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Shackleton, Ernest Henry, Sir, 1874-1922

"South: the story of Shackleton's 1914-1917 expedition"


Possibly at the time he would have been willing to forgo any
distinction of the kind. We landed the cook with his blubber-stove, a
supply of fuel and some packets of dried milk, and also several of the
men. Then the rest of us pulled out again to pilot the other boats
through the channel. The 'James Caird' was too heavy to be beached
directly, so after landing most of the men from the 'Dudley Docker' and
the 'Stancomb Wills' I superintended the transhipment of the 'James
Caird's' gear outside the reef. Then we all made the passage, and
within a few minutes the three boats were aground. A curious spectacle
met my eyes when I landed the second time. Some of the men were
reeling about the beach as if they had found an unlimited supply of
alcoholic liquor on the desolate shore. They were laughing
uproariously, picking up stones and letting handfuls of pebbles trickle
between their fingers like misers gloating over hoarded gold. The
smiles and laughter, which caused cracked lips to bleed afresh, and the
gleeful exclamations at the sight of two live seals on the beach made
me think for a moment of that glittering hour of childhood when the
door is open at last and the Christmas-tree in all its wonder bursts
upon the vision. I remember that Wild, who always rose superior to
fortune, bad and good, came ashore as I was looking at the men and
stood beside me as easy and unconcerned as if he had stepped out of his
car for a stroll in the park.


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