“Almost as soon as the gale eased, the pin that locked the mast to the thwart fell out. It must have been on the point of doing this throughout the hurricane; and if it had gone nothing could have saved us; the mast would have snapped like a carrot.”
— Ernest Shackleton, South
“At 1pm, through a rift in the flying mists, we got a glimpse of the huge crags of the island and realized that our position had become desperate. We were on a dead lee shore, and we could gauge our approach to the unseen cliffs by the roar of the breakers against the sheer walls of rock.”
— Ernest Shackleton, South
“At 5am the wind shifted to the northwest and quickly increased to one of the worst hurricanes any of us had ever experienced. A great cross-sea was running, and the wind simply shrieked as it tore the tops off the waves and converted the whole seascape into a haze of driving spray. Down into valleys, up to tossing heights, straining until her seams opened, swung our little boat, brave still but laboring heavily. We knew that the wind and set of the sea was driving us ashore, but we could do nothing.”
— Ernest Shackleton, South
“Heavy westerly swell.
Very bad lumpy sea.
Stood off for night; wind increasing…”
— Frank Worsley
“There, right ahead through a rift in the flying scud our glad but salt-rimmed eyes saw a towering black crag with a lacework of snow around its flank. One glimpse, and it was hidden again. We looked at each other with cheerful foolish grins. The thoughts uppermost were ‘We’ve done it.'”
— Frank Worsley
“Sir E. discussed with me what we would do if thro’ lack of… observations of a heavy series of Sly gales blowing us off course, we missed S. Georgia. The prospect was not attractive. Our water, we knew, would be finished… Our food would have lasted a fortnight, but that didn’t alter the problem, if we had no water so we dropped the discussion as it was futile.”
— Frank Worsley
“It was misty, the boat was jumping like a flea, shipping seas fore and aft and there was no “limb” to the sun so I had to observe the centre by guesswork. Astronomically, the limb is the edge of sun or moon. If blurred by cloud or fog it cannot be accurately “brought down” to the horizon. The centre is the spot required, so when the limb is too blurred you bring the centre of the bright spot behind the clouds down to the horizon. By practice and taking a series of “sights” you can obtain an average that has no bigger error than one minute of arc.”
— Frank Worsley
“A small bobtailed bird flew & fussed around us with terrific energy. The only time I heard Sir Ernest swear on this passage was when this little fellow buzzed around. It faintly annoyed us all, but for some reason it irritated him, tho he may have sworn at it to amuse us, thinking ‘anything for a laugh or to buck things up.'”
— Frank Worsley
“Vincent had for the past week ceased to be an active member of the crew, and I could not easily account for his collapse. Physically he was one of the strongest men in the boat. He was a young man, he had served on North Sea trawlers, and he should have been able to bear hardships better than McCarthy, who, not so strong, was always happy.
“The carpenter was suffering particularly, but he showed grit and spirit.”
— Ernest Shackleton, South
“At midnight I was at the tiller and suddenly noticed a line of clear sky between the south and southwest. I called to the other men that the sky was clearing, and then a moment later I realized that what I had seen was not a rift in the clouds but the white crest of an enormous wave.
“During twenty-six years’ experience of the ocean in all its moods I had not encountered a wave so gigantic. It was a mighty upheaval of the ocean, a thing quite apart from the big white-capped seas that had been our tireless enemies for many days.
“I shouted, “For God’s sake, hold on! It’s got us!”
“Then came a moment of suspense that seemed drawn out into hours. White surged the foam of the breaking sea around us. We felt our boat lifted and flung forward like a cork in breaking surf.
“We were in a seething chaos of tortured water; but somehow the boat lived through it, half full of water, sagging to the dead weight and shuddering under the blow. We baled with the energy of men fighting for life, flinging the water over the sides with every receptacle that came to our hands, and after ten minutes of uncertainty we felt the boat renew her life beneath us…
“She floated again and ceased to lurch drunkenly as though dazed by the attack of the sea.”
— Ernest Shackleton, South
Shackleton. 