Survival Tails: Endurance in Antarctica

by Katrina Charman

  “We don’t have much choice,” Bummer replied, unable to stand. “Open water could be hundreds of miles away, maybe more. We’ve only covered half a mile a day, if that. It would take us more than a lifetime.”

  Samson knew Bummer was right. Samson was one of the strongest dogs, and even he felt he would have been unable to go much farther, but giving up meant hope was lost. At least while they were moving… while they were doing something to reach salvation, there was still hope. Now that hope was slipping out of their grasp. How long would it be, he wondered, before there was none left at all?

  CHAPTER 15

  BUMMER

  February 1916

  Rations were running low. As the weeks in Patience Camp melted into months, dogs and men seemed unsure whether they were ever going to leave or whether they would stay until there was nothing left to survive on and the ice swallowed them up. To Bummer’s dismay, Amundsen remained leader of their sled team, each hunting trip more arduous than the last. But at least Amundsen didn’t seem to have gotten any sicker, and they were all noticeably thinner and weaker now. The lack of three full meals a day was taking its toll on their bodies and minds.

  They headed out with Crean, searching for anything they might be able to add to their paltry diet. Until recently, they had been finding plentiful wildlife—seals, penguins, and fish—swimming deep below the ice shelf. As time went on, it seemed as though their prey had either decided to move on, or that there were simply none left.

  They had been out on the floe every day that week, but to no avail. It had been weeks since they’d had anything other than their single daily portion of pemmican, and the men were no better off than the dogs. Who knew how much longer it would be until there was nothing left?

  Bummer watched Amundsen at the front. Amundsen winced as he moved. He was as stubborn as a mule and refused to show the slightest weakness, even if it was clear to them all that he was in pain. Amundsen gritted his teeth, as though trying to bite back the discomfort that was obviously building inside him. Bummer couldn’t understand why Crean couldn’t see it. Amundsen shouldn’t be out pulling the sled at all, let alone leading the team. It would put them all at risk if anything happened to him.

  “We should take a different route,” Bummer called out as they set off, knowing that Amundsen would likely ignore him. They had taken the same trail for the last three days and come up empty-handed. Bummer was sure Amundsen had chosen the same path across the floe because it was flatter and slightly easier to navigate. But that also meant that any potential prey could spot them coming from a mile off and would be long gone by the time they reached it.

  As expected, Amundsen ignored him, pulling to the left along the same old path.

  “There’s nothing out this way,” Bummer insisted. “We need to take a different route.”

  Amundsen glanced back at Bummer, his eyes flashing in warning, and kept going.

  “The lad’s right!” Judge shouted. “Let’s try a different route.”

  Amundsen snarled, continuing to pull the sled to the left. Bummer caught Judge’s eye as he began resisting the command, leaning instead to the right toward a less-traveled route. Judge veered the same way, the weight of the two of them having an effect on the others. Then, to Bummer’s surprise, Wolf and Hercules joined them, the entire team pulling away from their leader.

  “We need to find food, Amundsen!” Wolf growled apologetically.

  Amundsen’s pace slowed. He no longer had the strength or authority to force his team his way, so he joined the others, staring back at Bummer before changing direction.

  Bummer knew he would likely pay for his insubordination later, but they needed food. He could probably go on for a while on their meager rations, but the pups couldn’t. Bummer was determined not to return to camp until he had something to bring back to them.

  As the hours drew on, the hope Bummer had of returning to camp victorious faded. They’d seen no other signs of life all day. Bummer worried that if they continued like this for much longer, the dogs might start turning on one another—or at least the younger and weaker dogs. When the hunger became too much, who knew to what lengths the others would go to stay alive?

  “There’s nothing out here,” Amundsen snapped. “I hope your little coup was worth it?”

  “At least we tried,” Bummer said firmly.

