Surviving Antarctica

by Andrea White

  “Okay,” Billy said. “We can get started on the tent.” He walked over to the snowcycle and lifted off a heavy black bag.

  Polly painfully tried to stand.

  “I can do this. Just rest,” Billy said.

  “I can’t!” Polly snapped, and then immediately felt bad. For once, Billy was trying to be nice. She hadn’t shared Oates’s story with the other kids. During his last few nights Oates had slept with his frostbitten foot out of the warmth of the sleeping bag so he wouldn’t have to go through the painful agony of a partial thawing. The pain that she was experiencing was good. It was her friend. Giving up was not yet an option.

  Billy looked at her curiously.

  “I just have to use my feet, that’s all,” Polly explained. He didn’t understand how serious frostbite was. Billy, Robert, Grace, and Andrew knew only what she had told them about Robert F. Scott and his men. They didn’t hear the voices of Scott, Oates, Bowers, Evans, and Wilson in their heads. They couldn’t feel these explorers’ suffering. She wondered if the kids would be so relaxed if they knew what the Antarctic had done to those five brave, strong adults. She hobbled over to where Billy had dropped the bag with the tent. She started back toward the snowcycle. She limped to the spot where Billy was setting up the tent and back to the snowcycle, again and again and again. She was so worried about her foot that she barely noticed that the tent didn’t look big or high enough to house five kids. But then what did she really know about camping in frigid conditions? Nothing, she despaired.

  While Polly took care of her foot, Billy set up the tent by himself. It was hard in the cold, and when he finally stretched the last piece of canvas over the pole, he felt very hungry. Polly was still busy, so he unloaded his sleeping bag and crawled into the tent with it. He unrolled the fur bag, which had started shedding hairs. He quickly transferred his food from his backpack to the bottom of his sleeping bag. Then he grabbed a bag of nuts.

  It seemed impossible, but what if there were cameras in this small tent in the middle of nowhere? Or what if Polly looked in?

  Just in case, he crawled inside the sleeping bag and pulled it over his head. He popped a delicious nut into his mouth.

  “Billy, what are you doing?” Polly called a few minutes later.

  “Just resting,” Billy answered. But he felt panicky as she passed through the tent flap. What if she could smell the nut? He snapped at the air in front of him, trying to swallow the smell.

  “What’s that sound?” Polly asked.

  “Nothing.” Billy swallowed air again. “Is your foot okay?”

  “It’s better,” Polly said.

  Billy put the rest of the nuts into his pocket and peeked out. Polly was looking at him strangely. “Don’t just stand there,” he said. “Let’s get the stove inside and the rest of the sled unloaded.” He crawled out of his sleeping bag.

  “This tastes great,” Grace said as she took a second bite of hoosh. It was warm in the tent, maybe as warm as an igloo would be.

  “Billy, you did a good job finding your way here,” Robert said.

  Billy blushed at the praise.

  Robert nodded at Billy. “Useful guy. You’re our snow-and-ice man, and”—he paused—“our navigator.” Robert was impressed. Billy seemed to navigate effortlessly.

  Billy didn’t say anything.

  Robert frowned. “We would have been here much sooner except for the dogs.”

  “They’re getting better, Robert,” Grace said simply.

  Of course, they had had a late start because of the ponies, but in four hours they had made only nine miles. Robert knew that if they abandoned the dogs, they could travel faster.

  Andrew sat down next to Polly, who was tending the stove. “How does your foot feel?”

  “Okay,” Polly said hesitantly. By the time the others had arrived, she was certain that her circulation was restored, but she still felt shaky.

  “Take off your socks and let me see,” Robert said.

  Polly didn’t want to cry, but somehow she felt as if she had done something wrong. She slowly, painfully, peeled off her layers of socks. Were her toes whiter than usual, or was that only her imagination?

  “Robert, I’ve got an idea,” Andrew said. “I used to do it for my little brother.” He began unbuttoning his shirt.

  “What are you doing?” Robert said angrily. “I don’t want two people with frostbite.”

  “No, she can put her foot on my chest. It’ll be like a heater. It’ll warm up good.”

