“Ordinary seaman, sir,” he said quietly. “Very willing.”
chapter two
Ernest Shackleton!” Perce said excitedly. “What I'd give just to meet him!” When Greenstreet had told them exactly what they were applying for, Perce could hardly believe it. The Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition, under the command of Sir Ernest Shackleton. Billy hadn't heard much about Shackleton, although he was a legend in England.
“So he's the guy that didn't make it to the South Pole?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“And the Brit that did make it—what's his name?”
“Robert Scott,” Perce reminded him.
“Yeah, Scott, he died on the way back, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“And that Norwegian guy—Amundsen. He actually got there and came back alive. So he won the race.”
“There's more to it than that,” Perce said with exasperation. Americans were so bloody stuck on winning and losing. “Do you know how far it is to the South Pole and back?”
“Farther than anybody in their right mind would ever want to go!” Billy laughed.
“It's almost two thousand miles!” Perce said. “And when Shackleton went, back in 1909, he didn't even knew what to expect. No one had seen much beyond the coastline. That'd be like you setting off to walk across the United States, only you didn't even know if there were mountains or deserts or what to cross. Shackleton pioneered the way!”
Perce was surprised at how little Billy knew. In England, polar explorers were regarded as heroes. Magazines printed long stories about them, and people packed lecture halls to listen to them speak. Perce remembered his father reading the newspaper stories aloud to the family. How Shackleton led his men across endless miles of the Ross Ice Shelf, hauling heavy sleds with all their equipment. Sometimes the ice would crack beneath them, opening a huge crevasse hundreds of feet deep. They found an enormous glacier, a mountain of ice blocking the way. Shackleton and his men clawed their way up. For weeks they trudged across a high plateau where the air was so thin, they could barely breathe. It was freezing cold. Blizzard winds knocked them down. They walked for 660 miles. They were almost there, only ninety-seven miles from the South Pole, when Shackleton turned around.
He knew they didn't have enough food. They were already desperately hungry and exhausted. They suffered from frostbite. They were only covering six or eight miles a day. He knew they could reach the South Pole, but he didn't think he could get them all back alive. He could be the most famous explorer in the world, but instead he turned around.
Perce was eleven years old then, far too old to cry, but as he heard about the desperate struggle at the bottom of the world, he couldn't help it. “Two years after that, Scott made another try for the pole,” Perce explained. “He followed Shackleton's route. It still wasn't easy, of course, but at least he knew what to expect. Scott did reach the South Pole but found out Amundsen had already been there by a different route. Then Scott and his men all died on the way back.”
“How?”
“No one really knows. They were found dead in their tent months later. Starved, probably.”
“And now Shackleton wants to go back and cross the whole continent.” Billy shook his head. “Is he nuts?”
“Think what an adventure this would be!”
“Are you nuts?”
The Endurance was the most beautiful ship the two had ever seen. She was a barkentine, 140 feet long. Not terribly big compared to the modern ships that filled the harbor, but strong. She had clean lines and a sturdy hull built of oak and fir. While she had a coal-burning engine, she was also fully rigged to sail. Perce and Billy weren't the only ones enchanted by this ship or the journey she was about to make.
Word had spread fast. When they arrived at four as instructed, there were at least fifty other men on the dock, waiting to be interviewed for the two open positions. Some men eyed each other suspiciously, some talked and joked, but all were trying to measure their competition. Billy leaned over and whispered to Perce.
“By the way, in case anyone should ask, I'm Canadian.”
“Why?” Perce asked, puzzled.
“They're all Brits!” Billy nodded toward the ship. “Not likely to take a Yank along. But Canada is still tied up with England. Got their queen on their money and everything. Besides, I cut enough lumber up there, I ought to be an honorary citizen at least!” Billy grinned. He recognized a couple of sailors from the Golden Gate and went to talk to them. Perce stood off by himself and looked at the ship.