  They turned back toward camp, heading wide around a fissure of broken ice, a slash of dark water like a gash in the landscape. Bummer hesitated as they neared. He thought he saw a flash of something silver beneath the water. They drew closer, the dogs ahead of him passing the opening one by one. As if out of nowhere, a leopard seal emerged from the water, launching itself into the air, its mouth open wide, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth, and aiming straight for Crean. Bummer spun as fast as he could, angling his body backward to catch the seal by the neck. He held on tight.

  The seal was almost twice his size and twice as strong. It rolled over, forcing Bummer beneath it, crushing his legs, but Bummer still held on, refusing to let their one chance of a good meal escape them. The dogs slid to a halt, joining Bummer with excited barks to help him pin the leopard seal down. Wolf and Hercules took the seal’s tail and dragged it off Bummer, while Judge and Amundsen circled, blocking any way the seal might have of escaping into the water.

  Crean leaped off the back of the sled, yelling, “Hold him! Hold him down, boys.” His feet slipped and slid over the ice in his haste to reach them and suddenly went from under him. Crean flew up, landing on his back with a hard thud and a loud groan. He carefully got back onto his feet and finished the seal off with a single shot from his gun. The sound echoed around the ice, stunning them into silence.

  “It could have killed you,” Wolf said, his eyes wide, looking between Bummer and the leopard seal. “It’s bigger than me.”

  “Looks like we’ll have something to bring home after all,” Judge said, giving Bummer a wink. “That was some quick thinking there, lad.”

  “You did good,” Amundsen grunted, then returned to the sled.

  Bummer couldn’t speak. Shock and adrenaline pounded through him as what he’d just done slowly sank in. It had been pure, raw instinct. Almost as if he’d known what was about to happen a split second before it did so that he was in the right place at the right time. Crean patted Bummer on the head, then loaded the seal onto the sled.

  When they reached camp, Crean hauled the seal over to the makeshift galley. McNish had built it using the remains of the ship’s wheelhouse, complete with a stove built by Hurley, fueled with blubber. Much to Bummer’s embarrassment, the dogs crowded around as Wolf, Hercules, and Judge recounted the tale of how Bummer had not only found food but had also saved Crean from the attacking seal.

  “It was nothing,” Bummer mumbled, not used to the attention. “I did what any other dog would have done.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” Samson grinned. “I told you he was a good hunter,” he announced loudly to the other dogs. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  A rush of warmth ran through Bummer as the dogs asked questions about how he’d held on and when he’d first noticed the seal. Sally smiled at him proudly and Bummer grinned so much his jaws hurt. He’d never done anything so heroic before; it had taken him by surprise even more than the others. He basked in the glory, his tail wagging until it hurt. The best part of it was that they would all get to eat something that wasn’t pemmican.

  There was a yell from the men crowding around the galley to take a look at their catch, and the dogs ran over.

  “Look at this!” Crean shouted. “We’re going to have a feast tonight, boys!”

  Bummer stepped forward to see a huge pile of fish on the ground beside the leopard seal.

  “The seal must have caught those fish just before you nabbed him,” Samson said, licking his chops at the sight of all that fresh food. “Don’t forget some for Bummer,” Samson barked at the men, even though he knew they couldn’t understand him. The other dogs
joined in, barking Bummer’s name at the men until they seemed to get the message, and in that moment Bummer realized what it meant to belong, to be part of something that would last for a lifetime, no matter the outcome of the expedition.

  “There’s enough for everyone!” Wild told the dogs, laughing.

  The men handed out portions to the dogs, and Bummer headed back to his dogloo, his jaws clamped around two large silverfish. Amundsen was curled up in his dogloo, not even attempting to get some fish for himself.

  Bummer dropped his fish at the entrance. “You should get over there before the fish is all gone,” he said. “Wolf and Hercules have already gone back for seconds.”

  Amundsen grunted, then shuffled around awkwardly so that his back was to Bummer.

  Bummer looked down at the fish, then over to the galley where the last of the men and dogs had drifted away to eat their meals.

  “To be honest,” Bummer said, “I don’t really like fish that much. They disagree with me, if you know what I mean.”

