“We're so sorry to hear of your wife's passing. She was a dear soul.”
“I hear your daughter's sick as well. Give her our wishes for a speedy recovery.”
“She'll be missed, certain. 'Twarn't no one like Catharine Thorndike. She could bake the best green-currant pie in Massachusetts. Shame she didn't give me her recipe.”
“Rest assured, Ebenezer, she's in a better place.”
I could practically hear the old man's teeth grind, sensing his impatience to be rid of everyone even as he offered his visitors more hot tea.
Sure enough, after four days of visits, he ordered us to up anchor and head north, saying he was sick of sharing every whale chase with every ship ever built, sick of them all. We sailed in the company of the Merimont, whose captain was said to be Thorndike's good friend from way back when.
I hadn't told Dexter what I'd done. Where I'd been and what I'd heard. But he looked at me as if he knew anyways. Caution blazed in his eyes as if he were a lighthouse warning an unwary ship away from the rocks. I always turned away, pretending I didn't notice. Just because you're older doesn't mean you know every-thing. Besides, you wouldn't understand.
Hoping for a glimpse of Elizabeth, I traded crow's nest duty for helmsman's duty whenever someone was willing, throwing in a plug of tobacco or a plum duff every now and then to sweeten the deal. For two hours at a stretch, I followed Thorndike's orders. Most times he stood at the foremast crow's nest, spyglass to his eye, hollering from aloft through a middleman: “Steady!” “Starboard!” “Luff! Luff!” “Steady now!” as we steered between the ice floes. Dangerous work it was. By the end of a two-hour shift, my stomach was in knots and I was sore disappointed that I hadn't seen Elizabeth. Was she better? Was she dying?
Meanwhile, we sailed with the Merimont between St. Lawrence Island and the mainland. We anchored for a time in St. Lawrence Bay along the Siberian coast. As a thick fog settled round us, natives came aboard to trade. They were short, chunky people, smiling, with brown eyes and straight black hair, smelling of grease. They offered furs and ivory in trade for tobacco. All the natives chewed and smoked tobacco—even the children. I imagined Aunt Agatha having an absolute conniption if she saw such goings-on. (I'd secretly tried chewing tobacco once, but after choking and turning green as seaweed decided it was better to get rid of it altogether.) I traded one plug of tobacco for a rein-deer fur and another for a walrus tusk.
That evening in the fo'c'sle, as I began to carve my tusk, Briggs was going on and on about how the natives were filthy beasts, how you could smell them before you could see them. How they were stupid and no-account and hardly better than ani-mals. How if it weren't for us Yankees, they would have remained savages forever. We were doing them a favor, he said. Dexter told Briggs to shut up, that he was sick of hearing Briggs' whiny voice, that there was no one on earth smellier and stupider than Briggs himself. Of course, they went at it hammer and tongs. But I couldn't help wondering if maybe Briggs was right, for I discovered the natives had sold me a broken walrus tusk, cleverly repaired with rivets and smoothed over with seal fat.
I'd been cheated.
While the ship was stuck in the fog, the mates kept us busy. We spliced worn-out rigging, scraped rust from anchors and chains, made fresh sets of ratlines, and scrubbed the latrines. Every day, regardless of how cold it was, barefooted, pants rolled up, armed with scrub brooms, we swabbed the decks as the mates sloshed bucketfuls of icy seawater in front of us, telling us to look lively or the captain would warm our hides the hard way.
Often, melting our middles like butter on a hot griddle, we'd hear Garret singing as he sharpened his lances and irons, oiling them till they glistened. Garret had a warm, rich voice, perfect for ballads, and it made our work seem bearable, made it seem as if one day we'd all be home, with money in our pockets, never cold again.
One day, our watch was tarring the standing rigging when Irish jabbed my ribs. He winked, put a finger to his mouth for silence, and pointed. There, snoozing like a babe atop the fore hatch, was Briggs, his bucket of tar beside him. I nudged Dexter, who stopped midwhistle, a right devilish grin spreading across his face. Then, with a wink at me and Irish, Dexter crept over and gingerly smeared tar on Briggs' nose and cheeks. Briggs mum-bled, snorted, and rolled over, getting right comfy once again. The three of us quickly got to tarring, trying hard not to split our sides while looking industrious and innocent.
