As they headed along the walkway, Samson paused, sniffing at a closed closet door.
“Come on, old boy!” the boss called.
Samson held firm, snuffling around the edges of the door. He’d caught the scent of something that wasn’t quite right. He bent low, growling at the door, then barked loudly. Shackleton placed a finger over his lips to shush Samson, then he gripped the door handle, pulling it open swiftly. There was a sudden yell and bang and out tumbled a red-faced, rather sweaty human, followed by a jumble of spare clothes that landed on top of the man in a heap.
“What do we have here?” the boss boomed with a face like thunder.
“A stowaway!” Samson barked, backing up slightly. He’d never seen the boss look so angry. Samson growled at the stowaway, preparing to grab him by the ankle at the boss’s command.
“Up you get!” the boss ordered, hauling the man up by the back of his shirt.
The man stood unsteadily, his eyes wide and hands trembling as the boss marched him into his quarters, slamming the door behind them. Some of the crew gathered around, drawn by the shouts and yells coming from behind the closed door, and then the quivery, pleading voice of the stowaway. Samson suddenly felt a bit sorry for the stowaway. Perhaps he’d just wanted an adventure, too?
“That’s enough,” Shackleton’s second-in-command, Wild, said, coming to see what the fuss was about. “Back to work.”
He dragged Samson back up to the top deck. Samson pulled against his collar, whining in frustration. He didn’t want to miss out on the drama. He momentarily wondered if the stowaway would be forced to walk the plank as in the pirate stories his old master used to tell the children. Not that the Endurance had a plank. Maybe the boss would just drop the stowaway off on the ice?
“I found a stowaway!” Samson told Bummer. “In one of the clothes lockers. The boss was mightily angry.”
Bummer frowned at him doubtfully. “Where did a stowaway come from?”
“Maybe Plymouth or when we docked at Buenos Aires—there were plenty of times that a stowaway could have sneaked on board. I’m surprised you didn’t hear the boss yelling. I bet he’s going to come up here and throw him overboard any moment now.”
Samson and Bummer stared expectantly toward the stairwell, but no one appeared. After a while Bummer sighed and lay back down.
“Maybe he’s keeping him prisoner for now,” Samson said. “To throw him overboard when everyone’s asleep so as not to upset the other humans. Oh, there he is!” Samson barked as the stowaway and the boss appeared on deck.
“Do you know that we often get very hungry on these expeditions?” the boss asked the stowaway loudly.
The stowaway nodded.
“And if there is a stowaway available, he is the first to be eaten?” the boss continued.
Samson glanced at Bummer, whose eyes were as wide as his own.
The stowaway froze for a moment, and Samson thought he might be thinking of making a run for it, but he replied with a grin: “They’d get a lot more meat off you, sir.”
The corner of the boss’s mouth twitched as he tried not to laugh. “Wild,” he said loudly. “Take Blackborow here to meet the cook. The rest of you, prepare the dogs for some exercise.”
“You don’t think he’s really going to eat him?” Bummer squeaked.
Samson shook his head slowly. The boss was a strict man, but he wasn’t a monster. Still, Samson could barely hide his relief when Wild returned with Blackborow a few minutes later and introduced him to the rest of the crew as the new steward. Then he suddenly realized what the boss had just said.
“Bummer! They’re going to let us off.” He paced up and down, his tail wagging as he waited for the men to unleash the dogs.
Bummer looked out at the slowly shifting pack ice uncertainly. “Let us off? Off where?”
Samson grinned and nodded over the side of the ship. “The ice is thick and the floes large enough so that we can finally stretch our legs. I’ve been dreaming about running for weeks now. Think of it, Bummer, the chill air in your lungs, the ice beneath your paws.”
“I don’t think you’ve got much of a choice,” Sally said, joining them. “The men want to stretch their legs as much as we do.”
The men unhooked their chains, each taking four or five dogs, barely able to hold them all in one place as they bounced up and down with the same eagerness as Samson, desperate to get off the ship.