  Robert didn’t stop him when Andrew grabbed Polly’s foot and pulled it toward him.

  Polly put her foot against Andrew’s bare chest and felt its warmth. The warmth of the sun, she thought as she closed her eyes.

  “Thank you, Andrew,” Polly said.

  “No problem,” he replied.

  “Is your whole family like you?” Grace asked.

  “How do you mean?” Andrew said.

  “Furnaces,” Grace said.

  Polly laughed.

  “Not my little brother. He can’t even go outside when it’s snowing. My mother wears a bathrobe all the time.” He pictured the heavy gray woolen bathrobe that his mother wore even in summer, and he felt homesick. “But my dad and I are. In fact …” He stopped. Should he tell them? It was just a silly old family story. Probably wrong.

  “What?”

  “My aunt always claimed that we were related to someone on Scott’s expedition.” He shrugged. “A man named Bowers. He’s my great-great-great uncle….” Andrew’s voice trailed off, because he had no idea how many greats to string together. “Or something like that,” he finished lamely.

  “Oh!” Polly clapped her hands in delight. “He’s one of my favorite men. So unselfish and kind, and so much like you. Even in this awful weather he hardly ever bothered to cover his neck.”

  “Did he … ?” Andrew started to ask a question, but Robert turned to him with a disapproving gaze.

  “Did he what?” Polly said, but she knew what Andrew wanted to ask.

  “Survive?” Andrew choked out.

  “No,” Polly said.

  Robert glared at her.

  Polly glared back. “You want me to lie to him?”

  Robert shook his head. He wondered if Polly knew how depressing she was.

  “Did he die of frostbite?” Andrew asked.

  “Not exactly,” Polly said. “He was one of the four men Scott took with him to the Pole. Three of the men—Bowers, Wilson, and Scott—died in their tent.” On the ship, Polly had read several books about the expedition, but the cause of the last three men’s deaths was still a mystery to her. She had a theory, though, that she wanted to explain to Andrew.

  “Enough already!” Robert snapped.

  Polly felt like ignoring him. “They called him Birdie—Birdie Bowers—and even Scott thought that he could do anything.” She smiled at Andrew.

  20

  ANDREW HAD NEVER had a pet of any kind. Not even a pet rat. Now, to get to ride this great pony, to get to take care of her, to get to be her master—even though he was tired after a long day riding, it was almost too much happiness.

  Cookie stumbled in a snowdrift.

  “Come on, girl. You can do it,” Andrew said.

  There was only one drawback to his pony ride. Andrew understood, as clearly as if Cookie could talk, that she didn’t like the snow or the cold. Andrew had never had this idea before, the idea that each animal had a personality. But it was true.

  Cookie was a pony who liked the hot sun. He wondered what country she had been sweating in when someone told her that she had to go to the coldest place on the globe. What chain of bad luck had led her here?

  Thud, slosh, snap, thud. If only Cookie could talk!

  They had made better time on this, their second day. Against the backdrop of the mountains, the snowcycles looked like ants on spilled milk. He wasn’t used to land looking like this. It had a weird quality to it. No one had ever messed it up.

  But maybe i
t was the way he was looking at things that was different. When he looked out the window of a bus, even if he stuck out his finger to let the wind bend it back, he felt as if he were watching the houses, fences, grass, and trees on television as they passed by. His view had always been framed by a window.

  Here he felt he was actually somewhere.

  He knew that the snow Cookie was plodding through was the real thing. The way the steel gray sky blurred into the land at the horizon was real. The faint whirr of the snowcycles, the thud of Cookie’s hooves, and the distant barking of the dogs were all real.

  He pictured the kids at home who might be watching him. They would see Andrew and Cookie traveling in this big white land on a square television. He felt sorry for them.

  Here there was no frame.

  But wait a minute. He was the one everyone felt sorry for.

  Cookie slipped again.

  The audience might feel sorry for him, but he felt sorry for Cookie. She was a pony who longed for a beach. Andrew leaned down and nuzzled his face into her mane. “You can do it, Cookie,” he said.

