There were cases and cases of tinned meat, tinned butter, and tinned fruit. There were six thousand cans of sardines and twice that of soup. The sacks of oatmeal alone could have filled Perce's bedroom back home, top to bottom, wall to wall. Thirty thousand pounds of vegetables—potatoes, cabbage, carrots, brussels sprouts, cauliflower, rhubarb, and parsnips—had been chopped and dried and pressed into cubes. One three-inch cube would feed ten men.
“German company called Knorr makes 'em. So now there's a war on, we don't have to pay the blighters!” Charlie laughed.
There was scientific equipment as well: huge nets for dredging up sea life, crates full of collection jars. There were sleds and fur sleeping bags, candles, matches, extra mitts, socks, oilskins, harnesses for the dogs. Once they got to Antarctica, a party of men would stay ashore for the winter, so there was also wood to build a hut, linoleum for the floor, cots and blankets, lamps, coat hooks, and all the little things one could want for a cozy home in the long polar night. Everything had to be stowed so it wouldn't shift or spoil and where it could be found when it was needed. That was not easy on a small ship like the Endurance. Every inch of space was crammed with something. There was also the problem of coal. The hold was packed, and hundreds of extra sacks were wedged into every available space on deck, stuck behind dog kennels, and packed against the gunwales.
Shackleton arrived a few days after Perce started working, but Perce hardly ever saw him. Every day some important person wanted the famous explorer to come to dinner. Since money to pay for the expedition was always needed and since these people controlled the money, Shackleton had to go. He spoke briefly to Perce when he first arrived. He shook his hand and welcomed him aboard, thanked him for his hard work, and wished him well. Perce had never met anyone like him before. Shackleton was not a tall man, but he was square and solid, built like a bull. His blue-gray eyes were sharp and penetrating. One minute they were twinkling and merry as a boy's at a fair, the next as solemn and fiery as Moses's in a Bible picture. Shackleton had a kind of force about him, an energy that hit you right away and stayed with you even after he left.
“He makes you feel like you've been friends all your life,” Perce said to Billy.
“Yeah, and like he's about to ask for all your pocket change and leave you feeling glad to give it!” Billy laughed.
Finally, on October 24, 1914, Frank Wild assembled the crew and told them they would sail in two days.
“Do any final shopping and post your letters. Half the crew will have shore leave tonight, the other tomorrow night. Any man fighting ashore or coming back drunk will be fired.”
The men drew lots for their night off. Billy drew the first night but switched so he could spend the final night ashore with Perce. They started walking along the dock toward the bright lights and music of Buenos Aires.
“Hey! Hey, Bakie—Blackie!” Tim McCarthy, one of the sailors, ran up after them. “Where you two headed?”
“Don't know.”
“Well, come on with me, then. I know a place where the steaks are two inches thick and the barmaids are cousins to the angels. Distant cousins,” he added with a meaningful wink. Tim McCarthy was a carefree Irishman who seemed completely nonchalant about the impending journey. “Can't go off to the ice without one last warm kiss. What about you, young laddie—” He shoved Perce on the shoulder. “You kissed many girls yet?”
“Dozens,” Perce assured him. “Back home, I have to make 'em stand in line. Sometimes all around the block.”
“Aye, and charged them a penny apiece, I suppose.”
“Only the mean ones.”
They all laughed. Tim was twenty-six and came from a family of fishermen from County Cork. He had been at sea since he was three years old. “We usually start at two,” he explained. “But I was a lazy little sod.” Tim's older brother had sailed to Antarctica with Captain Scott on his last expedition.
“The sailors didn't like Scott so much, God rest his soul,” Tim said. “He was all rules and regulations. Made them wash the decks every day, even when it froze to ice right away. The word is that Shackleton is the one to be with!”
The night was cool, and the whole city seemed to be out enjoying it. The little restaurant Tim took them to was crowded. The steaks were indeed thick and juicy. They shared a little jug of red wine and toasted to the voyage. Perce had never tasted red wine and found it sour.
