Trapped in Ice (18 page)

“It's all right,” I said, stroking him with the hand that wasn't pinning him in place.

His ears were flattened down and his tail whipped back and forth angrily.

“I don't know why you're so upset. You're the only one who doesn't have to walk,” I said.

I pushed against him and slipped my hand out of the container, relatching it. He'd be fine in there ... unless of
course the sled went through the ice. But that was no different than for any of us.

The two smaller komatiks started to move. I heard the cry of the men driving the dogs forward and watched as the animals, two komatiks and six men took off across the ice. They were going on ahead. Their goal was to reach the first shelter, drop off their supplies and come back to help take part of our loads. I watched them until they disappeared into the distance. I was always struck by how big the Arctic was, how it could just swallow somebody up and make them vanish.

“How ya doin' taday, Helen?”

I turned around. “I'm fine, sir. How are you?”

Captain Bartlett smiled and chuckled softly. “It wasn't me dancin' with a polar bear. How's the ribs? How's your breathin'?”

“Everything's fine, sir, no problem at all,” I lied, not wanting him to know I still felt a tenderness. I wasn't exactly sure why I didn't want people to know I still wasn't completely right yet. I guess in part I was afraid to tell the Captain, thinking that maybe he'd delay things until I was more ready, and knowing we couldn't afford to wait any longer.

I also remembered one of the stories Mr. Hadley had told us about how the Inuit abandon the old and dying on the ice. I had terrible illogical thoughts that if I was too sick to go on, I could be left behind to die.

The Captain walked towards the two sleds and everybody who had been scattered or talking fell silent. We stood around him on all sides. He pulled back his hood to reveal a tangle of dark hair, tinged with streaks of grey.

There had been no grey when we set sail from Vancouver.

“Can we all bow our heads for a prayer,” he said softly.

The men tipped back their hoods and removed their hats. We all bowed our heads.

“Dear God up in heaven. I want ta thank ya for the blessin's ya have provided for us all. Ta thank ya for keepin' us safe an' warm an' protected in your love an' for grantin' us this test of our faith. I pray that ya be with us in our journey across the ice like ya was for the children of Israel in their travels through the desert an' that we too can find the promised land. Amen.”

“Amen,” we echoed back. Hats and hoods were repositioned to protect us from the cold. I picked up a lead and tied it to my waist. At the Captain's request, Mother had made a series of leather leads that would be attached to the sleds. We would use these to harness ourselves to the sleds in order to pull the loads. We all had to help because there was too much weight and not enough dogs to do the work.

“Helen!” the Captain called. I looked up at him. “Untie the lead. You're ta walk here beside me.”

“But everybody has to pull!”

He fixed me with an angry, evil eye, and I regretted speaking back to him. I pulled off my gloves and clumsily tried to undo the knot. He walked over and finished untying the lead.

“Ya have ta listen ta your Captain, lassie.”

I blinked back tears. “I just want to help, like everybody else.”

“Everybody else wasn't squashed like a bug by a bear. Understand?”

I nodded.

“Good, good. Now, I just want ya ta stay close beside me. Tell me one of your stories ... maybe one about the South Seas or some such place. It'll make the travellin' lighter. Tell it so I can feel the warm tropical wind blowin'.”

 

I
T DIDN'T TAKE LONG
for me to be grateful I wasn't pulling the sled. My legs began aching, and not just from the cold. Each step was an effort. The ice was mostly solid but at times I sank down into depressions where the snow was piled deep. I could see the strain etched on the faces of the others. Just as I thought I couldn't go on another step, we stopped for lunch.

The sleds were placed close together in a line to block the wind. We ate pieces of hardtack, washed down with a thin, hot soup Cookie made. The soup traced out a path down my throat and into my stomach. It felt like the only parts of me that weren't made of solid ice.

Throughout the day I was reassured each time we passed one of the little red flags. It didn't just mean we were on the right route but somehow it seemed safer to know somebody had come before us, that we weren't the first people on this vast sea of ice.