A steep wooden walkway had been lowered from the deck down onto the ice. Samson raced down, his paws slipping and sliding across the ice, white puffs of air bursting from his jaws as he whooped with joy. He looked back to the ship, where Bummer stood frozen at the top of the gangplank.
“Come on, Bummer!” Samson called out. “It’s perfectly safe.”
Bummer began a slow trot, stepping as lightly as he could.
“See!” Samson laughed as Bummer caught up with him and Sally.
A thrill ran through Samson as he ran faster, feeling the strength return to his weak muscles and the air filling his lungs. It had been so long since he’d run like this, putting everything else out of his mind except placing one paw in front of the other, that he’d forgotten how exhilarating it could be.
Sally slowed beside him, gesturing ahead. “This doesn’t look good.”
Samson’s stomach tightened. Amundsen, Wolf, and Hercules circled a group of dogs, their teeth bared.
“What are they doing?” Bummer asked, puffing and panting as he caught up.
“Looks like a fight is about to break out,” Sally replied. “It was bound to happen sooner or later after being on the ship for so long. We’d best stay out of it.”
They had turned to walk back toward the ship and the men, who were having some fun of their own, slipping and sliding over the ice, when the barking started.
Amundsen launched himself at another dog, going for his throat. The other dogs immediately joined in, using their jaws and claws to bite and scratch, slamming their huge bodies into each other.
“The ice is bad,” Bummer said. “That dark patch means that it isn’t as thick in that spot. They could fall through.”
Samson looked at the ice and, sure enough, spotted a darker patch of ice directly behind the fighting dogs.
“We should warn them,” he said.
“Wait!” Bummer called out behind him. “It’s not safe.”
But Samson was already halfway across the ice, watching the dogs edge closer and closer to danger.
Amundsen turned and saw Samson hurtling toward him. Samson tried to bark out a warning about the ice, but before he could, Amundsen leaped into the air, meeting Samson in a tumble of fur and limbs, and they rolled together, sliding to a stop right on top of the blackening ice. There was a loud crack, and both dogs froze as small fissures snaked across the ice, creeping toward them.
“Don’t move!” Sally called out, but Amundsen jumped to his feet.
There was a sickening splintering sound as the ice broke up and the ground disappeared suddenly beneath them, pitching Samson and Amundsen into the freezing, churning ocean below. Samson’s breath left his lungs as the cold hit, unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He felt as if he were moving in slow motion as he tried to paddle, sinking lower and lower into the water.
The other dogs backed away. Some ran toward the ship, barking.
“Get help!” Samson heard Bummer shout before instructing Sally to take his tail.
Samson could only watch as Bummer slowly edged forward inch by inch, his body low to get as close to the gaping hole as possible.
Samson felt himself slip farther under and lifted his nose as high as he could so that he could breathe.
“Hold on!” Bummer yelled as Sally gripped his tail in her jaws.
“I’m… trying!” Samson gasped, feeling himself slip farther and farther away.
Bummer stretched out his front paws, and Samson reached with his frozen paws to hold on with his claws, slowly pulling himself out of the water
with Bummer’s help. Just as he was halfway out, he felt an immense weight on his back, forcing him downward to swallow a mouthful of water as Amundsen climbed up and over him onto solid ground.
Samson gasped, his lungs straining as he struggled to get his head above water, his icy fur weighing him down. He saw the ice beneath Bummer begin to give way as Bummer desperately tried to reach him.
“Amundsen!” Sally growled.
“I can’t hold on much longer!” Samson cried.
Sally crouched beside Bummer, holding out her own paws as Amundsen joined her and did the same on the other side. Samson tried to grip them as best he could with his painful, throbbing paws, slowly easing himself up and out of the water.
“You almost drowned me!” Samson gasped, collapsing on the ice. His teeth chattered as he shook his fur as hard as he could. Tiny droplets of ice had formed on the ends of his fur. A fire burned through him suddenly and he leaped up, shoving Amundsen, hard.
“You attacked me,” Amundsen growled in reply as the two dogs circled each other.