What was it like to go someplace that no one had ever been before? To set foot on land that no human had ever walked on? There was no place left like that except Antarctica and the moon. And no one was ever going to set foot on the moon after all. Perce hoped he would at least get a chance to see Shackleton. What was it like to be a great man? Would you know it if you were? And how many had the challenge? And what if a man was challenged and failed? Perce gave a little shiver of dread. What if, by some miracle, he was taken on for this voyage and things got tough and he turned out to be weak? What if he was a coward? A hundred things could go wrong on a trip like this. What if he wasn't strong enough, smart enough, brave enough?
Perce watched the men on the deck of the Endurance. What about them convinced Shackleton that they should go on such an expedition? Five thousand had applied; why had these twenty-five been chosen? Only one man was idle. He stood on the bow, leaning casually against the railing, smoking his pipe and looking down at the crowd of men below. He was a small man, slightly built, with a mustache and neatly trimmed beard. He had a relaxed posture about him, as if nothing ever bothered him. He might have been a small-town schoolteacher or shopkeeper, until you saw his eyes. He had a keen steady gaze, an alert watchful look that missed nothing.
The man saw Perce and nodded. He might even have smiled, Perce couldn't really be sure. He thought he saw the pipe bob just a little. A few minutes later, the man left his place, came along the railing, and stood at the top of the gangway.
“Gentlemen.” The voice was surprisingly strong coming from such a small man. “My name is Frank Wild. I am second in command of this expedition. Thank you all for your interest in joining our ship.”
Frank Wild—Perce was even more awestruck. This man was a polar legend in his own right. He had been on Scott's first Discovery expedition and by Shackleton's side on the heartbreaking Furthest South.
“We don't want to waste anyone's time,” Wild went on. “You understand of course that we require experienced sailors, so Mr. Greenstreet, our first officer, has already narrowed down the list of your names based upon ratings and experience. I will interview the following men aboard the ship.” Wild took out a piece of paper and began to read off the names of men who would be interviewed. William Bakewell was the first name on the list. Perce was tense as he listened to name after name. Exclamations erupted throughout the crowd as each name was called. Perce felt dizzy and realized he was holding his breath. Name after name floated through the hot tropical air. Twenty in all. Perce Blackborow's was not among them.
“It was only because I've had experience with sail.” Billy tried desperately to cheer his friend up. “Most of those blokes have only worked on coal ships. Shackleton wants to sail as much as he can to spare the coal. And they decided to hire on only one man, not two after all. If they'd taken two, you know you'd be on. Except you're also too young,” he added. “I am sorry.”
“I never liked the cold anyway,” Perce said gloomily.
They sat on the dock, their feet hanging over the water, their backs to the Endurance. Perce didn't really want to look at her anymore. It was bad enough to be turned down, but for Billy to go! Scrawny old Billy, who had only worked on two ships and didn't even know who Shackleton was an hour ago! Perce had a wicked idea to go tell Shackleton exactly what Billy had said about him being nuts.
“I'll ask around for a ship for you,” Billy said.
“Thanks. I'll f
ind something.” But it wouldn't be Antarctica. It wouldn't be with Shackleton. “With the war starting, I can get easy passage back to England and join the navy. I'll sink a few German ships and be a hero or something.” Two fat pelicans paddled around below them, looking for treats.
“Come on.” Billy slapped his back. “Let's go find you lodging, then I'm gonna buy you a ripping big feast with all the ketchup you can handle.” Since he was now crew, Billy would have a berth aboard the ship. Perce would have to find a bed somewhere else.
“All right.” Perce tried to sound enthusiastic. They got up and were startled to find Frank Wild standing there. He had approached so quietly that neither had heard anything. It seemed a long time before he spoke, but that was just because of the way he was, like he made his own kind of time.
“Your mate spoke well of you,” Wild said. “Said you were a good worker. And I understand you're from Wales. Any experience with dogs?”
Dogs? Perce thought quickly. Wales was full of sheep—and sheepdogs. Shackleton must be taking dogs to Antarctica to pull the sleds. If you act like you know what you're doing, people usually think you do.…
“Yes, sir!” Perce answered with confidence. He had never owned a dog, but the neighbors did, and he had sometimes played with it. “I'm good with the dogs, sir.” It wasn't exactly a sled dog: it was a funny-looking little thing, hardly bigger than a cat, with black wiry fur and legs comically short for its long body.
