasn't far off.

By mid-October, in a losing battle with the ice, endurance was almost on her side. She'd been trapped for nine unremitting months. endurance was almost on her side. She'd been trapped for nine unremitting months. On the 18th, a wave of pressure caused the ship to twist, bend and lean dangerously. All hands worked ceaselessly throughout the night to repair the damage. The crew desperately tried to contain leaks with blankets. It was the beginning of the end. On the 24th of October, someone was playing The Wearing of the Green on the gramophone when they felt a rumble akin to the foreshocks of an earthquake. Listening below, I could hear the creaking and groaning of her timbers, the pistol-like cracks that told of the starting of a plank,

and the faint, indefinable 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 7pm, 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 tonnes of ice pressed inexorably

upon the little ship that had dared the challenge of the Antarctic. In the days after, supplies were offloaded. Then came a fateful day, Wednesday, October 27th. The position was latitude 69 degrees, 5 minutes south, longitude 51 degrees, 30 minutes west. The temperature was minus 8.5 degrees Fahrenheit. A gentle southerly breeze was blowing and the sun shone in a clear sky. At 5pm on the 27th of October,

Shackleton was forced to admit defeat against the immense forces of nature. He gave the order to abandon ship. He wrote in his diary, 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. This is the story of the endurance expedition brought to you by The Lego Group. How Shackleton and his men made their extraordinary escape from Antarctica after this short break. This is History's Heroes. People with purpose, brave ideas, and the courage to stand alone,

including a pioneering surgeon who rebuilt the shattered faces of soldiers in the First World War. You know, he would look at these men and he would say, don't worry, Sonny, you'll have as good a face as any of us when I'm done with you. Join me, Alex von Tunzelman, for History's Heroes. Subscribe to History's Heroes wherever you get your podcasts. With enough supplies off the ship, Shackleton and his men set up a camp on the ice. They erected tents and distributed sleeping bags made of wool and reindeer skins. They tried to sleep, the gnarled wreck of the Endurance being slowly devoured beside them.

For myself, I could not sleep, and the destruction and abandonment of the ship was no sudden shock. The disaster had been looming ahead for many months, and I had studied my plans for all contingencies a hundred times. But the thoughts that came to me as I walked up and down in the darkness were not particularly cheerful. The task now was to secure the safety of the party, and to that I must bend my energies and mental power and apply every bit of knowledge that experience of the Antarctic had given me. The task was likely to be long and strenuous, and an ordered mind and a clear program were essential if we were to come through without loss of life. A man must shape

himself to a new mark directly the old one goes to ground. Shackleton was acutely aware that he and his men were 1,200 miles from the nearest civilization, and without a means of communication he'd given up hope for help from the outside world. He deduced they were about 350 miles from Paulette Island, the nearest possible place to find food or shelter. He knew a hut had been built there by a Swedish expedition in 1902 with stores left by an Argentine relief ship. He knew about this because he'd been the one to purchase them on behalf of the Argentine government for the expedition's relief mission.

But it soon became clear that it was impossible to take enough food to sustain them for the entire journey from the wreck of the Endurance to Paulette Island. They would attempt the journey anyway. The men were ordered to leave behind anything they didn't absolutely need, and a ceremony of sorts was given to the things they would abandon. At 3pm after lunch we got underway, leaving dump camp a mass of debris. The order was that personal gear must not exceed two pounds per man, and this meant that nothing but bare necessaries was to be taken on the march. We could not afford to cumber ourselves with unnecessary weight. Holes had been dug in the snow for the reception of private letters

and little personal trifles. The lares and panates of the members of the expedition, and into the privacy of these white graves, were consigned much of sentimental value, and not a little of intrinsic worth. I rather grudged the two pounds allowance per man, owing to my keen anxiety to keep weights at a minimum, but some personal belongings could fairly be regarded as indispensable. The journey might be a long one, and there was a possibility of a winter in improvised quarters on an inhospitable coast at the other end.

