“Only an hour watch,” Billy said. “Aren't we doing just hours tonight so everyone can have Christmas?”
“Sure, but who's my relief ?” Tim sniffed. “If you see Master Vincent jumping up from the table to take my place, you sound the trumpets, eh?” There was nothing Billy and Perce could say to that or do about it.
“Will you keep me a plate warm?” Tim's easy smile returned. When there was nothing you could do, might as well be happy doing nothing.
“Aye, of course.”
“And some pudding?”
“I'll hide you some.”
“Good lad. Custard too! And put it where Mrs. Chippy won't get to it. No paw prints in my pudding!”
“Aye, will you have a silk cloth and silver spoon as well?”
The dinner was a feast, with many courses. (And many plates to be washed afterward, Perce thought dismally.) It was funny to watch a bunch of grown men snapping the crackers open like children and searching through the confetti for the tiny prizes and tissue paper crowns inside. Captain Worsley got a pirate ring. Tom Crean and Frank Hurley both got little dolls. Shackleton got a whistle.
Finally Charlie brought out the Christmas pudding. According to tradition, he had doused it with brandy and set it on fire. Little blue flames danced smoothly over the black surface. The men cheered. Perce followed with bowls of custard and bottles of brandy. The men drank toasts to family and friends back home, to “wives and sweethearts,” and to the king. It was all very loud and merry. Then someone offered a toast to all the British soldiers fighting in the war. The men grew quiet. Out here it was easy to forget there was a war going on in Europe. It had started only a few days before the Endurance left England. They didn't know what was going on. Who was winning? How many countries were fighting by now? How many men had died? They would have no news for at least a year.
“To our boys.” Shackleton raised his glass.
“Our boys. Hear, hear,” the men murmured.
Perce went back to the galley and stacked the plates. There was no need to scrape them clean. With such fancy food, the men had eaten every morsel. There would be no Christmas tidbits for the dogs. He did manage a scrap of herring and a spoonful of custard for Mrs. Chippy, who was waiting expectantly by his bowl. Low rays of bright sunshine streamed in through the window as Perce quickly washed the plates. When he was finished, he went up on deck.
The cold air felt good after the hot, steamy galley. The pack ice was loose today, and the ship was making slow, slushy progress. Perce leaned on the railing and watched cloud shadows shifting over the ice. He knew his mates were having a good lively party in the fo'c'sle, but he wasn't ready to join them just yet.
Perce thought about the war. He had forgotten all about it until the toast. Now he felt embarrassed by that. But out here it seemed so remote. War was in history books. War was Napoleon. He didn't know anyone who had been in a war. A couple of the old men on the docks back home had been soldiers in India or Africa, but it wasn't the same. All of Europe was fighting now. There was talk it might spread to the whole world. Japan, even, and the United States. Was that possible? That every country in the world was fighting? What for? If he hadn't come here, he would be in that war himself right now. Some of his friends from home must have joined up. Some might already be dead.
Perce heard footsteps on the deck and turned to see Shackleton. He was wearing his coat and hat, so Perce knew he had come on deck to stay awhile. He leaned on the railing beside Perce and took out his pipe. His face was flushed from the warmth of the wardroom, the food, and the drink. He looked like someone who enjoyed a party but was also glad when it was over.
“You worked hard tonight, Perce. Thank you.”
“Glad to, Boss.”
Shackleton looked him up and down.
“You all right, lad?”
Perce blushed. He didn't want Shackleton to see every little thing he worried about show up on his face.
“Yes, sir. Of course. It's a fine Christmas.”
“You missing your family?”
“Some. But I'm glad I'm here.
“You look like you're a thousand miles from here.” Shackleton laughed gently.
“I was just thinking.”
“Ah. And what were you thinking?”
“About the war. How strange it seems out here. Having a war at all, I mean. I was wondering if—well, it's so grand out here. And there's so much to do—science and all that, but even just putting it all together.” He faltered. “Figuring out how to get here and make it all work—exploring, I mean. I was thinking, sir. What if there were just more places to explore?”
“I'm not sure I follow.”
