Survival Tails: Endurance in Antarctica Read online

  A mouse.

  Bummer’s front paw slipped and he flew forward, tripping over the last brick, tumbling head over paw to land in a heap at the wall.

  Shackleton shook his head, making a mark on his notepad.

  Bummer glanced around desperately as his man came over with his leash. He didn’t want to leave! Not when he’d finally found a friend, not when he’d had just the tiniest bit of hope that he might actually be chosen.

  He spotted the mouse again, zipping along the bottom edge of the wall toward Shackleton. Bummer pulled away as the man leaned down to leash him, and raced toward Shackleton at full pelt, skidding right between his legs to dive at the blur. Then he turned back, lifting his prize in the air between his jaws triumphantly.

  The tiny mouse he’d caught wriggled and squealed, shaking a paw at Bummer. “Let me go, you overgrown rat!”

  Shackleton stared at Bummer and the mouse for a moment before whispering something to the man with the leash. The man nodded and headed toward Bummer, eyeing him warily.

  Bummer’s head drooped. What had he been thinking? He’d tried to make one last attempt at showing Shackleton what he could do but had only ended up looking like a wild animal. He gently lowered the mouse to the ground, letting him go. “Sorry,” he said.

  The mouse gave a shrill “Hmmph!” and scampered off.

  Bummer sat down to allow the man to leash him, then started toward the gate, but the man pulled firmly in the other direction.

  “Back to the kennels, you daft dog!” the man huffed. “Are you sure you want this one?” he called over to Shackleton.

  Shackleton gave Bummer a small smile, then nodded. “I like his spirit.”

  Bummer strutted back to the kennels, feeling bigger than Amundsen and Samson combined.

  CHAPTER 3

  BUMMER

  August 1914

  It had been a tense few weeks while they’d waited at the kennels to be brought to Plymouth, where Shackleton’s ship, the Endurance, was docked. As much as he hated sailing, Bummer had to admit that the ship was impressive. It had been specially adapted to withstand the harsh conditions of the Antarctic, with a thick frame and hull reinforced at every possible point. Its bow was sleek and narrow, resembling the sharp-edged blade of an ax, able to cut through thick pack ice as easily as water. Three tall masts reached to the sky and a shorter funnel stood at the stern of the ship, and four sturdy lifeboats—two on each side—hung out over the water from the top deck.

  The sixty-nine dogs chosen to join Shackleton’s Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition had their own open-fronted wooden kennels, which ran the length of both sides of the top deck. To his relief, Bummer and Samson had remained kennel neighbors at the bow, the front end of the ship. The dogs were kept chained to their kennels, but the chains were long and loose and the dogs were often released as long as they didn’t cause any trouble or get in the crew’s way. Bummer preferred to stay in the relative safety of his kennel, as far away from Amundsen as it was possible to get on a ship surrounded by water.

  “I knew he’d be chosen,” Bummer whispered to Samson, nodding down the deck at Amundsen.

  “Well, I was right about one thing,” Samson said with a grin.

  “What’s that?”

  “That you and I would both be chosen,” Samson said.

  Bummer shook his head in disbelief. There were so many other dogs who would have been far better suited to the expedition than him. He still couldn’t quite believe it. He watched the humans on the quayside, waving farewell, and couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be until they returned to civilization.

  “Where’s the boss?” one of the men called out, scanning the deck for Shackleton as he hurried past. “Britain has declared war against Germany!”

  The men called Shackleton the boss, and the dogs had taken to doing the same.

  “What does that mean?” Samson asked. “Are we still going to Antarctica?”

  “Not if the humans need this ship for their war,” Bummer replied, feeling an odd mixture of disappointment and relief all at once.

  Samson looked distraught. “But I wanted to make my mark on the world. I want to be known for doing something… amazing.” He sighed.

  Bummer couldn’t help but feel disappointed for his friend, even if he wasn’t sure he felt the same way. The excitement of being chosen for the expedition had quickly worn off and slowly turned into a nauseating dread in the pit of his stomach that he wasn’t entirely sure was due to seasickness.