A man under such conditions needs something to occupy his thoughts, some tangible memento of his home and people beyond the seas. So sovereigns were thrown away and photographs were kept. Some of the animals that over a very trying nine months had become more like pets, family even to the men, also had to be left behind. This afternoon, Sally's three youngest pups, Sue's Sirius and Mrs Chippy, the carpenter's cat,

have to be shot. We could not undertake the maintenance of weaklings under the new conditions. Macklin, Crean and the carpenter seemed to feel the loss of their friends rather badly. One of the most iconic photographs from the Endurance expedition is a picture of the rugged and stern looking second officer Tom Crean holding four giant fluffy puppies in his arms. They'd been born on Endurance in January 1915 and Crean taken great interest in caring for the dogs. Thomas Aud

Lees remembers. Opposite the pigs are five puppies and their mother, the interesting event having taken place three days ago, but so far Tom Crean, who has cared for her like a hospital orderly, is the only one who has seen the little creatures, though we all hear their shrill little squeaks. They will soon be fun. The shooting of the dogs was just the first in a long series of gruelling tests that would harden the men. With the supplies packed, they began their march to the depot on Paulette Island, 350 miles away, pulling their lifeboats with them. But quickly, the terrain proved impassable, even with the remaining dogs. Every way they turned, ice blocked their path.

A few days of fruitless attempts, and Shackleton eventually called the journey off, knowing the likelihood of making it was negligible. They were stuck again, this time with no shelter from the roaring winds and freezing temperatures, save for a few canvas tents. With no other option. They had no choice but to pitch a camp. A party was sent back to dump camp near the ship to collect as much clothing, tobacco, etc. as they could find.

The heavy snow which had fallen in the last few days, combined with the thawing and consequent sinking of the surface, resulted in the total disappearance of a good many of the things left behind at this dump. The remainder of the men made themselves as comfortable as possible under the circumstances at Ocean Camp. This floating lump of ice, about a mile square at first but later splitting into smaller and smaller fragments, was to be our home for nearly two months. During these two months we made frequent visits to the vicinity of the ship and retrieved much valuable clothing and food and some few articles of personal value which,

in our light-hearted optimism, we had thought to leave miles behind us on our dash across the moving ice to safety. For six months, from October 1915 onwards, they camped on unpredictable and hazardous ice flows, drifting helplessly. As had been true on the ship, morale was initially high. The men hung their washing on makeshift lines and played with the dogs on the ice. They believed that as soon as the ice melted, they would set sail in their three lifeboats. They pinned their hopes on it. But over time, their supplies became depleted and food became an obsession.

Another man searched for over an hour in the snow, where he had dropped a piece of cheese some days before, in the hopes of finding a few crumbs. He was rewarded by coming across a piece as big as his thumbnail and considered it well worth the trouble. By this time, blubber was a regular article of our diet, either raw, boiled or fried. It's remarkable how our appetites have changed in this respect.

Until quite recently, almost the thought of it was nauseating. Now however we positively demand it. The thick black oil which is rendered down from it rather like train oil in appearance and cod liver oil in taste we drink with avidity. It was a desperate situation. Seals and penguins now seemed to studiously avoid us, and on taking stock of our provisions on March the 21st, I found that we had only sufficient meat to last us for 10 days, and the blubber would not last that time even, so one biscuit had to be our midday meal. On April the 2nd, 1916, Shackleton ordered the men to shoot the remaining dogs. The canines progressed from workers to beloved companions, and now to food.

In his diary, Shackleton's description is starkly pragmatic. The last two teams of dogs were shot today, April 2nd. The carcasses being dressed for food. We had some of the dog meat cooked, and it was not at all bad, just like beef, but of course, very tough. The men were facing the prospect of another Antarctic winter on the ice, with no shelter and no food.

They'd been marooned for 14 months. It was time to make an escape. Shackleton made the call that the men would board their small open lifeboats and sail to Elephant Island, seven days sailing. He outlined his rationale for this destination. It seems vital that we shall land on Clarence Island or its neighbour, Elephant Island. The latter island has attraction for us, although as far as I know, nobody has ever landed there.

Its name suggests the presence of the plump and succulent sea elephant. We have an increasing desire, in any case, to get firm ground under our feet. The flow has been a good friend to us, but it is reaching the end of its journey, and it is liable at any time now to break up and fling us into the unplumbed sea. But to do so, they'd have to cross part of the Southern Ocean,

one of the most treacherous in the world, with raging 80-mile-an-hour winds that whip up 50-foot swells. Today, it's dangerous crossing in a steel-hulled ice-breaking ship, so to make the attempt in a wooden rowing boat was certifiably insane, or just desperate. But there was a saying about Ernest Shackleton from Raymond Priestley, a geologist who'd accompanied him on the Nimrod expedition. When disaster strikes and all hope is gone, get down on your knees and pray for Shackleton.