  Steve stood in front of all five screens, but his eyes were drawn to Robert’s. Robert was surveying the progress of the kids behind him, and his eyes had settled on Andrew. Riding that pony, Andrew looked like the king of the world. It took so little to make some kids happy. Like his little brother, Sam.

  It made Steve sad that his memories of Sam had faded. Sam had died at the age of six, so he’d be fourteen years old if he were alive today.

  Fourteen years old—the exact age of the Antarctic Historical Survivor kids.

  Chad interrupted his thoughts. “How’s the footage for today’s episode?”

  Steve started. “Great,” he said. “An uneventful day.”

  “Well, after yesterday that shouldn’t make the Secretary too mad,” Chad commented.

  “My guess is that they’re about to stop and set up camp,” Steve said.

  Chad clapped Steve on the back. “Then what do you say? Let’s go downstairs with the others and break for dinner.”

  “Not until the kids are safe inside their tent,” Steve said.

  “Have you spoken to Andrew again?” Chad asked.

  “Not since the ship.” Steve paused. “Do you think I should?”

  “No rush, but it might not be a bad idea to check in with him. He needs to get to trust your voice.”

  Steve decided that he would try to contact Andrew that night.

  “You sure you don’t want to take a break in the basement for a minute?”

  Steve shook his head.

  Chad sighed. “All right, but you’re missing some fun. Jacob baked us some cookies.”

  Steve watched Chad head toward the tile in the floor. Cookies sounded good. He couldn’t explain the way he felt. He couldn’t do much, but how often had he longed for someone to be with him when he was scared or in pain? The least he could do was watch the screens.

  On Robert’s screen, Steve saw Billy staring in Robert’s direction and pointing at his watch.

  Robert nodded.

  Billy stopped his cycle, and Polly hopped off. Her legs looked stiff.

  Robert shaded his eyes with his hand and scanned the horizon for Andrew and Cookie, and Grace and the dogs.

  Andrew and Cookie would make camp soon, but Grace and the dogs were specks on Robert’s screen.

  It looked as if the kids were going to make it through a second day traveling in Antarctica. Steve pulled up a chair and sat down.

  He could start to relax.

  The low-hanging sun still watched over Grace as she knelt by T-Rex. She held his paw in her hand and slowly checked each of his toes for the little balls of ice that seemed to collect there.

  He licked her.

  She howled. Her breath was a white cloud in the gray sky.

  He howled back.

  She laughed and put his paw down on the ground. He turned around and around before settling down in the snow for his night’s rest. As he turned, he kept his eyes fixed on her.

  She turned to Dryosaurus next.

  “Grace, the food is ready!” Polly called from the tent.

  “Are you sure we can’t help you?” Andrew shouted.

  “Be there in a minute!” She’d take care of her dogs, then she’d eat. She wished that she had something to feed them besides moldy food.

  Inside the tent, Polly was stirring the hoosh. The tang of fuel was in the air. She was grateful that the sun circled them without setting, because she was able to cook by its faded light.

  Andrew was holding Robert’s feet against his chest to warm them.

  Billy was examining the map. “We made a little under eleven and a half miles today.”

  The short distance didn’t surprise Robert. With the heavily loaded sleds, the snowcycles had had to work to plow through the soft drifts. At times Robert, Billy, and Polly had gotten off and pushed the sleds. Besides that, the dogs had gone so slowly that Grace had pulled into camp long after the rest of them. Yet there had been no surprises, and on balance Robert was content. It had been a fair day.

  “So how far to the depot?” Andrew asked.

  “About thirty miles,” Billy said triumphantly. “We—by that I mean the cycles and the pony—averaged about three miles an hour today. Grace arrived later, of course, but if we can keep up the pace tomorrow, we’ll easily make it to the depot in three days.”

  “This is not that hard,” Robert said.

  Robert sounds so cocky, Polly thought. They had been incredibly lucky so far. “We’re riding,” Polly said. “Scott and his crew had to man-haul a lot.”

  “What’s man-hauling?” Andrew asked.

  “They pulled the sleds themselves,” Polly said.