  “I’m sure there will be other expeditions,” Bummer said to himself as much as to Samson.

  They strained against their chains as Shackleton appeared on deck, waving a piece of paper in his hand. He gathered the men around. “It’s a telegram from the Admiralty,” he told them. Men and dogs moved closer, eager to hear the news. “Britain is at war with Germany,” he said solemnly. “But we have been sent word that we can continue with the expedition.” He held up the telegram for all to see. “It says: Proceed!”

  The men cheered and the dogs barked. Samson howled in delight that he would get his big adventure after all. To his surprise, despite the fear of the unknown, Bummer couldn’t help but feel a burst of excitement, too. This was his chance, he thought, to prove that he did belong. After a long pause, Bummer added his barks and howls to the chorus.

  “Are you not pleased?” a voice purred from above. “You don’t seem as excited as the others.”

  Bummer peered up to see a cat with patches of brown and black and white fur lounging on his kennel roof, her tail waving hypnotically back and forth.

  “Of course, just a little nervous about what lies ahead, that’s all. What are you doing on board?” he asked.

  “I came with my human, the carpenter,” she said. “I’m Mrs. Chippy.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of being the only cat on a ship full of dogs?” Bummer asked.

  “Should I be?” Mrs. Chippy asked with a sly smile.

  “Not of me, I suppose.” Bummer gestured down the deck toward Amundsen. “But maybe some of the others.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Mrs. Chippy said, standing to stretch out her back. “I’m not so easily scared.”

  “Have you been on a ship before?” Bummer asked.

  Mrs. Chippy shook her head. “No, but I’m sure it’s no different from being on land,” she said. “Better, in fact… On land you don’t have food readily available at any time of day or night. Just look at all that fresh fish.” She peered over the edge of the ship, licking her jaws.

  Bummer laughed. “Not so easy to catch, though.”

  Mrs. Chippy frowned. “I’ll find a way,” she said. “Or I’ll pester my human until he catches some for me.”

  She slunk off along the kennel roofs, ignoring the barking as she passed. If Bummer hadn’t known better, he’d have thought she was goading them on purpose. He lay in his kennel, listening to the ongoing revelry.

  “Bummer!” Samson called out as the crew let the dogs off their chains. “Come and meet Sally and the others.”

  Bummer padded over to where Samson was chatting excitedly with a group of dogs about their journey ahead.

  “This is Bummer,” Samson told the group. “He’s a smart one, so you’ll want him on your sled team.”

  A couple of the dogs studied Bummer doubtfully, but before they could say anything, a dog stepped forward. She was larger than Bummer—but then so were most of the dogs—and had thick, silky, light gray fur that shone in the sunlight. Her deep blue eyes sparkled as she smiled at him warmly. “Nice to meet you, Bummer,” she said. “I’m Sally.”

  Bummer returned her smile gratefully. “I’m not sure I’ll be on any sled team,” he muttered. “I’m still not sure I should be here at all.”

  “Nonsense,” Sally said. “I had to leave my mate back home, but I know we were all chosen for a reason. I’m sure you’ll discover your place soon enough.”

  “His place is at the back of the ship with the pigs,” Amu
ndsen snarled, pushing the other dogs aside. He was flanked by two of the fiercest-looking dogs Bummer had ever seen. One of them—Hercules—had thick fur as black as night, with eyes to match. The other had an elongated jaw and teeth so sharp he looked more wolf than dog, which was how, Bummer supposed, he got the name Wolf.

  “You want to know why you were chosen?” Amundsen asked. “It’s so that if the humans run out of food they’ll have more fresh meat on board.” Amundsen roared with laughter, and a few of the other dogs laughed along uneasily. Bummer tried as hard he could not to show the fear in his eyes.

  “Bummer’s a better dog than you,” Samson growled, moving to stand beside Bummer.

  “Bummer?” Amundsen laughed more loudly. “Is that what they called you?”

  Sally stood on Bummer’s other side and he suddenly felt a little braver, and a little surer of himself.

  “I’m as good as any dog here,” Bummer said, his heart hammering against his ribs. “I was chosen by the boss just like the rest of you.”