On the 9th of April, the men launched the three lifeboats into open water. Captain Frank Worsley took command of the Dudley docker. Tom Crean and navigator Hubert Hudson were in charge of the Stankham wills and Ernest Shackleton, Captain de James, cared. After months of agonising stasis on the pack ice, moving through the free-flowing water was bliss. In his diary, Shackleton wrote, Dark blue and sapphire green ran the seas. Our sails were soon up, and with a fair wind we moved over the waves like three Viking ships on the quest of a lost Atlantis. With the sheet well out

and the sun shining bright above, we enjoyed for a few hours a sense of the freedom and magic of the sea, compensating us for pain and trouble in the days that had passed. At last we were free from the ice, in water that our boats could navigate. Although beautifully written, the reality was somewhat less romantic. Frank Worsley didn't sleep for 80 hours. Frank Wilde, Shackleton's second-in-command, wrote that at least half the party were insane. But a team in the strongest sense.

Shackleton and the men encouraged each other, rowing resolutely towards their goal. The men always managed to reply cheerfully. One of the people on the stankham wheels shouted, we're doing all right, but I would like some dry mitts. The jest brought a smile to cracked lips. He might as well have asked for the moon. The only dry things aboard the boats were swollen mouths and burning tongues. Thirst is one of the troubles that confront the traveller in polar regions. Ice may be plentiful on every hand,

but it does not become drinkable until it is melted and the amount that may be dissolved in the mouth is limited. We had been thirsty during the days of heavy pulling in the pack and our condition was aggravated quickly by the salt spray. On April 15th, dehydrated, hungry and exhausted, they clambered ashore on Elephant Island. They hadn't touched dry land for 497 days. On Elephant, the crew managed to set up a temporary base where the ship's artist, George Marston,

allowed his remaining oil paints to be used as glue on the canvases covering the shelters for extra waterproofing. Shackleton took a brief examination of their surroundings before bed to get a lay of the land. What he'd learnt wasn't promising. The beach where they'd set up camp would be underwater in the spring tides when whipped up by gale-force winds. They would need to find somewhere else to stay.

I decided not to share with the men the knowledge of the uncertainties of our situation until they had enjoyed the full sweetness of rest, untroubled by the thought that at any minute they might be called to face peril again. The threat of the sea had been our portion during many, many days, and a respite meant much to wearied bodies and jaded minds. The men slept for 18 hours that first night. In the days that followed, it became clear that Elephant Island was an inhospitable place to stay. The fate of his crew weighed heavily on Shackleton. We took down the tents and repitched them close against the high rocks at the seaward end of the spit, where large boulders made an uncomfortable resting place. Snow was falling heavily. Then all

hands had to assist in pulling the boats farther up the beach, and at this task we suffered a serious misfortune. Two of our four bags of clothing had been placed under the bilge of the James Caird, and before we realised the danger, a wave had lifted the boat and carried the two bags back into the surf. We had no chance of recovering them. This accident did not complete the tale of the night's misfortunes. The big eight-man tent was blown to pieces in the early morning. Some of the men who had occupied it took refuge in other tents, but several remained in their sleeping bags under the fragments of cloth

until it was time to turn out. Frank Worsley remembers that Shackleton was bowed down, aged by the ordeal, accentuated by the responsibility and strain of holding the boats together and keeping his men alive. Shackleton decided that most of the group and two of the boats were incapable of escaping, so he would take five fit men in the James Caird lifeboat and go in search of help. A boat journey in search of relief was necessary and must not be delayed. That conclusion was forced upon me. The nearest port where assistance could certainly be secured was Port Stanley in the Falkland Islands, 540 miles away. But we could scarcely hope to beat up against the prevailing northwesterly wind in a frail and weakened boat with a small

sail area. South Georgia was over 800 miles away, but lay in the area of the west winds, and I could count upon finding whalers at any of the whaling stations on the east coast. A boat party might make the voyage and be back with relief within a month, provided that the sea was clear of ice and the boat survived the great seas. It was not difficult to decide that South Georgia must be the objective, and I proceeded to plan ways and means. The hazards of a boat journey across 800 miles of stormy sub-Antarctic ocean were obvious, but I calculated that at worst the venture would add nothing to the risks of the men left on the island. There would be fewer mouths to feed during the winter and the boat would not require to take more than one month's provision for six men, for if we did not make South Georgia in that time, we were sure to go under.

A consideration that had weight with me was that there was no chance at all of any search being made for us on Elephant Island. Of Shackleton's decision to make the perilous journey, Captain Frank Worsley wrote in his diary that... It was certain that a man of such heroic mind and self-sacrificing nature as Shackleton would undertake this most dangerous and difficult task himself. He was, in fact, unable by nature to do otherwise. Being a born leader, he had to lead in the position of most danger, difficulty and responsibility.