“I've only read about war in history, in school. Richard the Lionheart, Alfred the Great. It all sounds very exciting in a way. Men have a chance to be someone. To test themselves, I guess it is. But isn't that what exploring is for too? When you tried for the pole, sir—wasn't that like a battle?”
“Oh, yes.” Shackleton's face, unlike his own, was hard to read. Perce hoped he hadn't said the wrong thing.
“But in a real battle,” Perce went on, “everything gets wrecked and people die. It doesn't make much sense really, having a war.”
“Most people don't think exploring makes much sense either,” Shackleton laughed.
“Everyone loves exploring. It's a grand thing.”
“They like the idea of it. They like the stories in the newspaper and the lantern slide shows, but to most of them, it's just entertainment.”
“But if you do this, sir—I mean, when you do this, crossing all of Antarctica—people will know it's important.”
“Ah.” Shackleton warmed his hands on his pipe and stared out at the ice. His face was hard now, but his voice was quiet. “But it isn't, though. Not really.”
“Why do you do it, then, sir?”
“Why?” Shackleton turned back and smiled at Perce. “I don't suppose I'm good for much anything else.”
chapter ten
After Christmas, there was a long good time. There were gales and patches of thick pack ice, but more often, there were sunny skies and open water. Whenever the pack ice was too thick to sail through, Shackleton ordered the Endurance anchored to an iceberg to wait. He didn't want to waste the coal. Although the men were eager to make distance, they also enjoyed these breaks. If there was a good solid floe, they had a chance to get off the ship and play soccer or hockey on the ice. The first time Perce walked out on the ice, he felt very nervous. Wild assured them the ice was twenty feet thick and not about to crack, but it was still very strange to walk on an island of ice floating over an ocean thousands of feet deep. The memory of the killer whales was still fresh for Perce, and he never ventured anywhere near the edge where they might get him.
Orde Lees, in his most eccentric style, had brought along a bicycle and took it out one day to ride on the ice. It was not a huge success, except as a comedy show. Later that night, some of the other men awarded him a stack of prize certificates. There was one for the longest Antarctic bicycle ride and another for the shortest. There was a prize for the highest point reached and for the lowest, for the fastest ride and the farthest south latitude reached. He was also voted the most fashionably dressed bicycle rider in Antarctica and elected president of the South Pole Gentlemen's Bicycle Association. Orde Lees took the mocking with good humor.
One day when they were anchored to an iceberg, Captain Worsley spied a big Weddell seal about a mile away. Since the ice was good and solid, Shackleton said they could go hunting. He had brought dried food along for the dogs but needed to save this for the long overland journey. The dogs were not exactly fond of the dried food either. It was made of shredded meat mixed with fat and cereal and pressed into bricks. These bricks, called pemmican, were so hard, it took an ax to break them up. They were eager for fresh meat. Frank Wild got the rifle, and Hurley lowered a sledge down to the ice. Crean brought up a pile of harnesses.
“This looks way too big for a do
g,” Billy said, picking one up.
“Oh, you're the bright one, aren't you!” Crean laughed. “You're not really thinking I'm going to take a pack of wild dogs out after fresh meat, do you? We'd have a bloody riot. Now turn around; I'll show you how to put it on.” Until the dogs were better trained, the men would pull the “butcher's wagon” themselves.
The harness was of simple design. There was a broad band of canvas that went around the hips, held up by two narrower straps like suspenders that crossed over the chest. At each end of the hip band, there was a metal grommet hole. The pulling ropes, called traces, were looped through these holes so that they could shift and allow a man to move freely while pulling.
They hooked up the traces and started off. It was a bright sunny day, and the empty sled was easy to pull. Frank Wild led the way, stopping every now and then to look back at the ship, where Worsley waved directions from the crow's nest. After about fifteen minutes, they could see the seal for themselves. It was a handsome fellow with mottled black-and-white fur. The seal lifted its head and gave them a lazy look, then yawned, scratched itself with one flipper, and closed its eyes.
“Mr. Wild, are we just going to walk right up to it and ask it to dinner?” Billy said.
