Trapped in Ice (14 page)

“Nothing we can do 'bout that. Come on,” said Jonnie. Still holding me by the arm, he dragged me twenty or thirty paces away. We were surrounded by people.

“Helen! Helen!” I heard Mother scream. She threw her arms around me and squeezed hard.

“Mother, the Captain is still—”

“LOOK!” somebody yelled, “IT'S THE CAP'N!”

He'd come out of the same hatch as I had, but he was moving the wrong way! Rather than heading aft towards the stairs, he was racing to the front of the ship.

“Where is he going?” a voice asked.

No one answered. We all stood, wordlessly, frozen to the spot, following him with our eyes. It seemed as though the wind had stopped blowing and was holding its breath too, watching.

Even from this distance I could hear the music from the gramophone. It filled the air. I didn't know the name of the piece but I recognized it was Mozart, the Captain's favourite composer. The music was slow and solemn and dignified. Over the top of the music was the noise of bubbles surfacing from the hole in the side of the ship which was now below water level.

Captain Bartlett stopped mid-ship, and appeared to be fumbling with something.

“CAPTAIN!” I called out.

I tried to pull away from Mother but she held me firmly in her grip. I didn't struggle. Jonnie and Mr. Hadley and a few others left the huddle of people and moved across the ice. They stopped when they reached a spot close to the Captain.

“Please, we have to go closer,” I said.

Mother released her grip on me. Michael ran beside me.

“What is he doing?” I asked, more to myself than to anybody else, but before the words left my mouth, I knew.
He was standing beside the flag standard and he started to put up a flag. There was no wind and it hung limply. Hand over hand he raised it until it reached the top and then he tied it off. There was more wind at the top of the pole and it started to flutter gently. It was the Canadian Naval Ensign. Captain Bartlett stepped back a few steps and saluted the flag. Jonnie and other members of the crew on the ice did the same.

The ship seemed to be sinking faster. The air was bubbling out furiously and the deck was only a few feet above the surface of the ice. There was no possible way he could get down the stairs before it dipped below the surface of the water. It looked certain he'd be going down into the water.

“QUICK! SOMEBODY GET SOME LINES!” yelled Mr. Hadley.

A couple of men ran off towards the supply shelter.

Captain Bartlett started towards the stairs and then stopped and turned back to where we stood. He walked to the railing. His step wasn't hurried in any way. He reached into his coat and pulled out something—Figaro! He raised his arm and tossed the cat through the air. Figaro flew, turning end over end, black on top and white underneath, until she landed, feet first on the ice. Skidding and scrambling, she slid to a stop in a snowdrift.

My eyes went back to the Captain. He'd placed a foot on the bottom rung and started to climb the railing. He was coming over the side! He reached the very top of the railing. He grabbed hold of a piece of rigging to balance himself. The ship was going down fast and his head was not much higher than ours.

“JUMP! JUMP! JUMP!” somebody screamed.

There was a gap between the ship and the edge of the ice. If he didn't clear the gap he'd fall down into the water. I watched him bend at the knees, getting ready for the jump. He flew through the air, and seemed to hang there in mid-air. He hit the ice with a thud and rolled, stopping at our feet. Before anybody could even offer him a hand he bounded back to his feet. A couple of the men tried to say something but he shushed them and they fell silent.

Captain Bartlett turned to face the sinking ship. He pulled down the hood of his parka and removed his hat. Other people followed suit. We watched wordlessly. The only sounds were the escaping air and the strains of Mozart. The water washed over the deck and within seconds the railings and then the bridge disappeared beneath the surface, leaving only the masts and rigging still visible. The bubbles continued to rush to the surface, still carrying the notes of the symphony. Foot by foot the masts fell into the deep, faster and faster, until finally the tip of the tallest of the two, the flag waving briskly in the breeze, was all that was left. It seemed to pause, just for an instant, as though the flag was somehow going to stay above the water, and then it too plunged under the water and the
Karluk
was gone.

Everyone stood in stunned silence, staring at the place in the water where the ship had been trapped. It was now nothing more than a hole in the ice. Captain Bartlett took his hat and flung it into the hole. It floated for a few seconds and then began sinking below the surface, following the ship down.