I've seen him turn pale, yet force himself into the post of greatest peril. That was his type of courage. He would do the job that he was most afraid of. Shackleton's first choices for the boat's crew were Frank Worsley and Tom Crean, who begged to go. Shackleton was confident that Crean would persevere to the bitter end and he had great faith in Wesley's skills as a navigator, especially his ability to work out their position using celestial navigation. For the remaining places, Shackleton requested volunteers and of the many who came forward he chose two strong sailors, John Vincent and Timothy McCarthy. He offered the final place to the carpenter, Harry McNish.

Shackleton's second-in-command, Frank Wilde, would assume full command of the rest of the crew who stayed on Elephant Island. The weather during those days of preparation was severe, yet the men sat in the snow, sewing canvas onto the James Caird to create a deck covering, laughing, bantering, and getting a frostbite. The six-man crew launched the James Caird on the 24th of April 1916. Frank Worsley remembered. We knew it would be the hardest thing we'd ever undertaken, for the Antarctic winter had set in and we were about to cross one of the worst seas in the world.

A few handshakes, we set sail, let go the mooring line and started. Cheers, yells and arm waving from the boats and shore were answered by us to the full extent of our lungs. A course was set due north as opposed to heading directly for South Georgia which lay in a more northeasterly direction. This was to avoid the menacing ice fields that were forming. It was half an hour past noon. I steered north for the open sea. We were off. The sun shone, the sea sparkled, a fresh west wind blew, and our spirits were high. By midnight, they'd worked their way through the ice and left it behind, but the sea swell was rising.

By morning, they'd travelled 52 miles from Elephant Island. The seas were heavy. The wind blew at 50 miles an hour. In the open boat, the men's skin soon became raw and painful from the icy salt water that drenched their clothing. Designed for Antarctic sledging. It wasn't waterproof. Certainly wasn't stormproof. As on the endurance, Shackleton established an on-board routine. Two three-man watches, with one man at the helm steering the boat, another at the sails, and a third on bailing duty.

The off-duty trio would rest in the tiny covered space in the bows. Every four hours, they switched over. The difficulty would rest in the tiny covered space in the bowels. Every four hours they switched over. The difficulty of movement in the boat would have had its humorous side if it had not involved us in so many aches and pains. The success of the crossing depended on Worsley's navigation, which was based on brief sightings of the sun. Meanwhile Tom Crean was designated cook. He somehow managed to keep the men fed with food prepared on the stove, despite the sea spray, winds and constant rolling of the boat.

After a few days, the James Caird reached the notorious Drake Passage, where four-storey waves build and engulf even the hulking vessels of today. vessels of today. The tale of the next 16 days is one of supreme strife amid heaving waters. The sub-Antarctic ocean lived up to its evil winter reputation. The boat was high enough to catch the wind and as she drifted to leeward the drag of the anchor kept her head to windward. Thus our boat took most of the seas more or less end on. Even then, the crests of the waves often would curl right over us, and we shipped a great deal of water, which necessitated unceasing bailing and pumping. Looking out a beam, we would see a hollow like a tunnel formed as the crest of a big wave toppled over onto the swelling body of water.

A thousand times it appeared as though the James Caird must be engulfed, but the boat lived. The southwesterly gale had its birthplace above the Antarctic continent, and its freezing breath lowered the temperature far towards zero. The sprays froze upon the boat and gave bows, sides and decking a heavy coat of mail. This accumulation of ice reduced the buoyancy of the boat, and to that extent was an added peril. The freezing weather and lack of proper shelter took its toll on their bodies. Another of our troubles worth mentioning here was the chafing of our legs by our wet clothes, which had not been changed now for seven months.

The insides of our thighs were rubbed raw, and the one tube of hazelnut cream in our medicine chest did not go far in alleviating our pain, which was increased by the bite of the salt water. We thought at the time that we never slept. The fact was that we would doze off uncomfortably, to be aroused quickly by some new ache or another call to effort. My own share of the general unpleasantness was accentuated by a finely developed bout of sciatica.

I had become possessor of this originally on the flow several months earlier. Despite the unbearable conditions, their spirits remained intact. One of the memories that comes to me from those days is of Crean singing at the tiller. He always sang while he was steering, and nobody ever discovered what the song was. It was devoid of tune and as monotonous as the chanting of a Buddhist monk at his prayers. Yet somehow it was cheerful. After 14 days of sailing, navigator Worsley informed Shackleton that he couldn't be sure of their position.