  Amundsen remained silent, but his ears had pricked up slightly.

  “I’ll just leave these here,” Bummer said. “In case anyone else wants them. It would be a shame for them to go to waste.” He paused for a moment, then headed off toward his own dogloo.

  “Wait!” Amundsen snarled behind him.

  Bummer turned, and Amundsen looked down at the ground, then back up at Bummer. “Thank you,” he said, gingerly picking one of the fish apart with his teeth and claws, swallowing down the smallest of pieces.

  “You should see Dr. Macklin,” Bummer said quietly.

  Amundsen sighed. “There’s no point.”

  “What is wrong, Amundsen?”

  “My stomach,” Amundsen said, wincing again as he tried to swallow some more fish. “I think it’s worms.”

  “We’ll get you some help,” Bummer said finally. “You can have half of my food rations every day, and I’ll see if I can get Crean over here to look at you.”

  Amundsen gave him a grim smile. “I think it’s probably too late.”

  CHAPTER 16

  SAMSON

  March 1916

  Samson could feel the swell of the ocean beneath the floe as he tried to sleep. It had been building day upon day. First, there had been nothing more than the smallest of vibrations beneath the ice, like the tickle of a slight breeze on his fur. But then the tremors had built so that at times, it felt as if the entire earth were shaking and the ground could collapse at any moment. Samson would have worried less if there had been some kind of backup plan, or if they had still had the Endurance to flee to when the ice did eventually break up. But now they had nothing but three lifeboats filled with provisions and barely enough room for the men, let alone the remaining dogs.

  In some patches, the ice had become so thin that Samson could see the occasional sea creature or fish gliding along in the ocean beneath the shelf—close enough to spot its fins and tail as it passed, but not close enough to be able to reach out and grab it in his jaws.

  There was a yell outside his dogloo, and Samson ran to see what was happening. A large crack had torn right down the center of camp, with the men and dogs stranded on one side and the lifeboats on the other, slowly drifting away.

  “We have to get to the lifeboats!” Bummer said, running over to Samson with a wild, panicked look in his eyes. “They’re our only hope. If we lose the boats, all is lost. We are lost!”

  “Calm down,” Samson said. “They aren’t going very far.”

  The floe had only moved a few feet before stopping again, having been enclosed by more ice. The boss and some of the men leaped over the gaping crack and heaved the lifeboats back to their bigger floe.

  “We can’t stay here much longer,” Bummer said gravely. “More ice will break away until there’s nothing but ocean.”

  Samson knew Bummer was right—they all did. He was sure the boss had a plan; he always did.

  “The boss won’t let his crew perish,” he told Bummer. “He’ll find a way.”

  Sally came over with the puppies hot on her heels. Samson couldn’t believe how much they’d grown; they were already almost up to his chest—and he was a big dog.

  “We’re leaving,” she said, puffing to catch her breath. “The boss just announced it.”

  “See,” Samson said to Bummer. “The boss has a plan.”

  “The men are sorting through the provisions now,” Sally continued. “We’re going to take what we need and no more. The ice has broken up enough for us to reach open water.”

  “But where will we go?” Samson asked, looking out over the vast nothingness in all directions, a sense of unease twisting in his gut. “If the Endurance couldn’t make it to land, how are the lifeboats supposed to?”

  “The boss said we’ve shifted enough that we can reach land,” Sally said. She looked at her puppies chasing each other on the ice. “I didn’t think my pups would ever get to see it,” she whispered.

  “Bummer!” Wolf called out, racing over the ice toward them. “Come quick!”

  “Amundsen?” Samson asked as Bummer raced off after Wolf.

  Samson and Sally followed the dogs to Amundsen’s dogloo, where Hercules, Wolf, and a few others crowded around.

  “What is it?” Samson asked Bummer.

  Bummer shook his head slowly. “He’s not doing well, Samson.”

  Sally stepped forward. “Can I speak with him?” she whispered.

  Samson gestured to the other dogs to move back.

