The Worst Journey in the World - Apsley Cherry-Garrard (online e reader .txt) 📗

on the line of their exit at Cape Crozier, and it was clouding up, the barometer falling, and the temperature rising rapidly. “So we decided to come back some way, and have in the end come right back to the Biscuit Depot, since it looked very threatening to the east. Here the temperature is lower (−15°) and it is clearing. Ross Island has been largely obscured, but the clouds are opening on Terror. We had a very good run and the dogs pulled splendidly, making light work of it: 29 miles for the day, half of it with loaded sledges! Lappy’s feet are bleeding a good bit, owing to the snow balling in between his toes where the hair is unusually long. Bullet, who is fat and did not pull, celebrated his arrival in camp by going for Bielchik who had pulled splendidly all day! There is much mirage, and Observation Hill and Castle Rock are reversed.”288 We reached Hut Point the next day. Lappy’s feet were still bad, and Dimitri wrapped him in his windproof blouse and strapped him on to the sledge. All went well until we got on to the sea-ice, when Lappy escaped and arrived an easy first.

Dog-driving is the devil! Before I started, my language would not have shamed a Sunday School, and now⁠—if it were not Sunday I would tell you more about it. It takes all kinds to make a world and a dog-team. We had aristocrats like Osman, and Bolsheviks like Krisravitza, and lunatics like Hol-hol. The present-day employer of labour might stand amazed when he saw a crowd of prospective workmen go mad with joy at the sight of their driver approaching them with a harness in his hands. The most ardent trade unionist might boil with rage at the sight of eleven or thirteen huskies dragging a heavy load, including their idle master, over the floe with every appearance of intense joy. But truth to tell there were signs that they were getting rather sick of it, and within a few days we were to learn that dogs can chuck their paws in as well as many another. They had their king, of course: Osman was that. They combined readily and with immense effect against any companion who did not pull his weight, or against one who pulled too much. Dyk was unpopular among them, for when the team of which he was a member was halted he constantly whined and tugged at his harness in his eagerness to go on: this did not allow the rest of the team to rest, and they were justifiably resentful. Sometimes a team got a down upon a dog without our being able to discover their doggy reason. In any case we had to watch carefully to prevent them carrying out their intentions, their method of punishment always being the same and ending, if unchecked, in what they probably called justice, and we called murder.

I have referred to the crusts on the Barrier, where the snow lies in layers with an air-space, perhaps a quarter of an inch, or more, between them. These will subside as you pass over them, giving the inexperienced polar traveller some nasty moments until he learns that they are not crevasses. But the dogs thought they were rabbits, and pounced, time after time. There was a little dog called Mukaka, who got dragged under the sledge in one of the mad penguin rushes the dog-teams made when we were landing stores from the Terra Nova: his back was hurt and afterwards he died. “He is paired with a fat, lazy and very greedy black dog, Noogis by name, and in every march this sprightly little Mukaka will once or twice notice that Noogis is not pulling and will jump over the trace, bite Noogis like a snap, and be back again in his own place before the fat dog knows what has happened.”289

Then there was Stareek (which is the Russian for old man, starouka being old woman). “He is quite a ridiculous ‘old man,’ and quite the nicest, quietest, cleverest old dog I have ever come across. He looks in face as though he knew all the wickedness of all the world and all its cares, and as if he were bored to death by them.”290 He was the leader of Wilson’s team on the Depot Journey, but decided that he was not going out again. Thereafter when he thought there was no one looking he walked naturally; but if he saw you looking at him he immediately had a frostbitten paw, limped painfully over the snow, and looked so pitiful that only brutes like us could think of putting him to pull a sledge. We tried but he refused to work, and his final victory was complete.

One more story: Dimitri is telling us how a “funny old Stareek” at Sydney came and objected to his treatment of the dogs (which were more than half wolves and would eat you without provocation). “He says to me, ‘You not whip’⁠—I say, ‘What ho!’ He go and fetch Mr. Meares⁠—he try put me in choky. Then he go to Anton⁠—give Anton cigarette and match⁠—he say⁠—‘How old that horse?’ pointing to Hackenschmidt⁠—Anton say, very young⁠—he not believe⁠—he go try see Hackenschmidt’s teeth⁠—and old Starouka too⁠—and Hackenschmidt he draw back and he rush forward and bite old Stareek twice, and he fall backwards over case⁠—and ole woman pick him up. He very white beard which went so⁠—I not see him again.”

XVI The Search Journey

From my own diary

Sleep after toyle, port after stormie seas,
Ease after warre, death after life, does greatly please.

Spenser, The Faerie Queen

October 28. Hut Point. A beautiful day. We finished digging out the stable for the mules this morning and brought in some blubber this afternoon. The Bluff has its cap on, but otherwise the sky is nearly