“Pretty much,” Wild laughed. “They aren't afraid of us. They don't have any natural predators on land. Orcas are the only danger for them. We could walk right up and whack it on the head if we wanted to. Still, I like the bullet. Makes it quick.”
When they were only about twenty feet away, Wild lifted the rifle, squeezed the trigger, and sent one shot right through the seal's brain.
“Right, then.” Wild shouldered the gun. “Since we don't have so far to go, we'll take it back whole. More for the dogs that way, and Clark wants to poke around in the guts.”
“Just so he keeps them off the dinner table,” Perce muttered. Clark, the biologist, had annoyed more than a few with his habit of dissecting penguins on the wardroom table. Perce and Tim grabbed the dead seal's tail; Billy took one flipper and Vincent the other.
“One, two, three, heave!” Tail and flippers came up, but the six hundred pounds of blubber in the middle didn't budge. It was like trying to lift a half-ton bag of jelly. Crean and Wild watched, amused. Billy went around to the seal's head, but there was nowhere to get a grip except by sticking his hand inside the mouth. They tried heaving again, then pushing and rolling, but their efforts just got more comical. Finally Wild showed them how to line up on one side and roll the seal toward themselves while Crean tipped the sled up on its side and shoved it under the blubbery mass. Another push and the huge seal was on.
After a half mile of pulling the loaded sled, they were all sweating. It was a warm, sunny day, almost twenty degrees above zero, with a bright sun and no wind. Soon the men had stripped down to shirtsleeves.
“I'm aching in places I didn't even know I had muscles!” Billy grunted.
“Y'er saying you have a headache, then?” Tim teased. Billy snatched up a handful of snow and threw it at him.
“Shackleton pulled like this every day for months at a time,” Perce pointed out.
“Well, Shackleton can drag the bloody moon around for all I care,” Vincent grumbled. “I signed on as a sailor, not a damn cart horse. This isn't sailor's work.”
“Aye! A sailor's far too delicate! Just look, my poor little hands are all rough and red!” Tim said in a high girly voice. The men laughed, and that made Vincent even angrier. After a minute or two, when they had the sled moving along well, he suddenly shoved Tim with his shoulder so hard, Tim fell and almost got run over.
“Hey, watch out,” Crean said, pulling on the brake. “She can get away from you.”
“Sorry, must have slipped,” Tim said, glaring at Vincent.
“No need to get all bunched up,” Wild said evenly. Perce was pretty sure he had seen what really happened.
When they got back to the ship, they tied a rope around the seal's tail and hoisted it up alongside.
“Pay attention, lads,” Wild directed. “Butchering is a job for everybody.” He put a pot under the seal's head to catch the blood, then slit the throat. The blood was dark red and smelled awful. The dogs up on deck went crazy. Next he slit open the seal's belly. A great pile of steaming, slimy guts fell out on the ice. Tim turned away, and Perce heard him trying not to retch. Wild showed them all how to slice the blubber off in chunks. Then Crean took the knife and sliced off a piece of the dark liver. “This'll be good for our Sally!” he said happily. One of the bitches was pregnant, and Crean was fussing over her like an old grandmother. After the seal was all cut up, Perce hurried to wash so he could help Charlie prepare supper. He was tired but felt good. This was real Antarctic business now! Sledging and killing seals and the ice all around and the ship running well and everything just right with the world.
chapter eleven
Days passed quickly as the Endurance made slow but steady progress. The sun never set, and the strange light played tricks on the eyes. The air was so clear and the distances so vast that it was hard to know how close or far away something was. The light bounced between ice, sea, and clouds, conjuring mirages. Sometimes the icebergs seemed to be hanging upside down in the sky. Sometimes they looked like magical buildings in a fairy city, full of jeweled towers and domes.
The mood aboard ship was light. Some of the men thought up elaborate practical jokes. Once they got Charlie to boil up some spaghetti and put the strands in one of Clark's collection jars. They told the biologist they had found it in the stomach of a penguin and watched as he spent all afternoon trying to identify the strange worm. Clark would never admit they had been pulling his leg.