  “That would be miserable,” Andrew said.

  “How many miles did they have to man-haul?” Robert asked, curious despite himself.

  Polly searched her memory for the answer. “The plan was for them to man-haul seven hundred forty miles, and each sled started out weighing around eight hundred pounds.”

  Billy was sick of Polly’s books. It had been a long day, and he wished that she would shut up. “They were losers,” he said.

  “They weren’t losers,” Polly said angrily.

  “Another explorer beat them,” Robert countered wearily. They’d died on their journey back. It was obvious that they had lost.

  “Against incredible odds, they made it to the Pole,” Polly said. She didn’t understand Billy’s and Robert’s obsession with being first.

  “Who was it again who beat them?” Andrew asked.

  “This guy Roald Amundsen,” Polly said. “He was known as a North Pole explorer. When Scott was in Australia on his final stop before sailing to Antarctica, he got a surprise telegram from Amundsen saying, ‘… Proceeding Antarctic. Amundsen.’”

  “My dad said Scott’s considered a bumbler,” Billy said.

  Andrew hated that word. It had been applied to him once too often.

  “That’s because Scott liked ponies more than dogs,” Polly said. “And Amundsen used only dogs.” Why couldn’t she make them understand that these men were heroes?

  Billy yawned. Arguing with Polly was a waste of time.

  “Did Scott know that Amundsen won?” Andrew asked.

  “You guys about ready to turn in?” Robert said. Maybe Polly would take the hint and shut up.

  Billy crawled to the front of the tent and yelled, “Grace, we’re going to sleep!”

  “Be there in a minute!” Grace called.

  “Are you sure you don’t want any help?” Andrew yelled.

  “No!” Grace replied.

  “Amundsen set up a tent at the Pole and left Scott a note in it,” Polly said as she crawled to her sleeping bag. “Scott’s diary entry for the day he reached the Pole reads: Great God! This is an awful place and terrible enough for us to have laboured to it without the reward of priority.”

  She paused. “But the next day, Bowers wrote a cheery n
ote to his sister, telling her, Captain Scott … has taken the blow very well indeed.”

  “What’s your point, Polly?” Robert said.

  “Scott had spent his whole life dreaming of this one goal, but when Amundsen beat him, he didn’t waste any time feeling sorry for himself,” Polly said. “He and his men weren’t losers.”

  “Have it your way, Polly,” Robert said. “But shut up.”

  “Could you recite another page from the diary, Polly?” Andrew said when they were in their sleeping bags.

  “A bedtime story?” Billy mocked him.

  Robert groaned but didn’t protest.

  Polly ignored Robert and Billy and scanned her memory for something fun. “Okay, I’ll tell you Scott’s diary entry on Christmas day: We had four courses, Scott wrote.”

  “Four courses!” Robert yelped. “I thought the Secretary was supposed to be authentic. Why can’t we have four courses?”

  “The first, pemmican …” Polly continued.

  “Yuk,” Billy said.

  “… full whack, with slices of horse meat …”

  Billy sighed.

  “… flavoured with onion and curry powder and thickened with biscuit;…”

  “Nothing that they had sounds good,” Billy complained.

  “… then an arrowroot, cocoa and biscuit hoosh sweetened; then a plum-pudding; then cocoa with raisins, and finally a dessert of caramels and ginger.”

  “Even though I don’t know exactly what caramels and ginger are,” Andrew said, “they sound delicious.”

  “After the feast, it was difficult to move. Wilson and I couldn’t finish our share of plum-pudding. We have all slept splendidly and feel thoroughly warm—such is the effect of full feeding,” Polly finished. She was glad that for once Robert and Billy didn’t jeer.

  “I would give anything for some candy,” Andrew said.

  “What kind do you like?” Polly asked.

  “My favorite is Chocobombs,” Andrew said. “I especially like the grape and the cherry.”

  Billy thought guiltily about the stash in his sleeping bag. He could feel the packages with his toes.

  “I don’t like them,” Robert said. “Too gooey.”

  “I love them,” Polly said. “My mother used to buy them on holidays.”