Tim and Billy talked excitedly about the expedition. Perce listened to their banter with growing sadness. His stomach was all in knots, and for one horrible minute he felt tears welling up in his eyes. He ducked his head, he didn't want to ruin their last night with his own disappointment. But Billy had noticed and suddenly offered a solution.
“Stow away,” Billy said simply.
Perce stared at him in disbelief.
“Really. We can sneak you back on late tonight and hide you somewhere.”
“Why, sure—in a locker!” Tim suggested, his eyes bright with the idea. “Everyone will be busy in the morning, getting out of the harbor. You just have to hide for a couple of days.”
“Shackleton won't turn the ship around just to put you off,” Billy added.
“The worst that can happen is he'll put you off on South Georgia Island,” Tim said. “We're stopping at the whaling station there to wait for the ice to open.” He took another big bite of his steak. “Then you'll get work on a whaling ship. That's nasty work, but you're no worse off. But you'll have two weeks to prove yourself first.”
“You can't be drunk because we've only had a glass apiece, so you must be mad,” Perce said. Even so, his heart was beating with new hope.
“Oh, come on, you're a damn good worker, and we need the extra hand anyway,” Tim insisted. “Shackleton's thinking he's going to have scientists working those sails! In the Drake Passage! Why, half of 'em were seasick all the way over from England with the sea flat as a duck pond.”
“Come on, Perce,” Billy urged. “Tim's right. Shackleton can't throw you overboard. The navy doesn't even flog people anymore.”
“Walter How is on watch tonight,” Tim said. “He'll let you aboard. He owes you for saving his tail in the dogfight.”
“I didn't …”
“Oh, shut up and say you will!” Billy's eyes were sparkling with the excitement of a wicked child with a brilliant scheme.
“Come on, lad—” Tim lifted his glass. “What have you got to lose?”
chapter five
On October 26, 1914, at ten-thirty in the morning, the Endurance sailed from Buenos Aires. The dock was lined with people waving and cheering. The men cast off the lines, and the ship slowly pulled away. Everyone stood on deck to watch the city fade away. All but one. Perce Blackborow crouched silently in a dark cramped corner of Billy Bakewell's locker. With every bob of the ship, Billy's oilskin jacket banged against Perce's face. Billy had not washed his socks lately either, Perce noticed. But he didn't care. He was going. He was really going.
Two hours later, beyond the protective waters of the harbor, every motion of the ship felt a hundred times bigger. Perce broke out in a cold sweat. His head was spinning, and his stomach churned. So this was seasickness. He had never felt it before. He had thought that those who suffered from it were probably just sissies. Now he took back every bad thought he had ever had for them. Hours and hours went by. His legs were cramped. His elbows and shoulders hurt from banging against the walls. Just when he thought he might die, the door opened and a stream of fresh air flooded in.
“How you doing?” Billy whispered. “Here. Some water and a biscuit.”
“I need … I …” Perce couldn't get the words out because a hot stream of vomit erupted behind them. Billy quickly grabbed a bucket.
“Here. Watch your aim.”
It was a long awful day followed by a long awful night. The locker was dark and airless. Every now and then Billy or Tim cracked the door open and handed in a biscuit or a cup of water. Sometime during the night one of them even took away
the bucket to empty it. By then Perce was beyond throwing up.
All the next day the ship rolled and tossed. Perce bumped and banged up new bruises. Finally, by evening, the ship was far enough from land. Billy pulled Perce out of the locker. His legs were so cramped, he could barely stand. He hobbled a few steps down the narrow passage. Suddenly they heard footsteps. The watch was just ending, and several men were coming below.
“Go! Get away!” Perce whispered. He didn't want his friends to get in trouble for helping him.
“Quick! In here.” Billy opened another sailor's locker and shoved Perce in. Perce crouched down in the new locker while Billy disappeared in the other direction.
When the sailor opened his locker a few minutes later, he was surprised to find an extra pair of boots. He was even more surprised to discover these boots had feet inside them and these feet were attached to Perce Blackborow. The sailor shut the door. A few minutes later, Frank Wild yanked the door open, grabbed Perce roughly by the front of his shirt, and hauled him out. Perce was now shaking so hard, Wild practically carried him to Shackleton's cabin.
