Survival Tails: Endurance in Antarctica

by Katrina Charman

  Another tremor came from beneath the ice. A little to his right—pressure forcing two floes together, creating a rising, impenetrable wall. Samson swerved to the left, but another ridge rose beside him.

  “Haw!” Wild called to Samson to turn, but there was nowhere to go but forward.

  “Be ready to change direction at my command,” Samson barked at his team.

  The dogs barked in reply as they drove on through the rolling landscape, rising up one moment, sinking down the next. It felt to Samson almost as though they were running across ocean waves—each one higher and more dangerous than the last, threatening to crush and drag them into the depths below.

  The ridges continued to rise on either side, converging to create a narrowing pathway. Samson’s heart thundered hard in his chest as he tried to focus on keeping his team safe.

  “Run faster than you have ever run before!” Samson barked.

  This time the dogs didn’t bark in reply, their breath strained by the effort of running flat out, but Samson felt them behind him, pushing him on as the space ahead became narrower and narrower still.

  “Faster!”

  The sides of the sled behind him scraped against the ice. Their only point of escape narrowed with every heartbeat. With a final push, they squeaked through a split second before the ridges crashed against each other, closing up the path behind them.

  “Whoa!” Wild called, his voice shaky.

  The dogs slid to a halt, their sides heaving as they panted to catch their breath. The ice creaked and settled around them and the ground fell still beneath Samson’s paws.

  “I think we’d best head back to the ship,” Samson puffed, smiling gratefully at his team. They hadn’t let him down for one second.

  Wild seemed to agree as the dogs turned back toward the ship via a different route, winding in and out of the new ridges created by the ice shift. As they approached the Endurance, they found that many other dog teams had returned and were on the ship.

  Samson felt his chest tighten as they neared. “What is it?” he asked Bummer and Sally, a little way ahead.

  “The ship,” Bummer said, running to meet him. “The ice ridges have moved farther up against the sides.”

  Samson moved closer. As he watched, ice crept, almost imperceptibly, up the sides of the hull, as though the Endurance was slowly being devoured by a great monster. What would they do if the ship was lost? How would they get home? Sally and her pups might never return to Canada.… They were so small. How would they survive out in the wilderness with their food supply dwindling and no way to reach land?

  “What happens to the ship if the ice doesn’t thaw?” Samson whispered, although he feared he already knew the answer.

  “If the floes keep shifting,” Bummer said, “the pressure will likely crush it.…”

  Samson felt his heart drop. “And then there really will be no way home,” he finished.

  CHAPTER 8

  SAMSON

  June 1915

  The humans were celebrating something they called Midwinter’s Day. Samson didn’t really understand what it was all about, but the men decided to have a feast in its honor, which meant the dogs had a feast of their own. Instead of their usual meal of pemmican (a mixture of dried meats), the humans opened up tins of ham and fish, which the dogs gulped down. It wasn’t that pemmican was so bad, but when Samson had eaten the same meal day after day with little change in his diet other than the infrequent seal steak or piece of blubber, finally tasting something new was heaven.

  The days were becoming dull. Even taking the sled out on the ice lost its appeal after a while. The constant twilight didn’t help matters. Often Samson felt that his mood would only lift when the sun rose in the sky again and thawed the ice so that the Endurance would finally be free. The men had done the best they could to hack away at it to stop the ice from moving any farther, but the threat was always there, and no matter how carefree the men tried to appear, Samson knew that they were as worried as he was about the fate of the ship.

  The moon was especially bright that night, seeming to light a path before Samson, giving him an idea to lift the dogs’ mood.

  “Who’s up for a race?” Samson asked, wandering from one dogloo to the next, avoiding those belonging to the less amenable dogs.

  “What kind of race?” Bummer asked, peering out from his dogloo.

  Samson grinned. “Come with me and you’ll find out.”

  He moved far enough from the ship that they wouldn’t wake the sleeping men, then waited for the dogs to assemble and explained what he had in mind.

  “Welcome to the first annual Twilight Antarctic Derby!” Samson announced, to puzzled looks from the dogs crowding around.

