OUR DOG CUTLETS.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 30, Issue 22, 19 March 1918, Page 2

OUR DOG CUTLETS.

(By Frank Wild, of the Shackleton Expedition, in an Interview.)

PROBLEMS IN THE FROZEN SOUTH.

I’ve been shipwrecked more than once. I know what it is to have a boat go down, all-standing, under me. But when the Endurance found a grave in the ice of the Weddell Sea*, sixteen months after she sailed so bravely from London Port on her lonely quest in the far South, it seemed quite different. The Endurance was a fine vessel, and when one has lived, under such conditions as we lived, on a craft for more than a year, and known her to be true and taut. It was a positive pain to feel that she was being slowly mangled, and that one could do nothing to save her. The ice had got a strangle hold on that boat of ours, and was just squeezing the life out of her.

A SHIP’S DEATH AGONY. And, what was worse, the poor old Endurance died a lingering death, for the pressure of ice, though relentless, vos for the most part slow. 1 remember, however, on one occasion, in a tew seconds the Endurance was laid an her haam ends. You nan imagine wtua forre the ice can evert to throw a b«& - ship about hkc that ! la October she lay with bar bows driven into a huge pieee of ice, and she was being gradually twisted round. The ice went r ght through her. It drove the motor-engine through the galley—which we call«* "the Ritz,’’ because it wasn’t a bit like it—and the galley through the ward-room, and then the poor old vessel started to settle.

As soon as her bows got under, Sir Ernest Shackleton ordered us all on to the ice ; but it was not until three weeks later that she actually went down. We left the flag flying as she sank, and Hurley, our photographer, took a cinematograph picture of her last moments. And, although the mainmast snapped and was shot to within a few feet of where he stood, he never stopped turning the handle of his machine. OUR ONLY HOPE. So there we were on the ice, about three hundred and forty miles from the nearest land, and with only three small boats in which to take to the water when the ice broke up gome months later.

In the meantime we had to drift on the floes. There is no fear of exceeding the speed limit in such circumstances! Sometimes we did as much as fifteen miles a week, sometimes less, and all the time we had to keep a very sharp look out, to see that the particular chunk of ice on which we were camped had a fairly clear run through the Antarctic traffic, for collision with an iceberg might have been disastrous. More than once we had to shift our camp, because the floe on which we were became so frayed that it could no longer hold us.

When it became evident that there ■would be no more sledge journeys, and that our only hope of salvation lay in the boats, we had to sacrifice the dogs. That was an unpleasant job, but it had to be done. Food was running low, and, besides, had we not killed them we should have had to leave them to a lingering death on the ice, for we could not take them in the boats. So we shot them to save them from a worse fate.

A DOG’S LIFE. I had a particular pet in a dog I called “Soldier.” To start with, he was the worst dog of the family, and he was handed to me to see what I could make of him. I made a'study of that dog, and at the end we were on the best ,of terms. ■ He was so obedient that he would answer my call, even if he was chasing penguins half a mile away, and one cannot give a dog a higher testimonial than that. He, of course, had to go with the rest, and it was like parting with a dear friend. After that I hadn’t any stomach for dog cutlets, but most' of the men ate them and pronounced them excellent.

The chief was rather embarrassed by the number of canine tit-bits he received. Every member of the expedition who was in charge of a dog actually held the opinion that, dead or alive, his was the best possible animal for any purpose, and made an offering of the most succulent portion of the remains to Sir Ernest. In spite of that, however, the chief’s considered opinion, I believe, was that, though the old dogs were a bit tough, puppies—of which we had a good number—were extremely palatable.

When we were in South Americamany months after the dog-killing episode—l had a delightful surprise. Sir Ernest handed me a little gold locket, which I shall always treasure. It contained a lock of “Soldier’s” hair, which somebody had cut when he was killed, and upon it was the inscription : “In Memory of Soldier, from the Boys. ’ ’ Few men would have thought of. a thing like that. It is what makes Sir Ernest so beloved by those who have lived and worked with him.

TOBACCO FROM BOOTS

Before we left the ice our tobacco had given out, but the most determined smokers amongst us were not going to be thwarted, We made shift with the grass lining of our “funiescoes” (boots). It tasted generally of kerosene, and was pretty hot stuff in a pipe. The non-smokers strongly objected to it at close quarters. But a rear good smoke does not live in my memory as the supreme enjoyment when I got back to civilisation, though it was something. What

I really enjoyed most was—a bath. 1 hadn’t had my clothes ofl for more than a year ! THAT NIGHTMARE JOURNEY. In comparison with the days that followed, the time we were marooned was perfect bliss. I shall never forget the nightmare of the sledge journeys when we had joined the relief party. At first we made good progress, but gradually the time we marched got longer and-the distance we covered shorter. Spencer Smith, who died of scurvy later, poor fellow, had to be lashed to the sledge at one period of the journey, so ill was he, and Mackintosh could scarcely stand, hut worked till he dropped. But what is perhaps the most painful memory to me is the occasion when I was left behind with Mackintosh and Spencer Smith, who were both too ill to go any farther. That long, anxious waiting lor the relief party, whole food got scarcer and •more scarce and at last failed altogether, is a nightmare to me. But, thank God, we were rescued in time. —"Answers.”