“Mighty fine music, Cap'n,” said Jonnie, breaking the trance. “What was it?”

“Mozart.”

Despite everything I had to smile.

“The Funeral March. Thought it seemed fittin'. I always thought I'd have it played at my funeral.” He stopped and smiled. “Bet some of ya thought that maybe taday was goin' ta be my funeral.”

I burst into tears. Captain Bartlett wrapped an arm around me. “There, there, Helen,” he said. “We can't have any tears. They might freeze ta your face.”

He released his grip and smiled down at me. He walked over to the very edge of the ice and bent down. I trailed behind him. I stared down at the dark water. The water was already starting to freeze. Crystals were forming and joining together.

“Thirty minutes from now, there won't be any hole here. Less than an hour from that, it'll be thick enough ta walk on,” Captain Bartlett noted. He stood up. “Helen, ya forgot something,” he said as he reached into his parka. He pulled out my diary and put it in my hands.

“My diary!”

“After all the trouble ya went through ta get her, I couldn't let it go down ta the bottom.”

I pressed it in close to my side.

“That is why you went back onto the ship?” Mother asked in a tone I knew and didn't like.

“Easy, Mrs. Kiruk. Nobody needs ta be angry at nobody. Have to excuse me, ladies ... I'm tired ... goin' ta go ta sleep ... for a while.”

As he walked away Figaro came scrambling across the ice after him.

 

 

Chapter Eighteen

“M
OM! HELEN!
” Michael yelled as he crawled into our shelter.

I put aside my diary and Mother put down her sewing. “The Captain's up. He wants us all to assemble in the centre of the shelters. He wants everybody there right away.”

I was anxious to hear what he was going to say but disappointed I couldn't finish my journal entry. It had taken some effort to thaw the ink out by holding the bottle over the flame of a candle. The label had long since burned away and the glass bottle was blackened and smudged. We hurried out as quickly as possible.

Almost as soon as the
Karluk
had gone down, Captain Bartlett had gone to his shelter and to bed. He slept for almost twenty-four hours. A couple of the men, especially Dr. Murray and Dr. Mackay, had wanted him to answer questions, but Mr. Anderson wouldn't let them wake him. As first mate he was following the Captain's orders and those orders were for him not to be disturbed.

Jonnie told us how long the Captain had been up without sleep. He hadn't just been awake the previous night, supervising the dismantling of the ship, but the night before, listening to the sounds of the ice. He said the
Captain figured the ship was going down but didn't see any reason to worry everybody when they couldn't do anything about it anyway.

We were amongst the last to assemble. It was almost noon and the moon shone brightly. There was an eerie yellow quality to the light, and shadows and edges seemed blurred and unfocused. As far as the eye could see the landscape was stark, barren ice, broken only by a small drift or a larger pressure ridge rising up. The winds were blowing strongly. With the
Karluk
gone there was nothing to break them as they roared down from the north.

“Can I have yer attention, please!” announced Captain Bartlett, and the crowd fell silent. “I took some readin's an' our position is latitude seventy-three degrees, ten minutes north, longitude, one hundred and sixty-five degrees an' five minutes west. Do those readin's correspond with the ones ya took yesterday, Dr. Murray?”

“Slight variations, but basically I concur with your findings.”

“Thank ya, Doctor. As we sit here, the nearest land is ta the sou'-west. Wrangel Island sits about one hundred and twenty miles away. We'll be headin' for her.”

“Wrangel Island! I'm familiar with it, Captain Bartlett,” stated Henri Beauchat. “It is a chunk of rock and gravel thrown in the ocean. It is uninhabited. It supports little plant life and very few animals. What advantage is it to reach such an island?”

“Much of what ya say is correct, Mr. Beauchat. One clear advantage I see is that it is made up of rock an' gravel ... things that aren't likely ta melt under our feet an' drop us
inta the water below. An' while it's uninhabited, there is a whalin' outpost. Come whalin' season, ships'll be comin'.”

“And when exactly would the ships arrive?” asked Dr. Mackay.

“May or June, dependin' on the ice.”

“May or June! You do not honestly expect us to spend six or seven months on that island. Be reasonable, sir!” objected Dr. Murray.

