Trapped in Ice (9 page)

“Shouldn't we be doing something?” Mother asked.

“We is, ma'am. We's waitin' for the Cap'n ta come back an' give us orders,” replied Mr. Anderson. “Mean-ways, I t'ink we should all go back ta bed an' try an' get some sleep.”

Nobody answered, but a few members of the crew started to wander away from the railing. Just then the sound of crashing ice, like distant thunder, rumbled across the ice. Everybody stopped and turned towards the horizon. The few people who had started away turned back and stood against the railings, staring out onto the dark ice, trying to imagine what we couldn't see.

We all remained on deck, watching and waiting. It was almost four in the morning when we saw the outline of a dog sled moving across the ice towards us.

It was Mr. Stefansson coming back to get us! He'd found a way off the ice and to safety. He'd come onto the ship and we'd all follow him across the ice and everything would be fine ... the hero returning to save the heroine at the darkest hour …

“Cap'n's coming in!” chimed in a voice.

I felt myself deflate. Of course it was Captain Bartlett. I put my fantasy away.

There was no place for it up here. I had to be grateful Captain Bartlett would soon tell us what was going to happen next.

People moved aft and down the stairs, onto the ice. There were now eight different ice buildings scattered around a central parade ground. In the centre a flagpole had been driven into the ice and a Union Jack hung down limply from the top. This was one of the few times it wasn't being blown about wildly by the winds.

The huskies were in teams, chained to stakes pounded into the ice. They got up and started pacing and snarling and barking at each other. They'd probably caught the scent of the returning dogs.

I walked over to a team of dogs and scratched Daisy behind the ear. She started sniffing the pockets of my parka until she found the scrap of food. I pulled out the treat and gave it to her.

Of course Daisy wasn't really her name. It was something in Inuit that meant flower but I couldn't pronounce the word, and since a daisy is my favourite flower, Michael and I called her Daisy. Kataktovick said she was a very smart dog. He always used her as his lead animal. He said of all the dogs she had the best sense when thin ice or a
fresh lead was up ahead and she'd stop. He bragged how he'd never gone into the water with her at the head of his team.

Michael said something to Daisy. I couldn't understand what he said. I looked at him quizzically.

“I was telling her that she's a pretty dog,” he said.

“It didn't sound like that to me.”

“That's because you only understand English. Kataktovick is teaching me to speak some of his language.” “He is? He's teaching you Eskimo?”

“Inuktituk is what it's called. He's teaching me some words while I'm helping him to speak more English.”

“His English is getting better,” I admitted.

“But not as fast as I'm learning his language.”

“Since when have you ever been interested in learning anything?”

“When it means something. This isn't like all that useless stuff you learn in school or in your romance novels.”

“Leave my stories alone! Besides, what makes you think this is any more useful?”

“The dogs understand Inuktituk better than English. If you want the dogs to listen, you have to know their language.”

“Don't be silly, Michael! I'm sure the dogs understand English …”

Michael barked out a guttural sound and Daisy instantly sat. Michael looked up at me with a huge smile on his face. “Guess what I just said to Daisy.”

Rather than answer I quickly turned around. He was annoying enough when he was wrong.

Captain Bartlett was riding on the back of the sled, pushing along with one foot. He was accompanied by one of the Inuit hunters, who was running beside him. They pulled to a stop in the circle of ice buildings. Kataktovick moved to the front of the team of dogs and took hold of the lines. He led the dogs away and Michael followed. People quickly surrounded the Captain and began questioning him.

“Too tired ta talk right now ... 'sides, I have ta think before answerin'. I'll answer questions ... in the morning … eight hundred hours in the galley. Everybody go ta sleep,” Captain Bartlett said.

He brushed aside people and started walking back to the ship. I tried to read the look on his face, to figure out how bad the situation was, but between the darkness and his heavy beard I couldn't see his expression clearly. He walked right up to and then by me.

“Captain Bartlett?” I called out.

He stopped and turned around to face me. “Yes, Helen?”

“Please tell me ... tell us ... what's going to happen.” He paused and removed his heavy gloves. “Fer now, nothin' will happen. First light, though, we need ta prepare.”

“Prepare for what?”

“Ta abandon ship.”

