Shackleton's Stowaway by Victoria McKernan

Author:Victoria McKernan [McKernan, Victoria]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-307-54566-4
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2005-10-15T04:00:00+00:00

chapter twenty-five

Day after grim day passed, and still the ice would not open. The three lifeboats sat ready but idle. Shackleton remained optimistic. He visited the tents and taught the men how to play new card games. One day he dressed up like an admiral, with a shovel for a sword and epaulets made out of sardine cans on his shoulders, and inspected the camp. He demoted Frank Wild for not having proper creases in his trousers and awarded Charlie Green a medal for being the filthiest cook in the Southern Hemisphere.

It was a good bit of fun, but week after week of misery was starting to wear them all down. The killer whales were always prowling. The men could hear them blowing and knocking against the edge of the floe. The wind was always blowing. Sometimes Perce thought that was enough to drive a man out of his mind.

They rationed carefully, but by late January, nearly all the stores they had retrieved from the ship were gone. Shackleton talked with Charlie each day about how to stretch out what was left. He wanted to keep some variety in the meals. Maybe a little curry in the seal today or a few dried peas in the stewed penguin. A bit of cheese or a teaspoon of raisins was a special treat. Once Tim dropped a piece of cheese in the snow. It was no bigger than a button, but he spent an hour looking for it. To make sure the portions were fair, they were always handed out blindly. The day's Peggy sat with his back to the others while he dished out the food. Another man was chosen to call names. The Peggy held up a pannikin and said, “Whose is this?” Then the caller named a man, and the food went to that man. All agreed it was the fairest way to do it, but it was still hard sometimes not to look at the man beside you and imagine his piece was bigger or a more tender cut.

The all-meat diet was causing the men trouble. They called it “squeaky gut.” Some were constipated; some had diarrhea. Neither was much fun when your latrine was a hole in the ice and your toilet paper a handful of snow.

February 10, 1916

Patience Camp is wet, ugly, dirty, and cold. And boring. No place much to walk. No more jokes that haven't been told. No more stories—even from Billy, who had years' and years' worth. I know the name of every town he ever stayed, every horse he ever rode, every bar he ever got into a fight in. Same with everybody. Even tired of Hussey's banjo. Seems like every song is the same one. We all miss the phonograph. I liked hearing the orchestra songs. I'd never heard that kind of music before. Hurley says when we get back to London, he'll take me to a real orchestra. They have fifty people or more onstage playing all at once. Imagine that.

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