Shackleton was sitting at his desk. He was terribly still, his hands spread motionless on the small desk. His blue-gray eyes glinted with fury. Perce tried to stand, but his cramped legs kept buckling.
“Oh, sit him down, Wild,” Shackleton barked. Wild dragged over a chair and dropped Perce into it.
“What the bloody hell do you think you're doing!” Shackleton roared. “Stowing away! You think this is a jolly lark? You think this is a pleasure cruise? We're all going to play shuffleboard on the deck? Eh?”
“N-no, sir,” Perce stammered weakly.
“If I'd wanted more crew, I would have picked someone. You think I can't pick a crew? You think you know better? You think I need a boy not six months at open sea? To sail the roughest ocean in the world to the worst place on the entire planet? You think you can clean behind your own ears?”
“Y-y-yes, sir. I mean, no, sir.” Perce was hoping there wasn't anything left in him to throw up. Perce glanced at Wild, but the man just stood there behind Shackleton, with his usual calm gaze that betrayed nothing.
“I mean to work hard, sir,” Perce blurted. “I do.”
“Oh. You mean to work hard. Do you have any idea what we're getting into?” Now Shackleton came from behind his desk and stood in front of Perce. His face was red. His voice roared. “We are going to the most desolate place in the world. It is always cold and always dangerous. Do you have any idea what it is to walk through a blizzard when you can barely stand? Have you ever spent an hour trying to wiggle your foot into your boot that has become a solid block of ice?”
Perce didn't think there was an answer, so he said nothing.
“Stowaway!” Shackleton said, his voice dropping a little. “Who helped you?”
“No one, sir. It was my idea. I wanted to go so bad. Please, sir. I—I won't let you down.” He was clutching the arms of the chair so hard, his fingers were white.
“Well, you'd better not because I can't get rid of you now.” Shackleton's eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped to a terrible whisper. “But do you know that on these expeditions we often get very hungry—” He leaned even closer until his face was just inches from Perce's. “And if there is a stowaway available, he is the first to be eaten?”
Perce almost fell backward out of his chair. Frank Wild turned his face away. Perce saw his shoulders shaking, just a little bit. Slowly Perce Blackborow realized what had just happened. Wild was laughing, and Shackleton was going to give him a chance.
chapter six
Life aboard a ship has a rhythm all its own. The clock is important, but time to a sailor is tracked more by the movement of the sun, the moon, and the stars. The ocean swells begin to feel like your own pulse. The creaks and groans of the ship become familiar as your own heartbeat. A sailor can feel the smallest change in the wind the way a mother can sense when her baby is waking up. Perce felt at home on the sea. He especially liked being on dawn watch. This time, from four to eight in the morning, was the quietest time. He loved to watch the night slip into morning as the sky changed through a hundred shades of blue.
By now, however, as the Endurance had sailed farther and farther south, that lovely shift from night to morning had vanished. It was early December, but down here, where the seasons were flip-flopped, it was summer, and the sun only set for a couple of hours. By midsummer, it would never set at all. Even now, though, the sky never got dark. Perce could only see the brightest stars in those dusky hours.
Still, he liked this watch. If the weather was fair and the ship was on a steady course, there was time to just sit and think and watch the ocean. There was nothing in the world like this feeling. It was sort of lonely, but not in a bad way. He felt partly sad, partly happy, longing for something, but wanting nothing. He knew he was one tiny person in one small ship in the middle of an enormous ocean, but it was the right place to be.
Especially right for me, Perce thought. The Endurance was three days out from South Georgia Island now, and he was still aboard. He felt a shiver of happiness and disbelief as he remembered that day. They had spent a month on the island, anchored near the whaling station, waiting for the ice to open up. Every day Perce had expected to be handed his papers and put ashore. But each day passed with no summons to doom. Then just five days ago, Greenstreet stopped Perce after breakfast and asked him to report to Shackleton's cabin. Greenstreet had dropped no hint as to his fate. Perce tried to prepare himself for the worst. And it would be worst, for now he had friends and a taste of adventure and the stink of dead whales in his nostrils. He definitely wanted none of that.