  Samson sighed. “It’s a dog race,” he explained. “Sled teams will race two at a time, with full harnesses and sleds. The winners of each round will be pitted against each other until the final, where we’ll find out which team among us is the best. Who’s in?” he asked.

  There was an awkward silence for a moment; then, to Samson’s surprise, Surly stepped forward with a rare smile. “I’m in,” he said.

  “Bummer?” Samson asked. “How about it?”

  Bummer looked around uncertainly. “My sled team isn’t here,” he said. “I can’t race by myself. Also… how will we put on the harnesses without the humans’ help?”

  “Ah, good point,” Samson replied. “We can step into the harnesses; they just won’t be as tight as usual.”

  “You can take my place,” Sally said. “I need to watch the pups, and it will give the rest of you a fairer chance.”

  Bummer grinned and bounded over to Surly and the rest of the team.

  More dogs followed, standing in their usual team formations with the leaders at the head of the pack, waiting for Samson’s instructions.

  “We race two teams at a time,” Samson repeated. He nodded ahead to a line of tall ice mounds that the men had set up with ropes and lanterns on top in case anyone lost his way back to the ship in the darkness. “To the end of the ice mounds, circle around, then back here to the finish line. The rules are: No fighting or obstructing the other team—we want a clean race. No dirty tricks to get ahead. Understand?”

  The dogs barked in agreement, and the first two teams slipped into their harnesses, then lined up at the starting line, which Bummer had dug out with his claws.

  “Ready?” Samson asked the team leaders, Spider and Mack. The dogs nodded, digging their claws into the ice to ensure a quick start.

  “You weren’t planning on starting without us, were you?” a low voice came from the back of the crowd.

  Samson froze as Amundsen, Wolf, and Hercules pushed their way past the dogs to face him. “Just because you’re the boss’s favorite, that doesn’t make you the boss of us dogs.”

  “You’re welcome to join in,” Samson said lightly, pretending that he hadn’t left them out on purpose. “But we don’t want any foul play. If you want to race to win, you have to do it fair and square.”

  Amundsen took a step back, offended. “Of course! What do you take us for?”

  Bummer reluctantly joined them, and Samson gave him an apologetic look. He knew Bummer had only agreed to the race because he thought he’d be on Samson’s team. Samson hoped Amundsen wouldn’t make Bummer look like a fool in front of the other dogs just to prove a point.

  He turned to the dogs waiting impatiently at the starting line. “Ready?” he asked again.

  The dogs gave a brief nod, focusing on the path ahead.

  “Mush!”

  With a scraping of claws on ice and a blur of fur, they were off. The two teams were fairly evenly matched, with only a head’s difference as they quickly reached the end of the line of ice mounds and navigated their sleds around, thundering back toward the finish line.

  There was barely a paw length between them as they crossed the line, skidding to a stop in a jumble of limbs and harnesses.

  “Spider’s team won this round,” Samson
announced. “But only by a nose. Next to race is—”

  “We’ll go next,” Amundsen declared.

  Samson was about to protest, but Amundsen glared at any dog who looked as if they wanted to disagree, and they lowered their heads, suddenly more interested in the ice at their feet than in racing.

  “All right,” Samson said after a pause. “You can race—”

  “We’ll race your team,” Amundsen said, cutting Samson off again. “That’s if you’re up for the challenge?”

  Surly growled and nodded his assent to Samson.

  Bummer shook his head almost imperceptibly at Samson, but what choice did Samson have? He couldn’t turn down a challenge from Amundsen. It would show that he accepted Amundsen as his alpha, and Samson would never do that, no matter what was at stake. Besides, he thought, it was only a simple race around the track. What harm could it do? Samson knew they had the advantage over Amundsen’s team with Bummer taking the rear. He immediately felt guilty about the thought and pushed it out of his mind as he lined up in front of his team beside Amundsen. Each dog strained at the harness, ready to go. Samson realized suddenly that there was much more at stake than a simple race. This was about who was the better dog.