A fierce south-westerly wind was blowing and Shackleton feared being swept right past the island. So his plan was to try and get the James Caird to arrive at South Georgia anywhere on the uninhabited south-west coast just to ensure they made landfall. This was the opposite side of the island from the inhabited whaling stations,

like Strom Ness. It was a good call. Later that day, the men noticed floating seaweed. They also saw cormorants, which are known to rarely venture far from land. The next day, the icy mountains of South Georgia loomed on the horizon. The hours that followed were some of the most treacherous of the whole journey. They survived a full hurricane, but they managed to land after 16 treacherous days at sea. They'd travelled 800 miles from Elephant Island. They were completely spent. The final stage of the journey had still to be attempted. I realised that the condition of the party generally, and particularly of McNeish and Vincent, would prevent us putting to sea again except under pressure of dire necessity.

Our boat, moreover, had been weakened by the cutting away of the topsides, and I doubted if we could weather the island. We were still 150 miles away from Stromness whaling station by sea. The alternative was to attempt the crossing of the island. If we could not get over, then we must try to secure enough food and fuel to keep us alive through the winter. But this possibility was scarcely thinkable. Over on Elephant Island, 22 men were waiting for the relief

that we alone could secure for them. Their plight was worse than ours. We must push on somehow. Thirty miles overland, Shackleton knew the only option was to cross the island on somehow. 30 miles over land, Shackleton knew the only option was to cross the island on foot. Unable to make that journey, John Vincent, Timothy McCarthy and Harry McNish

stayed at the beach camp while Shackleton, Worsley and Crean made preparations to traverse the untamed island. On the 18th of May, the men set out across uncharted territory. We were a curious looking party on that bright morning, but we were feeling happy. We even broke into song, and but for our Robinson Crusoe appearance, a casual observer might have taken us for a picnic party, sailing in a Norwegian fjord, or one of the beautiful sounds of the west coast of New Zealand. The wind blew fresh and strong, and a small sea broke on the coast as we advanced. The trio set

off with no tents, no sleeping bags, and little food and water. They were intent on making the journey in one go. An ice sheet covered most of the interior, filling the valleys and disguising the configurations of the land, which indeed showed only in big rocky ridges, peaks and nunataks. They hammered nails through the soles of their boots to serve as crampons on the slippery ice mountains, marching, climbing and clambering. At the end of the first day, they descended an icy peak 3,000 feet high. But once up and over the top, they needed to come back down the other side. A devilish fog began to circle the peak and the temperatures dropped. They knew they'd have to get to the bottom of the valley if they were to survive.

At first, they attempted to cut steps into the ice to make their way down. But Shackleton quickly determined that this was far too slow. He suggested the unthinkable. They would step off the near precipice in front of them and slide down. They could see very little. The slope could easily have led to a sheer drop of thousands of feet, but they had no other options. The three men

called up their pieces of rope into three pads. Shackleton sat in front, Worsley straddled his legs around Shackleton, and Crean sat behind Worsley doing the same. They were a sort of makeshift human sledge. Without pausing, they launched themselves into the unknown below. The slope began to level out and their speed slowed to a stop. Worsley estimated they'd travelled around 3,000 feet in about three minutes. We seemed to shoot into space. For a moment, my hair stood on end. Then, quite suddenly, I felt a glow and knew that I was grinning. I was actually enjoying it. It was most exhilarating. We were shooting down the side of an almost precipitous mountain at nearly a mile a minute.

I yelled with excitement and found that Shackleton and Crean were yelling too. It seemed ridiculously safe. To hell with the rocks. The men shook hands and Shackleton wryly commented, it's not good to do that kind of thing too often. A quick break and a hot meal, then they continued onwards. With the adrenaline wearing off, Shackleton, Worsley and Crean were exhausted, their nerves frayed. Getting to the whaling station at Stromness was a game largely of guesswork. Another six hours of hiking and they reached the crevasses of a large glacier.

They knew there were no glaciers in Stromness, so they must have taken a wrong turn. It was a blow to their spirits. The trio took stock for a moment, huddled together, and Shackleton suggested that they take a half-hour nap. Within a minute, my two companions were fast asleep. I realised that it would be disastrous if we all slumbered together, for sleep under such conditions merges into death. After five minutes, I shook them into consciousness again, told them that they had slept for half an hour, and gave the word for a fresh start. We were so stiff that for the first

two or three hundred yards we marched with our knees bent. They climbed back up and made their way through a gap in a line of snowy peaks and as they approached they saw mountains that they recognised surrounding Stromness Bay. At 6.30am Shackleton was convinced that he heard a steam whistle, the sound of the whalers being summoned to work. He didn't dare be certain the disappointment would have been too much, but then, half an hour later, they heard it again, loud and clear. Right to the minute, the steam whistle came to us, borne clearly on the wind across the intervening miles of rock and snow. Never had any one of us heard sweeter music.

