Death on the Ice (51 page)

‘Ssshh.’

‘Oh, the captain is your new chum, is he?’

‘Hardly,’ said Oates, well aware of what the dog-man thought of the Owner. ‘But that isn’t the issue, is it? It’s making the Pole. And I am confident we can do that, at least.’

Meares twisted his upper lip into a snear. ‘Making it isn’t the problem.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s the same dilemma we face. Me and my dogs, I mean. Food. I have to turn for home soon. And later than I planned for. Over four hundred miles, with just what we can carry for man and dog. We’ve come on a lot further than intended with the dogs, according to his crackpot plans. Yet I mustn’t disturb your depots if I can help it. And I haven’t eaten tonight because it will take away from the plateau rations.’

‘That’s ridiculous. We have far more food than Shackleton had,’ Oates reminded him.

Meares laughed and some of the dogs looked up, alarmed, perhaps, by the bitterness of it. ‘Shackleton didn’t reach even the Pole.’

‘We will.’

‘We?’

‘Scott and whoever he takes,’ Oates corrected.

‘Look, Titus, don’t be blinded into doing something you don’t believe in. Scott, for all his infuriating ways, has an odd magnetism. Resist it. You could come back with me. With the dogs we can certainly catch
Terra Nova
before she sails. Back to the army, that’s what you said.’

Oates felt the tug of a momentary temptation. ‘No. Not yet.’

‘Why?’

He pointed up the glacier. ‘Three parties of four. That’s what we have banked on. I’m with the strongest. I leave them, they’ll take one from the other group, perhaps. That weakens it. You’ve seen some of them.’

‘Aye. Teddy Evans only pulls when someone is watching,’ agreed Meares. He meant Scott, who stopped sometimes to assess the progress and attitude of the other teams. That was when Evans really put his back into it.

‘He and Lashly have been man-hauling more than any of us. Seven weeks, since Corner Camp. I think Teddy is beat.’

‘Yet he won’t admit it.’

‘Because he still wants the Pole,’ said Oates.

‘The Pole, the Pole.’ Meares shook his head. ‘Such stubbornness can be the death of a man.’

Somewhere in the mountains they heard the growl of an avalanche, an ominous full stop to the sentence.

‘I’m going back to New Zealand, Soldier.’

‘You’ll be missed next season.’

‘By you perhaps.’

‘By all of us. Yes, the Owner too. We’ll need your skill.’

Meares laughed. ‘My skill has hardly been appreciated so far. The look Scott gave me whenever I passed him said it all. He resents being reminded that dogs pull, horses and men flounder. Change your mind?’

‘No, Cecil. Safe home.’

‘And safe Pole, Titus.’

Kathleen—Just a tiny note as the dogs ate departing. We have made a new deposit of food. Lower Glacier Depot. Around here Shackleton had blue ice; we have deep, sticky snow. An extraordinary difference in fortune. Now with the dogs gone, we have redistributed and pull 200 lb per sledge. Skis are the thing but not everyone has prepared for that and some prefer snowshoes. It is tiresome. I am fit and well and hauling as well as any man in the group. Oates is a tower of strength, and Bill and Taff do their part. We are behind Shackleton, though, which is galling. That blasted storm that pinned us down is to blame. So, things are not as rosy as they might be, but we keep our spirits up and say our luck must turn.

‘The man is a bloody fool.’

The words stung Scott like a slap across the face.

‘And dangerous to boot.’

The voices were muffled and it was some time before Scott could make out who was speaking. The men often treated canvas walls as if they were brick, unaware of how far words carried beyond them and on to the ice. It was a fine warm evening, the silver fog of the day having finally dissipated. Scott had come out of his own tent to take a pipe, prior to telling Cherry of his decision. He had certainly brought no intention of eavesdropping, but he found himself unable to move away.

‘Keep your voice down.’ It was Atkinson.

‘I don’t care who hears. I should be going on.’

‘We all should.’

‘I’ll tell him what we think, then.’

‘It’ll do no good, he’s made his mind up.’

‘What mind?’

Scott bit down on the stem of his pipe, threatening to snap it. How dare they?

‘You are just upset.’

‘Of course I am bloody upset.’

‘It’s cruel, isn’t it? To keep us hanging on. Not knowing till the last minute who will go on and who will turn back.’

‘Scott is a bloody fool.’ Ah, it was Wright who was cursing him.

‘Ssshh.’