Suddenly, Briggs' eyes popped open. Like a corpse rising from the grave, he sat up straight, touching the tar on his cheeks, his nose. His eyes narrowed when he spied us tarring the rigging so innocent-like. He jumped to his feet. “Why, you—”
“Ah, shut yer fat gob,” muttered Irish.
“You—you tarred me!”
“Tell it to someone who cares,” said Dexter. “The captain, maybe.”
“Gee whittaker,” I couldn't help blurting, “you look real nice, Briggs.”
Just then, Thorndike stepped out from behind the tryworks, his pipe clamped between his teeth.
hat's going on here?” demanded Thorndike.
Briggs pointed at us. “They tarred me!”
“And how do ye suppose they did that?”
Briggs blinked, and his lip twitched.
“Uh—I—uh—”
“Ye were sleeping on watch, weren't ye?”
“Uh—I—no—”
“What, ye just let them tar your face?”
“No, sir, I—” Briggs' words evaporated like water in the hot sun. His eyes widened as Thorndike took hold of the tar brush and began smearing tar all over Briggs. And not just his cheeks and nose, but his ears, his hair, his face, his mouth …
“Sir, sir, please stop.”
“Shut your mouth, sailor.”
“I can't breathe. It's hot, it's hot!”
“I said shut your mouth.”
Meanwhile, Irish, Dexter, and I were tarring like crazy, as if we'd never dream of sleeping on watch, or globbing someone's face with tar. My knees shook, and the Arctic air suddenly seemed hot.
After tarring every bit of Briggs' skin, Thorndike kicked him on his backside. Briggs tumbled to his knees.
“Bread and water for the next week, sailor, for sleeping on watch. Now go clean yourself up, you sorry waste of skin.”
To my relief, Thorndike turned and left, the thunk of his heavy boots moving aft. The three of us glanced at one another. This wasn't exactly what we'd planned. Irish hesitated and then went to help Briggs.
“Leave me alone!” Briggs screamed when Irish touched him. He stumbled to his feet and, after blindly searching for the fo'c'sle companionway, disappeared below.
It took Briggs two days to clean himself of tar. He shaved his hair completely, and his skin turned a bright crusty red that blended nice with his pimples. To my surprise, though, he never said anything about it; didn't throw cockroaches at me anymore, elbow my temple in the rigging, or go at it hammer and tongs with Dexter. He just did his work, tight-lipped and alone, and he didn't lie down for any more snoozes, either. We all agreed we liked him better this way.
“Tarred the snot out of him,” said Dexter.
In late June when the fog lifted, we raised anchor and beat our way north through the Bering Strait under double-reefed top-sails. The wind howled as it ripped through the narrow strip of water, funneled between two masses of land. Screeching birds circled the rocky cliffs of the nearby islands. Whenever I lay in my bunk now, cold air swirling round the fo'c'sle, I curled under my reindeer fur and dreamed of home, mourning the loss of the carved tooth my father had given me (I'd lost it on the day of my flogging) and wondering if Elizabeth was still alive, my chest aching with the desire to see her again.
Then, one day, when a gale came screaming out of the north, we lost Irish overboard. One moment he was beside me, standing on the footrope of the main topgallant yard, and the next he wasn't.
Gone.
Those below saw him fall, cartwheeling through the air. They hove to and lower
ed a boat into the crashing waves, but it was too late. I saw him thrashing in the water, but when they cast him a life buoy, he couldn't grasp it. Hands too frozen, they told me later. Body paralyzed with cold. While I watched from the yard, horrified, Irish sank beneath the sea.
Gone.
We held a little ceremony. We were surprised to learn that Irish's real name was Sean Donovan. We said a prayer and sang some hymns. Afterward, the order was given to “brace up and haul aft!” and soon the Sea Hawk sailed by the wind again. It was back to business. As if Sean Donovan had never lived. As if Sean Donovan had never walked the decks, slid out on a footrope, or taken a trick at the wheel.
Death was that way, at sea.
I snugged my woolen cap over my head and yanked my collar up round my neck. I squinted in the bright sun, the wind stealing my breath away in cloudy snatches.
It was now my trick at the wheel, so I walked behind Dexter and took hold of the spokes the way I'd been taught.
“Full and by,” said Dexter as he moved away.