It was the first sound of the rest of humanity they'd heard since December 1914 when they departed from South Georgia themselves at the beginning of the expedition. They clambered down through the peaks to Stromness. They'd arrived. It had taken them 36 hours, which they'd completed without rest. It was the first ever journey by foot across South Georgia. Stay with me for the final dramatic act in this heroic Antarctic tale, brought to you

by The LEGO Group. More after this short break. This is History's Heroes. People with purpose, brave ideas, and the courage to stand alone, including a pioneering surgeon who rebuilt the shattered faces of soldiers in the First World War. You know, he would look at these men and he would say, don't worry, Sonny, you'll have as good a face as any of us when I'm done with you. Join me, Alex von Tunzelman, for History's Heroes. Subscribe to History's Heroes wherever you get your podcasts. Shivering with cold, yet with hearts light and happy, we set off towards the whaling station,

now not more than a mile and a half distant. The difficulties of the journey lay behind us. We tried to straighten ourselves up a bit, for the thought that there might be women at the station made us painfully conscious of our uncivilised appearance. Our beards were long and our hair was matted. We were unwashed and the garments that we had worn for nearly a year without a change were tattered and stained. Three more unpleasant looking ruffians could hardly have

been imagined. Worsley produced several safety pins from some corner of his garments and affected some temporary repairs that really emphasised his general disrepair. Down we hurried, and when quite close to the station, we met two small boys, ten or twelve years of age. I asked these lads where the manager's house was situated. They did not answer. They gave us one look, a comprehensive look, that did not need to be repeated. Then they ran from us as fast as their legs would carry them. We reached the outskirts of the station and passed through the digesting house, which was dark inside. Emerging at the other end, we met an old man who started as if he had seen the devil himself and gave us no time to ask any question. He hurried away. This greeting was not friendly. Then we came to the wharf, where the man in charge

stuck to his station. I asked him if the manager was in the house. Yes, he said as he stared at us. We would like to see him, said I. Who are you? he asked. We have lost our ship and come over the island, I replied. You have come over the island? he said in a tone of entire disbelief. The man went towards the manager's house and we followed him. An old Norwegian whaler recorded the scene when Shackleton and his comrades stood before the station manager, Thoralf Sörle.

He remembered, The manager said, Who the hell are you? The terrible bearded man in the centre of the three said very quietly, My name is Shackleton. Me, I turned away and wept. The manager gave the men food and fresh clothes. The beds they were given were so comfortable they found it hard to sleep. That night there

was a terrible blizzard. Had they still been on the mountains, they would certainly have perished. The next morning a crew was assembled to rescue McCarthy, McNish and Vincent from the other side of the island. Plans were then made to return to Elephant Island to rescue the rest of the endurance crew who'd been waiting under the command of Frank Wilde. Shackleton had no idea if the men were even still alive. As the weeks passed, Shackleton struggled to find a vessel that could handle the journey back across the Southern Ocean and through the ice flows that were forming. He made several attempts in various ships, but none were up to the job. On the fourth attempt, he found success. The little steamer made a quick run down in comparatively fine weather.

We approached the island in a thick fog. I did not dare to wait for this to clear. And at 10am on August 30th, we passed some stranded bergs. Then we saw the sea breaking on a reef, and I knew that we were just outside the island. It was an anxious moment, for we had still to locate the camp, and the pack could not be trusted to allow time

for a prolonged search in thick weather. But presently, the fog lifted and revealed the cliffs and glaciers of Elephant Island. I proceeded to the east, and at 11.40am, Worsley's keen eyes detected the camp, almost invisible under its covering of snow. The men ashore saw us at the same time, and we saw tiny black figures hurry to the beach and wave signals to us. I saw a little figure on a surf-beaten rock, and recognised Wilde. As I came nearer, I called out,

Are you all well? And he answered, We're all well, boss. And then I heard three cheers. As I drew close to the rock, I flung packets of cigarettes ashore. They fell on them like hungry tigers, for well I knew that for months tobacco was dreamed of and talked of. Some of the hands were in a rather bad way, but Wilde had held the party together and kept hope alive in their hearts. There was no time then to exchange news or congratulations. I did not even go up to the beach to see the camp which Wilde assured me had been much improved. A heavy sea was running and a change of wind might bring the ice back at any time. I hurried the party aboard with all possible speed, taking also the records of the expedition and essential portions of equipment. Everybody was aboard the Yeltsha within an hour, and we steamed north at the little steamer's best speed.