Perce took a deep breath and knocked on the wooden door. Shackleton was sitting at his little desk, a stack of letters folded neatly beside him, an account book open on the bench.
“We're leaving tomorrow, Perce,” he said sternly. With barely a glance, he tossed some papers on the bench toward Perce. Perce was so nervous, he just looked at them, afraid to pick them up.
“Well, go on,” Shackleton said. With a sinking heart, Perce picked them up, expecting his discharge papers. His hands shook as he unfolded them.
“You can read, can't you?”
“Aye, sir.”
“So you know what those are.”
Perce nodded. Now his heart was beating so hard, he couldn't talk. It was the ship's articles, the legal document that all the sailors had to sign to be aboard.
“And you're sure you want to go on?”
“I—I do. Yes, sir,” he stammered.
“Why?” Shackleton fixed a steady gaze on him. Perce tried to think of a good answer. There was science and the glory of England and all that, but he couldn't lie to Shackleton.
“I can't really say, sir. It's just the adventure of it. And the chance of it. And a test, I suppose.”
“A lot of men have failed that test.”
“Aye—” Perce stopped. He was about to say he wouldn't fail, but that would be stupid. He had no idea how he would do. He pictured Tom Crean bravely trudging alone through the snow to save his mate. “Aye, but I want to have a try,” he said simply.
“You're a good lad, Perce, a good sailor. You have a whole life ahead of you—why don't you go home and live it?”
“Thank you, sir.” Now it was all he could do to keep from shouting. “But I think I'd rather live this one here first.”
Shackleton sighed and gazed at the map of Antarctica pinned to the wall. Perce couldn't tell what he was thinking.
“Then sign the articles,” Shackleton said. “And write your family. Tell them what god-awful mischief you've got yourself into.”
Perce grinned with relief. “Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!”
“You'll continue helping Charlie in the galley and serving as steward. Sort out your sailor's duties with Mr. Greenstreet. You've been learning the ropes well enough, but it will do you good to learn the books as well.” Shackleton handed him a great fat copy of The Manual
of Seamanship. “You must try to keep up your other studies too. Borrow whatever you want from the library. Everyone is welcome to the books, and a good story helps to pass the time.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He forced himself to walk calmly out of the cabin. He restrained himself until he was halfway down the passageway, then broke into a run, nearly crashing into Frank Wild as he came out of the wardroom.
“Steady there—ship sinking?”
“No, sir. Sorry, Mr. Wild. And thank you! If you had a say in keeping me, sir. Thank you!”
Wild just nodded and went into Shackleton's cabin.
“You couldn't talk him out of it, Boss?” he said as he took out his pipe.
“Damn fool boy. Stowing away to bloody Antarctica.” Shackleton grinned and leaned back in his chair. “How the hell could I talk him out of it? Just the damn fool sort of thing I might have done myself.”
December 5, 1914
Grytviken Whaling Station,
South Georgia Island
Dearest Mother and Father,
I am writing to tell you what god-awful mischief I have gotten myself into. Please excuse the swear, but that is what Sir Ernest Shackleton told me to tell you. Yes, that Shackleton! I have a place aboard his ship Endurance, and tomorrow we leave for Antarctica. It is a long story how I came to be here, and someday I will tell it when I get back. Do not worry about me, because I will be fine. I will only be on the ship, of course, not going to the South Pole, though I hope to walk on an iceberg. I don't know how long before I can write you again. After we land Shackleton and his men in Antarctica, we might take the ship back here to South Georgia for the winter. But if Shackleton can find a good harbor down there, we will stay. That is safe too, so don't worry. So there is no way to tell you yet. It might be six months or a year before another letter. Give my love to Harry, Teddy, Jack, Charlie, and William. Say I will bring them a penguin for a pet. Do not worry for me, because I am with Shackleton.
Shackleton's Stowaway Page 3