 

 

Chapter Eleven

W
E ALL WENT BACK TO OUR CABIN
and pretended to sleep. It felt strange lying in my bunk on such an awkward angle. I knew neither Mother nor Michael had fallen asleep, and I thought they knew I was still awake as well. I was far too afraid to even think that sleep was possible. After each crash I would start to count, slowly and carefully, hoping to reach a higher number each time. Instead the sounds came sooner and became louder and closer. The ship quivered and trembled repeatedly, and I felt, or imagined I felt, the ship tilting even farther over on its side. Towards the morning the noise started to fade away, and the crashes were farther and farther apart. Finally I counted and kept counting but no next crash came.

At last the ship's bells rang out, signalling eight o'clock. Wordlessly we all rose from our beds. I was relieved to see the ship had levelled out slightly. We hadn't undressed when we went to bed and my clothes felt moist and uncomfortable. We headed for the galley.

By the time we arrived, almost everyone was there. Nobody greeted us or even acknowledged we'd entered the room. There wasn't any conversation. People were just sitting, staring into their coffee cups. It was as though all their words had been used up, and judging by the piles
of plates and jumble of mugs I suspected many of the men had been here for the whole night. As always the stove was glowing with heat and the room was hot and filled with the aroma of cooking and baking. Scanning the faces of the men, I realized the only one missing was Captain Bartlett. Almost as if thinking his name made him appear, the door opened again and he walked into the room.

He strode through the crowd. Men moved aside to let him pass. He walked over to the stove, and poured himself a mug of thick, black coffee. He took a small sip and then looked around the room, as though he hadn't noticed that we had all gathered there.

Finally he spoke. “Quiet as a funeral in here. Somebody die an' not tell the Cap'n?” he chuckled.

“I don't appreciate your gallows humour, Captain Bartlett,” objected Dr. Mackay.

“I don't see any gallows,” Captain Bartlett said, taking another long sip from his mug. “Nobody has died ... an' nobody has ta die.”

The room bubbled with noise as conversations and questions erupted from every part of the room.

“Quiet,” he said and the room fell back into silence. He took another long pull from his coffee, tipping it up high. “I need ta tell ya what I know, an' thinks I know, an' what I have planned.” He turned around and refilled his mug. “First thing. As ya all pretty well figured out, we're safe for now. The ice floes have stopped grinding each other down.”

I let out a deep sigh and I could see smiles emerge from across the room, even though I didn't think it was really news to anybody except for maybe me and Michael.

“But ... that doesn't mean we're safe for more than now. Sooner, more likely than later, this ship'll be goin' down. An' that means we have ta take ta the ice and sled our way ta safety.”

“That is totally ridiculous!” objected Dr. Murray. “Are you suggesting we take all our scientific equipment by sled to Herschel Island?” He was an oceanographer and his equipment filled a large section in the hold of the ship.

“No, sir, I'm not. First off, we can't take any scientific equipment …”

“I will not just abandon my equipment! You have no authority to order me to abandon my equipment.”

“I have total authority, sir. I am both the Cap'n of this ship an' the leader of this expedition …”

“Temporary leader … only in Mr. Stefansson's absence,” interrupted Dr. Mackay.

The Captain took another sip from his coffee. I'd heard the scientists grumbling before this. They were prepared to let Captain Bartlett be the temporary leader of the expedition, but as it became more obvious that Mr. Stefansson was not able to return, they were less pleased to follow his leadership.

“Is there any man here fool enough ta believe Mr. Stefansson will be returning?” Captain Bartlett asked.

There was no answer and many turned their eyes to the floor.

“Good! At least we all know the truth. An' as long as I'm leadin' this party my orders will be followed. Understand?”

There was a heavy, explosive silence as everybody waited for a reply.

“I am certain Mr. Stefansson will not support your plan and you will suffer the consequences when we finally arrive at Herschel Island, Captain,” Dr. Murray threatened.

“Herschel Island is not our destination,” Captain Bartlett answered.

“What do you mean? Mr. Stefansson will be waiting for us there and expect us to continue our expedition,” thundered Mr. Beauchat.

“Our goal, sir, is stayin' alive. Nothin' more, an' nothin' less. We want ta live. We can't reach Herschel. Each day we sit here in the ice, the ice keeps movin'. Twenty ta forty miles west, each day, farther away from Herschel. Is that not so, Dr. Murray?”