  Amundsen leaned forward, so close that Bummer could feel his hot, sour breath on his face. “Your friends aren’t always going to be around to protect you,” he whispered. “What will you do when you find yourself all alone out in the wilderness?”

  Sally snarled, but Amundsen ignored her. He strutted back to his kennel with Wolf and Hercules on either side.

  “Are you all right?” Sally asked.

  Bummer nodded, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and amazement that he’d stood up for himself—although he doubted that he would have been as brave if Samson and Sally hadn’t been by his side. A brown blur ran past, flying across the kennel roofs as the deck rumbled and shook with the weight of sixty oversized dogs chasing after it.

  “Mrs. Chippy!” Bummer yelled, taking off after the other dogs. He jumped, trying to see over the heads of the ever-increasing number of dogs surrounding the cat. All he could see was fur and jaws and tails, and Amundsen leading the pack as they closed in on the terrified cat.

  She hissed at Amundsen as he drew nearer, striking out at his face with extended claws. Amundsen let out a roar of rage and reared back as Mrs. Chippy frantically lashed out again and again, trying to keep him and the other dogs at bay.

  “The carpenter’s cat is causing all kinds of trouble,” Samson told Bummer as Bummer squeezed his way through the throng. “Amundsen is almost beside himself. He nearly had her a second ago.”

  “We have to help her,” Bummer said.

  “I think the cat can take care of herself,” Samson replied. “Although she is very much outnumbered.”

  Bummer watched helplessly as Amundsen, who was in a rage after being outsmarted by a cat, cornered Mrs. Chippy. She leaped off the edge of the boat and onto the canvas cover of one of the lifeboats. It swayed as she landed, and for a brief moment it looked as though she was safe. But then she lost her grip and slid off the end.

  Bummer jostled his way through the crowd, jumping onto a stack of crates to peer down into the water, despite the fact that his legs felt like jelly and the contents of his stomach were threatening to make an appearance at any moment.

  He scanned the churning ocean. There was no sign of the cat anywhere. He didn’t know much about cats, but he did know they hated water. He barked to get the attention of the men, but they were too occupied with chasing the dogs around the deck and chaining them back to their kennels.

  There! A flash of a paw and a head bobbed in the water.

  He barked at Mrs. Chippy, but she didn’t hear him at first, too consumed by her terror of the water and her desperate effort to stay afloat. She yowled as a tall wave washed over her, dragging her under. Bummer held his breath and, without thinking, jumped, landing with a heavy splash in the frigid water. His breath was forced out of his lungs as the cold hit him. In his shock, he forgot to swim, and his head sank beneath the water. He cried out, choking on a mouthful of salt water, and paddled as hard as he could to lift his head above the churning surface.

  A wave hit him full in the face as he emerged, but he forced his legs to keep moving, keeping his nose high above the water to catch his breath. Another wave washed over him as he swam. His head sank beneath the surface again and he spotted a brown blur a little way ahead. He swam harder toward the blur, grabbing the back of Mrs. Chippy’s neck in his mouth when he finally reached her.

  “That… is quite… unnecessary!” Mrs. Chippy spluttered, thrashing about while Bummer half swam, half dragged himself and the cat back toward the ship. They’d finally been spotted, and the carpenter had jumped into the water and was heading right for them.

  “I can let you go, if you’d like,” Bummer mumbled through a mouthful of fur.

  Mrs. Chippy shook her head quickly. “This will have to do,” she said, adding an almost inaudible “Thank you” beneath her breath.

  They were pulled out of the water by some of the crew, and while Mrs. Chippy was whisked away by her human to be dried off, Bummer was left alone to shake the dripping water from his fur.

  “I told you!” an excited voice rang out. “Didn’t I tell you Bummer was the one you’d want on your team?”

  Samson beamed as he and some of the other dogs came over to greet Bummer.

  “That was very brave,” Sally told him.

  Bummer felt his face grow warm. He was about to say that it wasn’t such a big deal when a shadow fell over them and the dogs froze.

  “Well, now,” Shackleton said, reaching down to stroke Bummer’s head. “Looks like I was right about you after all.”