“I didn’t attack you,” Samson barked. “I was trying to warn you.”
Some of the dogs were running toward them across the ice, with the men close behind calling for Amundsen and Samson to stand down, but neither did. Samson glared at Amundsen as he glared right back, neither of them blinking.
“It’s true,” Sally told Amundsen gently. “He was just trying to warn you.”
Amundsen opened his mouth but then snapped his jaws shut again.
“Well,” he said finally, his eyes still firmly fixed on Samson.
“Well?” Samson said.
The two glared at each other, neither one wanting to be the first to back down, their hot breath mingling in the air in tiny clouds.
“Amundsen!” Wild called.
Amundsen flinched but didn’t move.
The boss whistled. “Samson!”
Samson paused, torn between losing face and being the first to back down, and defying his master. He dragged himself away from Amundsen and trotted over to the boss.
“Good boy,” Shackleton said, using a blanket to rub down Samson’s fur as Wild did the same to Amundsen. Samson narrowed his eyes at Amundsen, who growled in reply.
CHAPTER 5
SAMSON
January 1915
Samson preferred to sleep on the snow-covered deck rather than inside his stuffy kennel. At night, the sky was so clear that he could see a billion stars twinkling. The tiny ice crystals covering the ship seemed to shimmer back in response. The cool wind and the way the soft snowflakes tingled when they landed on Samson’s fur made him feel as if he were back home in Canada. The freezing temperatures didn’t bother him. His fur had grown thicker, with a soft, warm underlayer that kept him feeling cozy in the harshest of blizzards.
The boss stood at the front of the ship, gazing out over the ice ahead of them with a steaming cup of cocoa in his hands. Samson went to join him, and the boss patted him on the head.
“It’s not looking good, old boy,” Shackleton said with a sigh. “According to my schedule, we should already have reached land by now. But with all this ice closing in on us…” He sighed again. “It looks as if we might be stuck here for a while longer.”
Samson’s stomach lurched as he followed the man’s gaze out over the side of the ship. It had already been ten days since they’d become trapped. As they’d moved closer to Antarctica, the passages of ice had become narrower and narrower, until now, with the drop in temperature, they had all but disappeared. The ship was enclosed in the pack ice with no clear passage of water ahead and no way of knowing when they might be able to move again.
Fights broke out every five minutes as the dogs vented their frustration, and the men’s moods were just as bad. Often Samson was woken up by a tense argument between the men over some trivial matter. Even Mrs. Chippy hadn’t been spotted on deck for weeks, seeming to have the sense to stay out of everyone’s way.
Samson nudged Shackleton with his head and tried to give him a smile. The boss smiled back and nodded to himself as though deciding something. “Well, we might as well make the most of it,” he said, downing the last of his cocoa. “There’s not much else to do while we’re trapped in the ice. So how about we start sled training?”
Samson perked up at this, barked his assent, and ran to tell the others. Bummer didn’t seem as enthusiastic as he’d hoped when Samson told him the news.
Bummer’s tail drooped slightly. “Do you think… We will get out of the ice, won’t we? We won’t be trapped here forever?”
Samson tried to hide his own fear with a small laugh. He’d had the same concern, but there was little he could do about it, and as the boss said—they might as well make the most of their situation. “You’ve been spending too much time with the scientists,” he said. “We just have to wait until the pack ice shifts again, and then we’ll be on our way.”
I hope, he thought.
Samson pushed past Bummer in his excitement to get off the ship.
Samson joined Sally, waiting as patiently as they could while the men unloaded sleds and harnesses from the ship. Amundsen sauntered over, glaring at Samson. Samson glared back.
“They’ll be looking for the leader soon,” Amundsen said to Sally, still holding Samson’s stare.
“I think we know who will be first choice,” Samson replied.
Amundsen narrowed his eyes. “I think we do.”
Sally looked at them both in turn. “Well, of course we do,” she said lightly. “Everyone knows I’m the strongest dog here.”
Amundsen opened his mouth to argue but snapped his jaws shut again, glaring at Samson before backing away.
