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chapter 3

Mathias Andersen was the station foreman at Stromness. He had never met Shackleton, but along with
everyone else at South Georgia he knew that the Endurance had sailed from there in 1914 . . . and had
undoubtedly been lost with all hands in the Weddell Sea.
Just then, however, his thoughts were a long way from Shackleton and the ill-fated Imperial
TransAntarctic Expedition. He had put in a long work day, beginning at 7 A.M., and it was now after four
o’clock in the afternoon and he was tired. He was standing on the dock, supervising a group of his men
who were unloading supplies from a boat.
Just then he heard an outcry and looked up. Two small boys about eleven years old were running,
not in play but in terror. Behind them Andersen saw the figures of three men walking slowly and with
great weariness in his direction.
He was puzzled. They were strangers, certainly. But that was not so unusual as the fact that they were
coming—not from the docks where a ship might come in—but from the direction of the mountains, the
interior of the island.
As they drew closer he saw that they were heavily bearded, and their faces were almost black except
for their eyes. Their hair was as long as a woman’s and hung down almost to their shoulders. For some
reason it looked stringy and stiff. Their clothing was peculiar, too. It was not the sweaters and boots
worn by seamen. Instead, the three men appeared to have on parkas, though it was hard to tell because
their garments were in such a ragged state.
By then the workmen had stopped what they were doing to stare at the three strangers approaching.
The foreman stepped forward to meet them. The man in the center spoke in English.
“Would you please take us to Anton Andersen,” he said softly.
The foreman shook his head. Anton Andersen was not at Stromness any longer, he explained. He had
been replaced by the regular factory manager, Thoralf Sørlle.
The Englishman seemed pleased. “Good,” he said. “I know Sørlle well.”
The foreman led the way to Sørlle’s house, about a hundred yards off to the right. Almost all the
workmen on the pier had left their jobs to come see the three strangers who had appeared at the dock.
Now they lined the route, looking curiously at the foreman and his three companions.
Andersen knocked at the manager’s door, and after a moment Sørlle himself opened it. He was in his
shirt sleeves and he still sported his big handlebar mustache.
When he saw the three men he stepped back and a look of disbelief came over his face. For a long
moment he stood shocked and silent before he spoke.
“Who the hell are you?” he said at last.
The man in the center stepped forward.
“My name is Shackleton,” he replied in a quiet voice.
Again there was silence. Some said that Sørlle turned away and wept.

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