I touched my lips softly with the end of my tongue. They stung terribly. The skin on the bottom lip was almost completely gone. Mother had put on a salve to protect it but it still hurt tremendously.

For the most part we moved along clean ice, following the marked trail. A couple of times we were stopped by pressure ridges and the men had to widen the path with
pickaxes so that the bigger sleds could pass through. I was thankful for the rest while the men worked.

It was just after two o'clock when I spotted the advance party coming back to help us with our load. Some of our supplies were transferred to their two empty komatiks. We'd now be able to move much faster. It was important to get to the shelters before the last warmth of the sunlight drained away.

 

O
N REACHING THE SHELTERS
I felt such a sense of relief I thought I was going to cry. I needed to get inside and away from the relentless wind. I crawled into one of the shelters, slumped down on the ice and closed my eyes. I didn't even wait until they unloaded my things.

Soon I heard voices and sat up. Jonnie was pulling in my bag and sleeping sack. I got up to help him.

“I was just coming out to get them.”

“T'ought I'd save ya the work. 'Sides, just 'cause we's up 'ere don't mean a man can't be no gentleman.”

“Thank you, very much. Thank you.”

“You straighten out this stuff while's I go an' get the rest,” Jonnie said, and disappeared down the tunnel.

Soon every part of my body, except my face, was hidden inside my sleeping sack. I was atop a makeshift bed of two caribou skins placed over my skis. This got me up off the ice, if only an inch. It was a lot more comfortable than I expected, but after a march like today's, anything would seem comfortable.

I laughed out loud as Figaro shifted around and his tail tickled my face. He was happy to be free of his little case. He settled back down into a ball and his body felt
warm against my chest. Warm and reassuring. The Captain insisted he sleep with me. He said he was “darn tired of that stinkin' feline hoggin' my bed,” but I knew better.

I could hear the rhythmic breathing of people sleeping in the dark all around me. There were eight of us in the shelter and our body heat warmed up the room. It was still below freezing, but much better than outside.

My lungs hadn't bothered me at all today. I hoped tomorrow I could do my share; at least take some turns pulling the sled. It wasn't fair for me to just walk while others pulled the food I'd be eating and the fuel that would warm me. But that was tomorrow. Tonight I needed to get to sleep.

I had just fallen asleep when I was awakened by a sound. At first I couldn't tell if it was the wind. Then it became louder and clearer. Somebody was sobbing. They were trying to control it, probably muffling the noise in their sleeping sack, but the sound was still escaping. I knew it wasn't Michael or Mother. It was one of the men.

The sobbing continued, but I knew nobody would try to comfort the poor soul. Tomorrow he'd rise and do the things he had to do to survive, and we'd all pretend it hadn't happened.

 

H
ELPING TO HAUL
the sled might have been fair, but I found out just how difficult it really was. As the day wore on, it seemed to get harder and harder. I could feel the strain in my legs and my back and they were aching. It was a different ache from the one caused by the cold,
which was always there, a dull numbing deep in the bones and muscles and joints. More than once I had to fight the desire to sit down on the ice. Each step was so heavy, I just wanted to quit, but I knew I couldn't. I had to keep moving. In only a few hours we'd reach the next set of shelters.

Once again we were following the path plotted by the advance parties. Little red markers fluttered in the ice at regular intervals. So far today I'd counted eighteen, which meant we'd travelled more than nine miles. The two crews, with the dogs and komatiks, had left before us in the morning and had beaten down a narrow path through the new pressure ridges in the ice.

It seemed much more rough today, although it might have just felt that way because I was pulling. There were pressure ridges every few hundred yards. Many of them were only two or three feet high but a few towered over our heads. And, of course, the biggest ridges all seemed to lie directly in our line of travel. The sleds came to a stop at the base of a large ridge. The men broke out the pickaxes and started to widen the path, which was big enough for the komatiks but too narrow for our sleds.

I watched them chip away and welcomed the rest, although I knew we didn't have time for this. Whether we were sitting or sledding, the sun moved relentlessly across the sky. It was more that halfway through its journey, but we weren't halfway to the shelters.