Dr. Murray looked uncomfortable, as if he didn't want to confirm what had just been asked.

“Is it not true, Dr. Murray?” the Captain repeated.

“I'm afraid so. My readings indicate movement in that amount, daily, depending on the ocean currents.”

“Sledding tawards the east, even if ya could travel forty miles in a day, which no man here can, would just keep us in the same place. We have ta head ta the west.”

“To the west! There's nothing to the west but open ocean.”

“Siberia,” Captain Bartlett said quietly. “We have ta cross the ice ... find land ... an' the only land we're going ta find is tawards Siberia.”

“And do you suggest we leave right away?” asked Dr. Mackay.

“No gain. Ship's movin' where we want ta go. We have ta stay with her as long as she stays with us. There's always a chance, somehow, she'll stay afloat.”

“As you are aware, Captain Bartlett, Dr. Mackay and I travelled by sled halfway across the Antarctic with Sir Ernest Shackleton. We covered much greater distances than our present position is from the shore,” said Dr. Murray.

“Yep. Quite an accomplishment it was, sir, truly. I am a great admirer of Sir Ernest, an' appreciate your expertise with dog an' sled. Your daring an' determination was truly inspirational.”

“Very kind of you, Captain,” Dr. Murray replied.

“An' I know when the time is right we're goin' ta be countin' on the two of ya very heavily for that expertise. But the thing here is that ya don't have any land under your feet. Between us an' land is plenty of open water an' shiftin' ice pans. Experienced men such as the two of ya might make it, but ya might not. 'Sides, I have to think of the lives of all the party. Do ya really want ta take young Michael or Helen 'cross the shiftin' ice?”

I felt all the eyes in the galley swing around and focus on Michael and me.

“Of course not, good man, but as you yourself stated, across the ice is our only escape.”

“That's God's truth, sir. But, because I have ta travel the ice doesn't mean I can't travel it smartly. Firstly, as we sits here talkin', we're driftin' in the right direction. I'd rather move sittin' here drinking my coffee than on the back of a sled. Second, each day the ice gets thicker and safer ta travel on. Thirdly, this trip will take upwards of five weeks on the open ice and we have ta wait till the temperature rises an' the sun returns. Come late November we won't be seeing a sunrise till some time in February.”

“February! Are you proposing that we don't take to the ice for three months!” shouted Mr. Beauchat.

The Captain rose from his seat and walked over to Mr. Beauchat. He placed a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, over three months, if the ship'll hold us. If she sinks we're goin' ta have ta take ta the ice sooner, but I can't see travellin' till mid-February.”

“You cannot expect us to simply wait here for three months doing nothing!”

“Nobody'll be just waitin'. We have ta work, and work hard if we're ta live ta see the shore.”

“But you yourself have said this ship may not last more than a few days,” said Dr. Mackay.

“That's right, Doctor, an' that's why our first job is ta move all supplies, 'specially food an' fuel, off the ship.”

“That is preposterous!” Dr. Murray objected. “There must be tons of fuel alone.”

“Twelve tons of coal, nearly forty cases of gasoline an' five barrels of alcohol. Wish we had us some more ... not ta mention more time. As it is, each man, an' woman an' child, will be workin' harder than they ever have in their lives. If there are no more questions, it's best we put our noses ta the wheel an' begin.”

 

 

Chapter Twelve

November 28, 1913

Dear Diary,

I know it's been over a week since my last entry but I just haven't been able to do any writing. Partly it's because I've been so busy doing other things. As well, I guess because Mother has been even busier, she hasn't had time to remind me to write. The main reason though is that at the end of the day I'm just too tired to write. Working out in the cold drains away all my strength and makes my body ache all over. I've worked harder than I ever have in my life. Michael and I have to do the same work as the men. It's hard and the cold seems to draw the life right out of you and you get so tired so fast. I guess it doesn't help that we're bundled up in so many layers of clothing. Mother made me a pair of trousers like the men and I wear them whenever I go outside. As well, I keep tripping over my oversized mukluks which are now filled with layer upon layer of socks. Even with all of that, it still doesn't work. Whenever we're outside my feet get all tingly and numb and then when they start to thaw out it makes me cry in pain. A couple of times I've picked up my pen to start to write and my hands have been aching too much. I've just stopped and crawled into my sleeping sack.