  “Go, Samson!” Nell shouted as Sally and her pups came to watch.

  Samson gave the tiny light gray pup a grin.

  Mack took Samson’s place as race starter, and an eerie hush fell over the crowd.

  “Go, Amundsen!” Nelson yelled even more loudly than his sister.

  Samson frowned at the tiny pup, then at Sally, who shrugged with a smile.

  “And Bummer,” Nelson added, slightly less loudly.

  Amundsen studied the little pup bouncing up and down excitedly. He glanced over at Samson and grinned. “They have no chance against my team,” he told Nelson, who exploded into a series of whoops and howls.

  “Ready?” Mack asked.

  Samson nodded, glancing at Amundsen out of the corner of his eye, then focusing on the track ahead.

  “Mush!” Mack shouted.

  Samson ran harder than he had ever run in his life. He felt the pull of the slower dogs behind him and the drag of the sled across the bumpy terrain, but he kept his pace. He was going to win this race no matter what—even if it meant dragging his entire team over the finish line. As they reached the end of the ice mounds, he slowed, preparing to take the sharp turn, but Amundsen kept his pace, not slowing for a second.

  They’re going to crash! Samson thought, keeping one eye ahead and one eye on Amundsen’s team, with Bummer barely managing to keep up, his breath and legs straining. As Samson’s team turned smoothly, Amundsen’s swung out much too fast, sending the sled tumbling over the ice, entangling Bummer and his loose harness with it. Samson slowed, glancing back at his friend.

  “Keep going!” Surly yelled.

  Samson forced himself to look ahead. He couldn’t let his team down. Not when they were so close to the finish line. He’d complete the race, then go back for Bummer. Bummer knew how important it was for him to teach Amundsen a lesson.… In fact, Bummer might even be upset if Samson stopped now to return for him. Samson shoved aside the voice in his head that said he was being a bad friend, pushing on to finish the race.

  They crossed the line to barks and howls from the crowd. The dogs surrounded Samson and his team, barking congratulations. None of them particularly liked Amundsen, so Samson’s victory felt like a victory for them all.

  All except Bummer.

  CHAPTER 9

  BUMMER

  June 1915

  Every inch of his body hurt. Bummer tried to move, but he was pinned down by the immense weight of the wooden sled on top of him. His head felt woozy, and his body shook from the shock or cold or both.

  Around him he could hear faint voices and barking, but he couldn’t distinguish between them.

  “Samson,” Bummer whined. “Are you there?”

  “Bummer!” a deep voice growled close to his ear. “Can you hear me?”

  “Samson?” Bummer called again.

  “No,” the voice barked. “It’s Amundsen. Stay still, the other dogs have gone for help.”

  “Amundsen!” Bummer cried weakly. “My leg. I can’t move it.”

  Bummer heard Amundsen call Wolf and Hercules over. “We have to move the sled,” he told them.

  “Let’s wait for the men,” Wolf said.

  “Why are you so worried about the runt, anyway?” Hercules argued. “It’s his fault we lost the race.”

  Amundsen growled, then broke off as a small voice called out.

  “Amundsen! Is Bummer all right?” Nelson asked. Bummer could hear the quiver in his voice, and he felt even more afraid.

  Amundsen made no reply.

  Nelson gave a tiny growl. “Mother says you never leave a team dog behind.”

  “Nelson,” Amundsen started, then sighed. “The pup is right,” he barked at Wolf and Hercules. “A leader doesn’t abandon his team. Help me lift the sled.”

  The light around the sled shifted. Bummer watched helplessly as the dark, looming shadows of Wolf, Hercules, and Amundsen got into position, Wolf and Hercules at each end and Amundsen taking the brunt of the weight in the center.

  The pressure on Bummer’s body eased slightly so that he was able to breathe more deeply. Inch by inch, he slowly pulled himself toward the gap that Amundsen had made and squeezed himself out, his injured paw dragging limply along. As soon as his tail was free, Amundsen let out a roar and dropped the sled.