I was also worried that the two crews hadn't come back yet. By this time yesterday they'd returned and were helping us to pull the load. I stood up as the men put the pickaxes back on the sleds.

Wordlessly people fell into place. I picked up a line, right beside Michael, and, on command, we all started pulling. Slowly the sled moved up the long incline.

 

A
FTER SOME TIME
, Jonnie yelled out, “Look!” and pointed up ahead.

We all stopped pulling. I could see two teams of dogs. They had just come around a high mound of snow and were almost on top of us.

Watching them, I was again struck by the irrational thought it was Stefansson coming back to save us. Almost as good, though. It was our advance teams returning, and we needed the help. I was afraid we'd have to make our way over the last part of the ice in darkness.

“Thank goodness,” I said, to nobody in particular.

“Don't know nothin' for sure, but I don't t'ink there's much goodness ta be 'ad 'ere,” replied Jonnie.

“What do you mean? They're coming back to help us.” “Ya's half right. They's comin' back but I don't t'ink they's goin' ta be 'elpin' much.”

“I don't understand,” I replied in confusion.

“Look at the komatiks. Still loaded. They 'aven't dropped their supplies.”

I looked at the approaching parties. He was right. The fully loaded komatiks came to a stop and the dogs collapsed onto the ice. They were breathing heavily, their tongues hanging out. It was obvious they'd been driven hard. I walked over to the Captain. Samuel Clements, the advance party leader, stopped directly in front of the Captain.

“Sir, we was hopin' ta get ta ya afore this. We didn't want ya all ta have ta travel so far an' then have ta turn around.”

“Turn around? Make sense, Mr. Clements,” snapped the Captain.

“No choice, Cap'n. An ice ridge has come up. Big one, right 'cross our way.”

“Big? How big is she?”

“Over a hundred feet tall. We split up, tried ta find a way 'round it. It don't stop ... it just don't stop.”

“How far ahead?”

“A little more than a mile.”

“Take the lead. I'll be followin',” ordered Captain Bartlett.

“But Cap'n, we can't be wastin' no more time …we gotta head back ta the last shelters.”

“Head back? What do ya mean head back?”

“We've gotta go back ta the last shelters, afore it gets dark.”

“We can't go back,” Captain Bartlett said quietly.

“But we 'ave ta go back, Cap'n ... we have ta be findin' shelter ... we 'ave ta turn back!” Clements started yelling. His voice was frantic.

“There's nothin' for us ta go back ta, Mr. Clements.”

“The shelters!” he screamed. “We 'ave ta go back ta the shelters!” Bartlett grabbed him roughly by the shoulders. “Stop, Mr. Clements!”

“But Cap'n, ya don't understand ... we gotta go back ... we gotta go back …” His voice trailed off, and he collapsed onto the Captain's shoulder. I could hear him whimper softly.

The Captain spoke quietly, so quietly I could hardly make out his voice. “Mr. Clements ... Samuel ... there
isn't anythin' for us ta go back ta ... behind us is nothin' but ice ... an' death ... We move forward ... or we die ... do ya understand?”

“Yes, Cap'n ... I'm sorry, Cap'n ... it's just that …” “No need, son, no need ... it's okay ... it's fine,” the Captain said softly.

Mr. Clements regained his composure and the komatiks were turned around. We hauled hard to try to keep up with them. After about fifteen minutes I looked up and caught sight of the pressure ridge. From a distance it didn't look that big. Then I saw the two sleds at its foot. They were dwarfed. A mountain of ice loomed up between us and our goal.

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Three

W
E'D SPENT THE NIGHT
huddled together in three small ice shelters. It was amazing how quickly they'd been built. Under the directions of Kataktovick and the other Inuit everybody had worked together, even Michael and I. At first we'd started to build them right at the foot of the ice cliff, but the Captain ordered them to be rebuilt a hundred yards back. He didn't want the ice to crash down on top of us while we slept. As it was, we didn't have a very good night's sleep. All night long the ice “talked” loudly. The gigantic ice plates that had come together to form the pressure ridge were still pressing hard, and probably pushing the ridge higher as we slept.