Even Shackleton seemed more relaxed as they got closer and closer. Tim and Billy started up a band in the fo'c'sle. They made drums out of tarps stretched across pails. They pulled strings across cigar boxes for a banjo and fiddle. Mrs. Chippy meowed with pain, ran away, and cowered in the stern. Fortunately, Leonard Hussey, the meteorologist, played a real banjo, and they often had singsongs at night. Once a week on Sundays, if the ship was moored or at least wasn't rocking too badly, they brought out the gramophone and listened to records. That was a real treat.
Along with the ordinary chores of running a ship, the men were busy with science experiments. Hussey kept careful track of the weather, measuring the wind and the water temperature. Clark dredged up great piles of mud from the ocean floor. Reginald James, the physicist, did lots of things with numbers that no one understood. James Wordie, the geologist, had to make do with examining the odd stone from a penguin stomach. He was about the most eager to get to land and mess around with real rocks.
One evening in early January, Perce took a bowl of dinner scraps to Sally's kennel. Mrs. Chippy scowled at him and sniffed in disgust. He didn't like to see any choice bits going to the dogs.
“But didn't I give you some sardines just last night?” Perce laughed at the cat's haughty scorn. “And Sally's in a family way. Due any day now and needs a little something, don't you know?” Perce went up on deck and squatted by Sally's kennel. The big dog was whining and scratching at her blanket. She came to the front of the box when Perce approached, but she wouldn't take the treats he offered. She panted and lay down, then got up again and walked nervous circles in her kennel. Perce dropped the scrap bucket and ran back down the companionway. He found Tom Crean playing cards in the wardroom.
“Mr. Crean, I think you'd best come, sir. I think Miss Sally is about to have her pups.”
“Miss Sally!” Hurley laughed as Crean jumped up from the table. “Why, Crean, I thought you got her married off to Sampson all right and proper. Shouldn't she be Missus?”
“I'll have her married off to you if you don't watch out!” Crean jumped over Hurley's outstretched legs and grabbed his jacket.
“Wager, anyone?” Worsley piped up. “Number of pups? What time born? How many dogs—how many bitches?”
“I'll wager a shilling on five,” Hurley offered his bet. “
Three girls and two boys.”
“I'll take two to one on six—an' half and half …,” Worsley jumped in.
“A chocolate bar on six—all born by the end of the watch!” The bets began to fly as Perce followed Crean out to the deck.
“Oh, will you look at that!” Crean's rough face cracked into a smile. A steaming wet little puppy wiggled on the straw. “Sweet Mary—now look at the dear little thing!” The Irish Giant was cooing like a schoolgirl. He opened the kennel and nudged the newborn pup closer to Sally's nose. She seemed unsure what to do for a minute, then began to lick the pup.
“Atta girl, there's a good mum,” Crean encouraged.
“It's so tiny,” Perce marveled. “And listen to it. Sounds more like a little kitten.”
Crean got a rag and helped Sally clean her puppy off. The newborn puppy was lost in his enormous hands. “It's a boy!” he said proudly. The puppy was breathing well and wiggling vigorously. “A fine little boy.” He steered the newborn toward a teat and grinned when the pup began to suckle. Sally looked up, puzzled at this new situation. Crean stroked her head and murmured soft words until she relaxed.
They had four pups by midnight. Crean named them Roger, Toby, Nelson, and Nellie. Nobody had predicted just right, but Tim came closest. He bet there would be four puppies by midnight, though he thought there would be two girls and two boys. He won six chocolate bars and shared them with the whole fo'c'sle that night. Shackleton brought out a bottle of rum, and they all drank a toast to Sally's new pups. Tom Crean stayed up with the new mother until morning, dozing fitfully with only a blanket around his shoulders, his big body crouched protectively against the kennel.
Good fortune came with the puppies. The ice thinned, and the Endurance made progress. On January 9, the men saw open water. They were through the pack! The next day, they sighted land. Shackleton named it the Caird Coast, after Sir James Caird, the Scottish businessman who had put up most of the money for the expedition. It was still far from where they needed to go, but it was reassuring to see any land by now.
Shackleton's Stowaway Page 6