“They're pretty rough,” Wild said. “Working dogs.”
Perce nodded and made a slight murmur of agreement as if he knew all about working dogs. Little Blackie's hardest work each day was shifting position from doorstep to doorstep to keep himself comfortable as the sun moved down the lane.
“So we could use an extra hand on board here for a week or so. Just until we sail,” Wild went on. “Give a hand with the dogs and help the cook in the galley.”
“Yes, sir!” Perce tried to keep his voice steady. “I could do that, sir.”
“It's only a week or two.” Wild's piercing eyes studied him. “Only while we're in port.”
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
“You can bring your kit on board, then. Bakewell here will show you the fo'c'sle bunks.”
chapter three
The dogs were not impressed with the beautiful ship Endurance. They did not know or care who Shackleton was. They had been on a long boat journey already, and they didn't want to go on another. They were bred for cold, and now they were hot. They were bred to run, and now they were cooped up. They were surly and restless. What they wanted to do was fight. With each other or with the men who were handling them; it didn't matter. There were sixty-nine big dogs, and sixty-eight of them were in a bad mood. When they weren't snarling at the men or snapping at each other, they lunged after the pelicans that waddled around the dock. Perce yanked on the chain of his dog and urged him toward the gangplank.
“Come on, pup,” he said sweetly, as if he were coaxing his baby brother. The dog looked at him with a cold, scary gaze. One eye was brown, the other pale blue. His lip pulled back, and he snarled.
“Hey,” Perce said sharply. “None of that.” The harsh tone seemed to work better. All the dogs were half wild, but this one was the meanest he had handled so far. “Sit!” Perce commanded. The spooky-eyed dog's lip twitched again, showing teeth. Another dog was balking at the gangplank, causing everyone else to bunch up behind.
“Down!” Perce pulled up on the chain with both hands and used his knee to push the dog's hindquarters down. Surprisingly, it worked. Nearby, a sailor by the name of Walter How had a more gentle mutt, a great shaggy brown beast with white paws. While they waited, the brown dog dropped to the dock and rolled over to have his belly scratched. Perce's dog, seeing this, growled.
“No!” Perce jerked the chain. His dog obeyed, but barely. The brown dog whined and waved his white paws in the air. Just as the men ahead of him started to move again, Perce heard a shout. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a giant mass of fur galloping toward him. A dog was loose. Dog, hell, Perce thought with real fear. That thing's a wolf! Walter's dog yelped and jumped to his feet, cowering behind Walter with his tail between his legs. Perce's dog lunged, nearly pulling his arms out of the sockets, but Perce managed to hold him back. The wolf-dog leaped on top of Walter's dog and clamped his teeth on the back of his neck. The whole dock erupted in howls and barks, clanking chains and curses, as every dog tried to get in the fight.
Walter kicked at the beast, but it was like kicking a tornado. No one could let go of his own dog to help. Perce looked around for somewhere to tie his charge, but the nearest bollard was on the other side of the dock.
Then the wolf lunged and clamped his fangs on Walter's boot. The man fell, and the wolf started shaking his foot like a chew toy. In desperation, Perce swung his own dog around by the leash and threw him into the water. Then he grabbed the tail of the wolf and yanked it away from Walter. The wolf turned and snapped at Perce. Perce fell backward and the wolf leapt toward him. Perce kicked, hitting the beast square in the chest. Perce jumped to his feet. The wolf was stunned for the moment, so Perce ducked his head and ran square into him with his hardest tackle. Perce was a good rugby player, and the rough game now served him well. He knocked the animal backward, clear off the dock, then tumbled in after him.
With these two splashes, it was all over. A couple of men fished out the dogs. Billy tossed Perce a rope and helped him climb back on the dock. The men started talking and joking.
“Bloody fools—” Greenstreet strode down the dock, spreading the men and dogs farther apart. “Keep some distance here—these are wild dogs, not ladies at a tea party!”
Walter How's dog was whimpering. He had some blood on his neck, and one ear was torn.
“He all right?” Perce asked. His wet clothes made a puddle around his feet. He felt self-conscious with people looking at him.