The ice was open still, and nothing worse than an expanse of stormy ocean separated us from the South American coast. on the journey back to south america with every single man of his endurance crew exhausted but alive shackleton learned how the rest of his men had managed to survive the inhospitable months on Elephant Island. They all had frostbite to various degrees. Lack of food was not the biggest problem they'd faced, it was the wind. Their tents that survived months on the Antarctic pack ice were torn to ribbons on Elephant Island, where the winds blow at up to 70 or even 90 miles per hour. At first they'd sheltered under the upside-down lifeboats, but then began excavating an ice cave. The high temperature, however, caused a continuous stream of water

to drip from the roof and sides of the ice cave, and as with 22 men living in it, the temperature would be practically always above freezing. There would have been no hope of dry quarters for them there. Under the direction of Wilde, they therefore collected some big flat stones, and with these they erected two substantial walls four feet high and nineteen feet apart. This hut became their sanctuary from the blizzards and cold. The floor was at first covered with snow and ice frozen in amongst the pebbles.

This was cleared out and the remainder of the tents spread out over the stones. Within the shelter of these cramped but comparatively palatial quarters, cheerfulness once more reigned amongst the party. The blizzard, however, soon discovered the flaws in the architecture of their hut, and the fine drift snow forced its way through the crevices between the stones forming the end walls. Jaeger sleeping bags and coats

were spread over the outside of these walls, packed over with snow and securely frozen up, effectively keeping out this drift. The men installed a chimney so they could cook inside the hut. They fashioned lamps out of sardine tins with surgical bandages as wicks. They added windows by sewing the glass lids of chronometer boxes, a sort of timekeeping device, into the canvas walls they directed. It meant there was enough light for the men to read and sew their clothes, quite literally falling apart on their bodies.

Naturally, it didn't take long for the hut to become very grimy, the constant burning of blubber for the stove and the lamps. Sleeping on the hard pebbles gave the men painful aches and sores, and it's not hard to imagine the stench. They hadn't been able to wash properly for ten months since abandoning the ship. In his diary, Shackleton included passages from the other men who kept accounts of their experiences on Elephant Island. One unnamed explorer wrote,

For one thing, we have no soap or towels, only bare necessities being brought with us. And again, had we possessed these articles, our supply of fuel would only permit us to melt enough ice for drinking purposes. Had one man washed, half a dozen others would have had to go without a drink all day. One cannot suck ice to relieve the thirst, as at these low temperatures it cracks the lips and blisters the tongue. Still, we were all very cheerful.

It was an enormous relief when the Yelcho appeared on the horizon with their leader waving from the deck. They'd been marooned for 105 days. All 28 men on endurance had now made it back home alive. The survival of Shackleton's crew was hailed as one of the most extraordinary feats of the age. But the courage and tragedy of the Ross Sea Party, their sister crew on the opposite side of Antarctica during the expedition, is often forgotten. The Aurora was the second ship of the trans-Antarctic expedition.

It sailed from New Zealand to the Ross Sea on the other side of Antarctica to lay depots of supplies at intervals between the pole and the sea on the other side. The plan was that when Endurance landed at Vashall Bay and Shackleton's party hiked to the pole and passed, they would only need to carry supplies for the first half of the journey as supplies would be waiting for them on the other side. When the Endurance got trapped, the land crossing obviously never happened, but with no way of informing the Aurora of what had occurred, the Aurora crew

continued to fulfil their directive, with ten men sledging across their side of the Antarctic to lay deposits as instructed, but on their return journey back to the ship waiting in the Ross Sea, they discovered she'd been blown out to sea with the rest of their crew on board. The ship was also solidly encased in an ice floe that had detached from the main pack and had been blown out to sea with the rest of their crew on board. The ship was also solidly encased in an ice floe that had detached from the main pack and had been blown out to sea by a blizzard. It drifted there for 10 months before managing to return to New Zealand. Meanwhile, the 10 men who were stuck on the ice were left to fend for themselves. Their captain was Aeneas Macintosh, a British merchant naval officer who joined Shackleton on his previous Nimrod expedition. He'd intended to use the Aurora as the party's main living quarters,

so most of the men who went ashore left their personal gear, food, equipment and fuel aboard the ship. When they were stranded, they'd been left with essentially just the clothes on their back. With no idea of what was going on on the other side of the continent, they believed Shackleton's life would depend on them, so they continued their treacherous work. Three men died in the process. Captain McIntosh and Victor Hayward disappeared

while walking across the frozen surface of McMurdo Sound. Arnold Spencer Smith, the expedition's chaplain and photographer, died of scurvy. The seven survivors were eventually rescued by Shackleton in 1917 when he returned with the Aurora to find them. During those months stranded on the ice, laying deposits despite their perilous circumstances, their sledging journeys encompassed 169 days, greater than any journey ever made by Shackleton, Robert Scott or Roald Amundsen. It was an extraordinary achievement.