“Seems reasonable ta me. Better there for six months than dead forever. Besides, what other choices do ya see?”

Dr. Murray and Dr. Mackay exchanged looks and then Dr. Murray stepped forward. “Since you asked, Captain, we do have an alternative plan.”

“One that you and Dr. Mackay have been talkin' about?”

“Yes, along with others.”

“Others?”

“Yes. Mr. Beauchat and Mr. Morrison.”

“Mr. Morrison?” Captain Bartlett questioned.

Mr. Morrison stepped forward as well. “Yes, sir, Captain, sir. Meanin' no disrespect.”

“None taken, Sandy. You're a good man. Let's hear the plan.”

“We propose heading for Point Hope, on the Alaskan coast,” Dr. Mackay said.

“Alaska! Point Hope is over three hundred miles away,” Captain Bartlett replied loudly.

“Three hundred and twelve miles by my latest readings,” countered Dr. Murray.

“That's a great distance. One I don't think that can be crossed.”

“That is where you are wrong, Captain. As you all know, both Mr. Beauchat and I have previously travelled farther by dog sled.”

“But that wasn't over shiftin' sea ice. Land doesn't buckle or break or let ya fall through. Besides, you'd be travellin' farther than that. Even if ya reached the Point ya'd still have over one hundred and fifty miles till ya reach a settlement.”

“I have every confidence we can make it,” Dr. Mackay said.

“Confidence is a good thing. I have one more question. How many dogs do ya suggest will accompany your party?”

“A full complement of course.”

“An' how many would that be?”

“I don't know ... I think we would have to sit down and discuss it ... perhaps we can retire to your shelter and—” began Mr. Beauchat.

“No, sir, we won't be doin' that,” Captain Bartlett interrupted. “Decisions affectin' all of us need ta be heard by all of us. How many dogs are ya suggestin'?”

“Ten or twelve animals,” Dr. Murray responded, “and a sled and as many supplies as we can pack and carry.”

Captain Bartlett nodded his head slowly. “A sled ya can have. Supplies are yours for the takin'. But dogs …” He turned to Kataktovick. “How many dogs do we have that are fit?”

Kataktovick didn't answer immediately. I would have been shocked if he had. He always thought through whatever he said.

“Thirty dogs ... twenty-six for pulling ... four for eating.”

“About one dog for each of us. Four of ya goin' means you're entitled to four dogs.”

“Four! That is ridiculous. We can't possibly make it with four dogs!” Mr. Beauchat replied angrily.

“Bett'r than the rest a us could make it with only the fourteen dogs ya'd be leaving us if ya took twelve with ya!” snapped Jonnie.

Captain Bartlett put a hand on Jonnie's shoulder. “Sorry, Cap'n,” he apologized.

“He raises an interesting point, Captain Bartlett,” Dr. Murray began. “Whether you have fourteen or twenty-six dogs, you don't have enough to get all these people to Wrangel Island. Perhaps the key is to let us have all the dogs. We can make a run for it and send back help as soon as we reach a settlement.”

“Send help back? Ya don't have ta do that,” Captain Bartlett answered.

“We don't?”

“No sir, ya don't. No point in sending back help. By the time ya get there and help starts this way, there won't be anybody ta help. We'd all be dead, feedin' the fish.”

“That is where you are wrong, Captain Bartlett. Giving us enough dogs to get there quickly is the only way we can get help to you in time.”

“You're right about some things, Dr. Murray,” said Captain Bartlett.

He is, I thought, and I could see by their expressions that others had the same thought.

“Yes, sir, ya's right about the number of dogs we need. We don't have near enough dogs ta get us all straight ta Wrangel. An' that's why we's goin' ta set up a number of shelters stocked with food an' fuel an' gear. Those shelters will be like steppin' stones ... reachin' from here ta there. We're goin' ta use the dog teams ta mark a trail, set up an' stock the shelters. Same plan that got Peary ta the Pole. As ya know, the first of those shelters is already constructed. You've been ta it yourselves.”

“And if we decide not to be part of this?” asked Dr. Mackay. “Are you going to deny us the right to pursue our plan?”