“Fur's thick, thank God. He ain't bad hurt.”
“Your foot all right?”
“Sore, but the boot took the teeth. Thanks, mate, I owe you.”
Perce nodded. He went to retrieve his wet dog. The brown and blue eyes looked at him with a new mixture of respect and loathing. Frank Wild walked up, and all the men stopped their rude talk.
“All sound? All right, then. Let's get these dogs aboard.” He caught Perce's eye and gave him a nod, then he walked away.
“Jeez—he could've said well done or thanks or something,” Billy said.
“Wasn't nothing.” Perce shrugged. The crazy-eyed dog lifted his leg and peed on Perce's wet trousers.
chapter four
The two weeks in port were wonderful and terrible. Perce worked hard. Although it was a nasty job, he actually preferred cleaning out the dog kennels to working in the galley. He liked being out in the fresh air. The cook, Charlie Green, was a good fellow, but a little serious. Charlie had cooked on merchant ships for several years but had never been in charge before. He was taking his responsibility very seriously. The potatoes had to be cut a certain way, the carrots sliced just so.
He was a small man with bushy eyebrows and a luxurious handlebar mustache. His voice was squeaky, which sometimes got on Perce's nerves. Although he was thin, his hands and arms were incredibly strong. He could hold a forty-pound bag of flour at arm's length. Charlie had also been hired on at Buenos Aires after the original cook was fired for drunkenness. This meant he and Perce both had to get familiar with the galley and learn where everything was. The galley was very small, only about six foot by ten, so cooking three meals a day for twenty-eight men was a challenge. The pots and pans were huge.
“I could bathe two of my brothers at once in that big pot!” Perce told Billy. “And all the laundry as well.”
For breakfast, they fried four pounds of bacon and scrambled sixty eggs. Charlie baked twelve loaves of bread every day. Perce found kneading all that dough was harder work than rowing against a tide. It was also hot and stuffy down there, so Perce w
as glad when Charlie didn't need him. Even with the stink of dog, it was better on deck. Mostly, on deck he could listen. All the sailors liked to tell Perce their stories, and he liked to hear them. He was never much for talking anyway and sure didn't have tales like theirs.
During meals, Perce acted as steward, serving the officers and scientists in the wardroom, so he got to hear their stories as well. Some had been to Antarctica before, with Shackleton or Scott.
“This'll be the third time for old Tom Crean,” Wild told Perce one night. “He'll never tell you himself, but there's plenty men would be dead without his being along. On Scott's last expedition, he and another bloke dragged a mate on a sled for sixty-five miles. Finally the other man got too weak to pull, so Crean went on alone, walking another thirty-five miles to get help.”
Perce listened with horror as Wild told him the details. Crean had only two chocolate bars and a biscuit to eat. A blizzard was rushing in behind him. He walked for eighteen hours without stopping. When he got to the hut, he collapsed. But only a few days later, as soon as the blizzard stopped, he led the rescue party back out to find his friends. A few months later, Crean went out in the party to search for the missing Scott and found the leader's dead body frozen stiff in his tent.
Tom Crean was second officer on the Endurance. Unlike most officers, Crean had come up through the ranks and understood the sailor's life on the “lower deck.” He had grown up very poor on a potato farm and joined the British navy at the age of fifteen, in a borrowed suit with empty pockets. Crean's nickname was the “Irish Giant,” for he was five feet ten, the tallest man on the ship. He was also one of the strongest and, at thirty-seven, one of the oldest. His face looked like a rocky cliff that had been carved by waves. Though he was gruff, all the sailors both liked and respected Crean, and Perce was sorry that he would never get to know him.
There wasn't much time to get to know anybody, since it took so much work to get the ship ready. The expedition would be away for two years and had to bring every single thing they could possibly need, from extra sails to extra buttons. They had ten tons of flour and two of powdered milk. Perce had never heard of powdered milk. The first time he mixed it up, he didn't stir it enough, and there was crunchy grit in the bottom of the cups, which caused much loud complaining and not a little spitting.
Shackleton's Stowaway Page 2