  After a few moments, Sally returned, her eyes filled with tears. “I’ve said my goodbyes,” she sniffed. “Maybe you should, too.”

  Samson followed Bummer into the dogloo, his heart and mind racing as he thought of what he might find inside. “What can we do to help?” Samson asked quietly.

  Amundsen raised his head slightly off the ground and gave a weak smile, then shook his head. “Just… could you stay with me?” he asked.

  Bummer nodded, and he and Samson settled down beside Amundsen.

  They sat in silence, listening to the hustle and bustle outside as men and dogs prepared to leave. Samson wondered whether they should tell Amundsen what was going on—but what would be the point? he thought sadly. Amundsen hadn’t been a friend of his, but he had a deep respect for the dog—his strength, his speed, his leadership. Bummer had told Samson how Amundsen had saved him from beneath the sled, and Sally had told him how Amundsen had shared his food with the pups.

  “Amundsen,” Samson started. “I’m sorry I didn’t invite you to race.”

  Amundsen was quiet for a moment; then he gave a small, gruff laugh. “You were afraid I’d beat you.”

  He was still again; then he raised his head to look at the two friends sitting beside him and sighed. “I wanted to be alpha so badly. I thought making friends would make me appear weaker. Bummer… I was glad to have you on my team. I’m sorry you got hurt because of my own pigheadedness.”

  Bummer shook his head, his eyes glistening. “You remind me a lot of my brother,” he said. “He was the one who was chosen to come to England, but our master didn’t want to let him go, so he sent me—a poor replacement. I didn’t think I would ever find somewhere I belonged. But I learned, and I changed, and I think you did, too, Amundsen. When it mattered the most, you put yourself aside to help others. No dog left behind, remember?”

  “You earned your place out here,” Amundsen said. “I wish…” He paused to catch his breath, wheezing as he breathed slowly in and out. “I wish we could have been friends.”

  He coughed once more, then laid his head back on his paws.

  Samson listened to his breaths as they slowed, getting quieter and quieter until he realized he could hear them no longer.

  “We were friends, Amundsen,” Bummer said quietly. “We were friends.”

  That night, the dogs gathered around as Crean dug a grave deep in the snow for their comrade Amundsen. Every single dog was there, wanting to pay their respects. When they were in
trouble, when Sally needed him or when Bummer was hurt—Amundsen had never let them down. He had been there for them, and they were now here for him.

  Finally, Crean drove his shovel deep into the ice, then returned to camp, his head low, leaving the dogs alone.

  “Bummer,” Samson said after a while, breaking the silence. “Do you want to say something?”

  Bummer moved to the front of the crowd to face the remaining dogs. They had lost so many over the last few months, so many dogs who had succumbed to the harsh Antarctic conditions, one by one. It seemed as if hardly any of them were left.

  Bummer opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he threw his head back to the sky and howled. Samson, Sally, Hercules, Wolf, and all the dogs did the same, howling a final farewell to the strongest and boldest of them all.

  Amundsen.

  CHAPTER 17

  BUMMER

  April 1916

  The boss had been right about them drifting back where they’d come from. For the first time they could see an outline of land in the distance—barely a dark blot on the horizon, but there nevertheless. Elephant Island. Finally, they had a destination, something to head toward and focus on rather than simply drifting like the floe themselves, through the endless days of hunting and sleeping and waiting.

  The others were almost as excited as they’d been when they’d first set out all those months ago. Bummer couldn’t help but get swept up in their renewed enthusiasm and energy. The men had reorganized their supplies—food rations, fresh water in barrels, small stoves on which to heat their food, along with anything else essential to the long journey ahead. Only two reduced sled teams remained now, along with Sally’s pups, who were still too small to pull the sleds. The dogs were divided among the three lifeboats—the James Caird, the Dudley Docker, and the Stancomb Wills.

  Bummer was disappointed to find he’d been allocated to the Stancomb Wills along with Judge, Hercules, and Wolf, while Samson, Sally, and her pups were on the James Caird with Shackleton.