  Bummer stood slowly, gingerly moving each of his limbs in turn, then his tail, wincing when he tried to step on his front paw.

  “Bummer!” Nelson cried, his little tail wagging as he rubbed against Bummer’s side.

  Bummer tried to smile. “I’m a little bruised, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.” He looked around. “Where’s Samson?”

  “The hero of dog town?” Wolf snarled, gesturing with his head behind them.

  Bummer turned. Samson was still in the thick of the other dogs, howling and celebrating his victory. Bummer looked at the ground, unable to watch anymore. He turned back to Amundsen, but he was walking away with Wolf and Hercules, his head hung low.

  “Amundsen, wait!” Bummer called, limping as fast as he could to catch up, to thank the other dog.

  Amundsen paused but didn’t turn around. “The pup was right,” he growled, glancing over his shoulder at the cheering dogs. “No dog left behind.”

  CHAPTER 10

  BUMMER

  July 1915

  The wind howled around dog town, sounding to Bummer like ghouls screaming out a warning. In Bummer’s head it sounded like: Turn back! Turn back! Danger ahead! Bummer buried his head in his paws, trying to block out the sound and hoping his kennel was strong enough to make it through the night. The ice walls were sturdy enough, but the wooden beam at the entrance rattled. Outside, snow and debris were whipped up into miniature tornadoes that swept across the floe. Some of the humans’ clothes that they’d hung out to dry flapped past in the wind as though flying away to freedom. Bummer curled his body up tightly, laying his tail over his head and squeezing his eyes shut, trying to sleep until it was all over.

  In the morning, he was woken by something he hadn’t seen in a long time: the sun, rising over the ice. Its hazy orange glow reflected on the sparkling surface, warm and bright. There were already watery patches around the ship, and it felt as though the arrival of the sun had brought with it the return of hope. Hope that the ice would thaw and the ship would be freed so they could set sail once more.

  Dog town seemed to be more or less intact after the blizzard, but Bummer couldn’t say the same for the Endurance. The ship seemed to have shifted ever so slightly, leaning to one side. The deck was covered with pieces of wood and canvas, crates that had been blown over and covered in a thick coating of snow already turning to slush in the warmth of the sun. He wondered if Mrs. Chippy was all right. He’d gone back onto the ship a few times to invite her to dog t
own, but she’d declined. He didn’t blame her. After the shock of being chased by a group of dogs and ending up in the freezing ocean, he wasn’t surprised she wanted to keep her distance.

  “Bummer!” Nell called, bounding across the ice toward him, skating more than running. “We’re going to learn how to pull a sled! Come and watch!”

  Bummer smiled at the tiny pup, so full of energy and joy. The puppies had never known any life other than out here on the ice, and they seemed to be thriving. Bummer wished he felt their enthusiasm.

  “Are you sure your mother said that was all right?” Bummer asked, looking around for Sally. “The sled is very heavy.”

  Toby ran over with his brothers and nodded. “Mother said we’re big enough.”

  “We’re a team just like you and Amundsen,” Nelson added.

  Bummer smothered the urge to correct him. “Well, I suppose you’ll have to learn sometime.”

  He limped after the tiny puppies, who were light gray like their mother, with small tufts of soft white fur beneath.

  “Are you ready?” Samson called over, coming out of his dogloo.

  Bummer paused. “Samson is teaching you?”

  Toby nodded. “He’s the fastest dog in camp.”

  “No, he is not!” Nell huffed. “Mother is.”

  Roger nodded in agreement with his sister, but Nelson shook his head. “Amundsen is the fastest and the strongest in camp—everyone knows that, don’t they, Bummer?” he called as he ran off with his brothers.

  Bummer nodded, distracted. He hadn’t spoken to Samson since the race. Samson had tried to talk to him, but Bummer had turned the other way. He continued to avoid Samson as much as possible, until Samson seemed to have given up. Bummer’s leg was almost healed—the wound having been cleaned and bandaged by Crean—but he still held it slightly above the ice as he walked, not wanting to put his full weight on it in case the searing pain returned.