‘And another thing. Teddy bloody Evans to go? Teddy Evans and not me?’

‘Personally, I wouldn’t take Taff Evans either. Full of hot air.’

That was too much, maligning one of the hardest workers in the party. Scott had heard enough, had suffered enough; he moved away before he succumbed to the urge to enter the tent and give them a piece of the mind he apparently didn’t possess.

Scott thought Cherry-Garrard was going to cry, but it was difficult to tell because every man’s eyes had been red and raw for days. He felt wretched, but the plan had to be adhered to. They had made the summit of the glacier without mishap or loss, although more slowly than he had hoped, and plagued by exhaustion and thirst. He had been forced to stop Oates and some others eating snow, warning them that it would chill their core and they would the of hypothermia. But it consumed so much fuel to melt the ice they would drink, he had been forced to limit it. So, four had to turn back as planned.

Scott sat in the tent with Cherry, explaining his reasoning for the young man’s deselection.

‘I know it’s a blow.’

‘Well, sir, it is. But it had to fall on someone.’

‘How are the eyes?’

‘Better, thank you.’ They had all suffered at least some snow blindness. Given the exertion of hauling up the glacier, their goggles had fogged, which meant they could not spot crevasses. Taking the goggles off had caused glare damage. ‘The cocaine helped. And the tea leaves.’ The dregs of a good brew helped soothe burning eyes.

‘We did it, Cherry. Stage two gone.’

‘Have I let you down, sir?’

Scott reached over and patted Cherry’s knee. The lad was like an anxious puppy sometimes. ‘No, no, don’t be ridiculous. I am sure you are disappointed.’

‘I am.’

‘So is Silas. He called me a fool. Actually, I think it was a bloody fool.’

Cherry was shocked at Silas Wright’s behaviour. ‘Sir?’

‘Oh, not so I’d hear. But the walls of the tents are hardly sound proofed unless there is a blizzard.’

Cherry laughed. He could imagine the Canadian letting off steam; he thought Teddy Evans a poseur, and he himself was as fit as any man in the team. ‘Who else will return?’

‘Keohane and Atch.’

‘Oh.’

‘You were expecting someone else?’

Evans and Lashly, he almost said. ‘No, I suppose not.’

‘I know Wright is upset, but tell him there is good reasoning. He is a fine navigator. You’ll need him to get home.’

‘Of course, skipper.’

‘But we also need another day of your efforts, Cherry. To get over the crevasses.’ Where the glacier flowed off the plateau, the strain on the ice produced a web of huge cracks; they were facing the last of them.

Cherry fought hard to keep a waver from his voice. ‘Whatever you require, sir.’

‘Don’t take it too hard. This is a bad enough business as it is.’

‘I won’t. I am sure you have chosen well.’ Cherry tried his best to sound bright. ‘Is there any message for anyone?’

‘For you. I want the dogs brought out to resupply One Ton Camp for our return. Just in case the returning parties have depleted it. Don’t risk them any further. Tell Meares. And if Meares has left on
Terra Nova
, as the bugger is threatening to, tell Dimitri. One Ton Camp, on or around March the twenty-seventh. Don’t forget.’

‘I won’t. I’m sure they will find you there.’

‘Count on it.’

After Scott had left, Wilson slipped in, while Cherry was sorting through his gear. The young man was upset, but in his heart he knew the Owner was right. He didn’t have the pull for the Pole.

‘Sorry to lose you, Cherry,’ Wilson said.

Cherry bit his lower lip. He was aware Wilson had probably had a say in the decision. ‘Thank you.’

‘I won’t be far behind.’

‘Spare finnesko,’ said Cherry, lifting up the boots. He was trying not to meet Wilson’s gaze, unless he saw the slick of moisture in his own.

‘Birdie would welcome some. His are pretty poor.’

Cherry laid them to one side. ‘What do you mean, you won’t be far behind?’

‘I doubt I’ll make the final group. Pretty tired after the other day.’ They had pulled up the treacherous incline of the glacier for nine and a half hours and made three miles.

‘Who isn’t? Even Birdie says it is the most back-breaking work he has ever done. Your sledge group is by far the strongest. The Owner sets a hot pace.’

‘Remember the tortoise and hare, young man.’

‘Neither of whom had to run through four-foot drifts and then this ice.’

Wilson smiled. The soggy snow had seemed hard enough; the blue ice with its unforgiving surface, need for crampons and hidden crevasses was even worse.