Shackleton and the Endurance crew returned to England in the midst of World War I. Shackleton was considered too old to be conscripted and his heart condition made him ineligible. It was somewhat ironic given the feat he'd just endured. Nevertheless, he still volunteered and while he never fought directly at the front, he had a variety of postings from Buenos Aires to Murmansk in Russia. After the armistice was signed in November 1918, he returned home to publish South, his diary that told the entire story of the Endurance Expedition. The Antarctic kept its hold on Shackleton, and despite promises to his family, in 1921 he set out once again for the great white continent, this time to circumnavigate it by sea. white continent, this time to circumnavigate it by sea. But he'd never see Antarctica again.

By the time the party reached Rio de Janeiro, Shackleton had fallen ill. He refused to return the ship to England or seek treatment, and his quest south continued. On the 5th of January 1922, while the ship was off the coast of South Georgia, the expedition's physician, Alexander Macklin, was called to Shackleton's cabin and noticed that he was gravely ill. Macklin suggested to Shackleton that he take things easier in the future, to which Shackleton replied, You always wanted me to give up something. What do you want me to give up now?

These were the last words ever spoken by Sir Ernest Shackleton. A few moments later, he suffered a fatal heart attack. He was 47. At the request of his wife, Shackleton was buried there in Gripviken, South Georgia. His death marked the end of the so-called heroic age of Antarctic exploration. exploration. Frank Worsley, the captain of endurance and the man who'd navigated a wooden rowing boat across the southern ocean, assisted Shackleton in the rescue of the Ross Sea Party. After his return to England in April 1917, he served in the Royal Navy during the First World War. He spent 10 months at sea commanding Qs, taking on Germany's U-boats.

He was known to his friends as Dep Charge Bill for his particular skill when it came to destroying German submarines. Wolsey joined Shackleton again in 1921 as navigator on Shackleton's ultimate journey to Antarctica, on which Shackleton passed away. It was also Wolsey's last expedition south, but he wrote and lectured on his Antarctic adventures for many years after. Worsley died in February 1943 and was honoured with a full naval funeral. His ashes were scattered in the sea. The Irish giant Tom Crean returned to Britain and continued to serve in the Royal Navy until 1920. He received three polar medals for his achievements throughout his career. Crean then returned to Ireland and lived out the rest of his life quietly in his native Kerry with his wife and children. The family ran a pub called the South Pole Inn in his hometown

of Annuscawl. It's still open for business today. Many other members of the crew served during the First World War. Several were wounded and two killed. Among the dead was Tim McCarthy, one of Shackleton's comrades on the open boat journey to South Georgia. While they never managed to cross the continent, the endurance crew had accomplished a feat perhaps even more impressive. What fascinates and astonishes me is Shackleton's dedication to saving and protecting his men, leading from the front, bearing any hardship. What's also so impressive is the resourcefulness and improvisation that enabled them all to endure one of the most hostile places on earth. Their survival was the success story. While Shackleton failed in his ultimate goal, his successful rescue mission has earned him an epic reputation,

much greater than anyone, including himself, could ever have imagined. Thanks, everyone. I hope you've enjoyed this episode of Dan Snow's History. It was produced by Marianne Desforges and edited by Dougal Patmore. If you can't get enough of Shackleton endurance content, well, don't worry. We've got plenty more for you. Subscribers can join me tomorrow as we look at how Frank Hurley, the intrepid Australian photographer, not only survived this whole ordeal, but filmed it,

diving into the sinking shipwreck to rescue his film. And in the meantime, I'll be looking around my house for the perfect spot to display my incredible Lego endurance model when the time comes. The model ship will be available to purchase on lego.com and in Lego stores from the 29th to November. I'll be waiting for it when it does. This is History's Heroes. People with purpose, brave ideas, and the courage to stand alone.

Including a pioneering surgeon who rebuilt the shattered faces of soldiers in the First World War. You know, he would look at these men and he would say, don't worry, Sonny, you'll have as good a face as any of us when I'm done with you. Join me, Alex von Tunzelman, for History's Heroes. Subscribe to History's Heroes wherever you get your podcasts.