“He’s got such a big head!” Samson huffed.
“You two are not as dissimilar as you might think.” Sally sighed, watching Amundsen leave.
Samson frowned. “Did you forget that he tried to drown me?”
“He wasn’t trying to drown you. He was trying to save himself. And he did help you… eventually.”
Samson grunted. “Only because you asked him to.”
Bummer made his way over, his legs slipping on the ice like a newborn deer’s. “Steer clear of any dark patches or any areas that look watery,” he warned. “And stay away from Amundsen, too.”
“Too late for that,” Samson mumbled.
They watched the men unload a large sled on skis with an engine and a tall propeller on the back. “Is that the motor sled?” Bummer asked.
“I suppose so,” Samson answered. “Although how a machine can be better than a team of dogs who know this kind of terrain is beyond me.”
The men whistled and the dogs ran over, eagerly awaiting instructions.
“We’ll mix up the teams for now,” Shackleton announced, “to see which dogs work well with each other and which can lead.”
Samson’s tail wagged excitedly. He had to be chosen for leader, he just had to. He glanced over at Amundsen, Wolf, and Hercules, who were obviously all thinking the same thing.
“I want that one,” Wild called out, pointing at Samson.
Samson’s tail drooped a little—he had been hoping to be chosen by Shackleton—but he was still glad to have been first pick.
“I’ll take the beast over there,” the second officer, Crean, told Wild, pointing at Amundsen. “I’ve seen how he operates. He’ll beat yours in a footrace any day.”
“Is that so?” Wild asked. “How about we have a little wager?”
Captain Worsley; the ship’s surgeon, Dr. Macklin; and McNish, the carpenter, also wanted in on the action, choosing Sally, Wolf, and Hercules, respectively.
Each man harnessed his dog and attached the dog to a sled. Samson stood between Wolf and Hercules, who snarled, trying to intimidate him.
“Is that supposed to scare me?” Samson asked with a chuckle.
“It should,” Wolf growled. “You may be the biggest, but Hercules and I are faster. What are you going to do when your precious Shackleton
realizes you aren’t as great as he thinks?”
Samson scowled. “We’ll see,” he said, digging his claws into the icy ground.
“Mush!” Wild shouted, and Samson was off. He quickly overtook Wolf, but as he passed Hercules, the dog snapped at Samson’s tail, catching a mouthful of fur. Samson pressed his claws harder into the ice, throwing up flurries into Hercules’s face.
Samson ran faster, until he was head-to-head with Sally on one side and Amundsen close by on the other.
“Gee!” Wild shouted, the signal to turn right. Samson veered to the right, strengthening his lead over Amundsen. Sally was still close on his tail, though, changing her position to take the inside.
“Haw!” Wild shouted. Samson merged to the left, trying to cut in front of Sally, but she swerved, cutting him off. Amundsen was hot on their tails as they headed to the finish line, where men and dogs cheered them on. Samson gave it everything he had, even though his legs burned and his muscles trembled with the effort. At the last minute, Sally came out of nowhere with a burst of speed, beating him to the post.
“Whoa!” Wild shouted as Samson skidded to a halt, slumping to the ground.
Amundsen landed beside him, the two dogs panting hard to regain their breath.
“See?” puffed Sally above them. “I told you I was the best.”
A loud whistle sounded, cutting through the excitement, and men and dogs turned to the ship. Steam had begun rising from the funnel. The fires had been put out days ago, partly because the ship had nowhere to go and partly, Samson guessed, to preserve fuel.
“Are we on the move?” Bummer asked, racing alongside Samson, eager to return to the ship.
“I hope so,” Samson said, disappointed that training had been cut short but glad that they were on their way. Although Shackleton remained his optimistic self, Samson had heard whispers from the crew about what would happen if they were trapped. Samson had tried to put it out of his mind, but he couldn’t help worrying about what they would do next. What if they ran out of food or were unable to call for help? Did anyone in the outside world even know where they were?
Survival Tails: Endurance in Antarctica Page 3