‘Why did you come back, Bill? Out on the ice again, with a new wife at home?’

Wilson sighed. ‘I was getting too soft.’

‘Meaning?’

‘I grew to like hotel dinners and preferred hot water to cold.’

Cherry laughed. ‘Oh, for a hotel dinner and some hot water.’

‘Yes. I think I am ready for it now.’ Wilson smiled. ‘But also for him. Scott. I came south for him.’

‘He needs you.’

‘No, he would have come anyway.’

That wasn’t what Cherry meant, but he let it go. No use explaining that, without Wilson to soften the mood swings and peevishness he suffered from, Scott would not be half the leader he was.

Cherry produced a small package from his belongings. ‘Will you give some baccy to the Owner?’

‘You can give it to him yourself.’

‘As a present. On Christmas Day. Just wait the five days. To show there are no hard feelings.’

‘He’ll know that.’ Wilson reached over and took it. ‘But he’ll appreciate the gesture. Will you take a letter for my wife?’

‘Of course.’

Wilson touched the young man’s arm. ‘He saw you pulling your guts out, Cherry.’

A bubble of frustration burst within Cherry. If only he knew what Teddy Evans said, preaching sedition sometimes, and the half-effort he often put in, surely he would have been the one sent back. ‘Then why—’

‘It’s a matter of priority. And age. You are young, Cherry. If we don’t make it this season, who knows? Maybe you’ll make it next.’

‘Who do you think he’ll choose for the last push?’

It was the question on everyone’s cracked and blistered lips. It was no secret that Scott frequently consulted Wilson about the men’s fitness and their potential.

‘There will be someone from the lower decks, I’m sure. Evans?’

Wilson shrugged. ‘It’s a possibility’

‘Atch says Evans is a windbag. Talks a big story.’

‘Atch is entitled to his opinion. It isn’t his decision.’

‘Will the Owner choose Titus, then?’

‘Well, he’s got to be in the running. Nothing wrong with him as far as I can see.’

Cherry thought that Wilson could not have been looking very hard, but knowing it would sound like sour grapes, went back to sorting through his equipment for gifts for the lucky eight who would go on.

‘I see. Well, good luck, Bill. I hope it’s better than our journey together.’

‘It could hardly be worse.’

Cherry laughed; that much was true. ‘Here. You should take this. For old time’s sake.’ He handed over his copy of Tennyson’s
In Memorium
, which Wilson was fond of. ‘You are a good friend. I value that more than anything. Along with Birdie. Knowing you two means a lot more to me than reaching the Pole.’

‘That’s kind of you.’ He reached across to take the volume. ‘Sure?’

‘Positive.’

Wilson weighed the green leatherbound book in his hand. It, too, was like an old friend. ‘Thank you, Cherry. I’ll make sure you get it back.’

After the communal meal of pemmican and biscuits, Oates had a rare moment of privacy in the tent. Scott and Wilson were out consoling those who were to be sent back and Taff Evans was working on honing and straightening the ski runners on the sledges.

Firstly, he positioned himself so that his hip stopped giving him trouble with its damnable twinges. He was forced to sit slightly twisted. He was all too aware that the one short leg meant he had a cock-eyed stance in the traces, but, fortunately, nobody noticed it. All pulled as best they could, some favouring one leg or one shoulder, but then every other man had two equal limbs. Who would have thought a Boer bullet would come home to roost in such a way?

Slowly, he undid the bindings of his boots and eased them off, gasping as he did so. A strange odour came up at him: wet hay, sweaty feet, damp socks and something else, slightly sickly. The hard ice had left his soles feeling unbelievably tender, and he grimaced as he took off the socks and hung them up.

His feet were like big, pale fish, something that had been brought up from the depths. For the most part they were numb with cold, except where they ached, and his tendons felt as though they had been stretched four inches. He brought his left foot up and began to massage the spongy skin and the stabs of pain made him weep. He looked down at the extremity closely. The big toe had a worrying sheen to it. In the strange half-light of the tent, it looked as if it was turning black.

Oates quickly pulled on a semi-dry sock when Taff Evans came in through the entrance tube, his bulk filling the tent. He was cursing as he tied up the stays that closed the opening.

‘You all right, Taff?’

‘Aye, sir,’ Evans said. ‘Grazed my knuckles on the runners.’

He removed his mitten and Oates saw a line of raw skin across the back of his hand, the blood not yet clotted.

‘You should let Bill look at that.’