  Bummer watched with his mouth hanging open as the boss wandered away down the deck.

  “Did you hear that, Amundsen?” Samson barked.

  Bummer wasn’t sure that Amundsen had actually heard what Shackleton had said, but it didn’t matter. If the boss believed in him, Bummer thought, maybe it wouldn’t be so wrong to believe in himself a little more.

  CHAPTER 4

  SAMSON

  October 1914 to December 1914

  They sailed first to Buenos Aires for more supplies, then to Grytviken whaling station, which smelled like fish guts and blubber. The temperature had dropped a few days into sailing across the Weddell Sea, where they had been confronted with pack ice. As they neared Antarctica, it formed on top of the waves, moving with the tides, becoming thicker and thicker, joining to create large rafts of ice called floes. The ship had slowed its course as the ocean seemed to crust over and freeze. The pack ice spread out for endless mile upon mile with only dark, narrow waterways breaking up the blank slate like blue veins across a pale face, creating a mazelike effect. Samson looked out over the side of the ship, trying to spot the best channels, only to see them converge into a dead end farther along the route.

  Often, the ship was accompanied by a pod of humpback whales. They drifted alongside the Endurance as the ship sailed, calling out with their mournful song, in a strange language Samson didn’t recognize. He tried to reply, but his calls went unanswered.

  Swarms of seals and penguins lazed around on top of the ice floes as they passed, sliding into the water on their bellies to search for fish beneath the solid shelves of ice. Samson didn’t bother trying to communicate with them. He knew by now that those animals didn’t speak. The only thing they were good for was eating.

  The Endurance had already traveled hundreds of miles, but Captain Worsley said they had at least two hundred and fifty more miles to go until they reached land. The ice surrounding them was so thick that it seemed to Samson as if they were already sailing across the land rather than on an ice-covered ocean.

  The ice constantly shifted, making their passage even slower. They navigated into what seemed like a long run of open water, only to find a few miles later that the ice had closed in on them, blocking their path. Samson worried that there might come a time when they became trapped completely, but the ship’s specially made bow drove through the ice as the captain sailed at half speed, carving out a V shape in the pack, then drove into
it again with the steam engine at full speed to break the ice apart.

  Despite their slow progress, Samson loved being out on the open water with the sea breeze ruffling his fur. If he stood on the bow and closed his eyes, it felt as if he were flying, soaring over the waves like an albatross, free to go in whichever direction adventure called him.

  “I can feel every single wave,” Bummer groaned. “How long until we reach solid land again? Or at least something that resembles solid land. A large rock—or even better, a tropical desert island.”

  “I thought you’d gotten over your seasickness after your daring rescue of Mrs. Chippy,” Samson teased.

  Bummer gave him a withering look. Some of the dogs, Samson included, had developed a newfound respect for Bummer since that day. Bummer had taken him by surprise when he’d leaped off the ship. Samson had felt a small burst of pride (once he knew for certain that Bummer hadn’t been foolishly trying to abandon ship) as well as feeling a tiny bit smug that he’d been right all along about Bummer.

  “We’ll be in Antarctica soon enough,” Samson said. “That’s when the fun will really start. Oh, here comes the boss!”

  Samson wagged his tail as Shackleton came over and let him off his chain. He had taken a bit of a liking to Samson and often let Samson keep him company in his quarters while he worked away, looking at plans and drawing and redrawing maps of the route they would take. Samson relished those moments. He wanted to learn as much as he could from the great explorer.

  The boss led him belowdecks, and Samson listened to the usual sounds of the crew at work. As they passed by various parts of the ship, Shackleton chatted with Samson, telling him the names of the crew and what their roles were—the seamen working around the boat, the scientists writing in their journals and organizing their instruments, the photographer and artist documenting the journey in paint or on film. Samson was fascinated by Hurley, the photographer, who seemed to be fearless and not as bothered by their situation as the rest of the men. Samson watched as the man climbed with his large box camera up to the very top of the masts, or hung from the tip of the jib boom—the long wooden column that protruded horizontally out over the water.