“Full and by,” I repeated, aware that the second mate listened to be sure I had repeated the ship's heading correctly. We sailed north of the Bering Strait, occasionally chasing a polar whale, still with no luck, although the Merimont had caught three. We cruised first one way, then another, with no particular direction in mind, on the lookout twenty-four hours a day, since the sun didn't set in these parts in July.
“Full and by!” barked the second mate in my ear.
I jumped and spun the wheel to starboard. “Full and by, sir!” I cried. I brought her to, and the sails tightened.
“Steady as she goes,” said the second mate.
“Steady as she goes, sir!”
Ten minutes later, Captain Thorndike came up on deck, leading Elizabeth by the arm. I near swallowed my tonsils. Elizabeth!
She looked pale, thin as a heron's leg. Dressed thick in a coat of reindeer fur and boots of sealskin, no doubt purchased from the natives. She peeped at me from behind a hood fringed with wolverine, giving me a smile so slight I didn't think anyone else would know it was meant to be a smile, but I knew. Prince Albert twined about her ankles, mewing.
She sat upon the deck chair offered by the second mate, told her father she was just fine, thank you very much, and submitted to having a blanket tucked round her neck, after which the old man disappeared below again. Prince Albert jumped onto Elizabeth's lap just as Cook brought her a mug of hot chocolate. She removed her deerskin mittens and wrapped her slender fin-gers round the mug as wisps of steam curled into the crisp air. My mouth watered at the warm, rich smell of chocolate.
Second Mate Walker straightened from holding Elizabeth's chair and glanced at me. He strode over with a purpose and said quietly in a hard tone, “Keep your eyes straight ahead, sailor. Remember your duties and your course.”
I tore my gaze away from Elizabeth, realizing I'd let the ship fall off. Don't that beat all! I thought as I brought the ship to. Elizabeth is recovered! A warm feeling grew from my toes to my nose and I wanted to leap for joy.
Just then, a cry came from the foremast crow's nest. “Ice ahead, sir!”
“Where away?” shouted the second mate.
“Everywhere, sir! And covered with strange beasts, sir!”
Captain Thorndike bounded up the companionway ladder, his face emotionless beneath his gray-streaked beard. After gazing through his glass, he said, “Walruses.” He strode to the fore-mast to guide us through the ice.
They smelled like pigs, the walruses. Their stink curled my nose worse than Dexter's dirty underdrawers. Piled atop the melting ice floes lay hundreds, maybe thousands of the beasts, bellowing, trumpeting, snorting. As the Sea Hawk drew near, they lifted their massive heads to peer at us with tiny bloodshot eyes. The bulls were massive, their tusks up to a yard in length, their whiskers like bristle brushes. Fat, round calves nursed from the cows, pulling away to stare at us, their mouths milky white.
“They're amazing,” breathed Elizabeth.
I hadn't realized she was beside me, but aye, she now stood at my elbow. Everyone on the ship seemed mesmerized by the walruses, so no one noticed the captain's daughter standing next to me. Except me, that is. Even over the stench of walruses, I smelled a hint of lilacs.
“Maybe we'll fetch a whale today,” Elizabeth said softly. “It would be nice to fill our hold and go home. I swear I hate this place. It's wretched and lonely with Mother gone. I miss her.”
Just as I was about to tell her how sorry I was about her mother, Prince Albert leapt atop the rail. I'd seen him do it many a time before and hadn't given it a thought. Today, though, he suddenly became a blur of claws and legs, scrabbling for balance.
Then, with a howl, eyes huge, he slid over the edge and dis-appeared.
“Albert!” shrieked Elizabeth. She rushed to the rail. “Albert!”
I heard splashing. Howls. The walruses erupted in a chorus of bellowing, diving off the ice floes.
“Nick!” Elizabeth screamed, her face stricken. “Lower a boat!”
“Belay that order!” barked Captain Thorndike, striding aft.
“You'll stay at the helm and keep the ship on course as ordered, sailor!”
I nodded, speechless.
“But Father, he's drowning!”
“Walker! Take over at the foremast.”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
“Steady as she goes,” said Thorndike calmly. He faced for-ward, clasped his hands behind his back, and looked straight ahead.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Elizabeth staring at her father, her eyes round with disbelief. Then, before I knew what was happening, Elizabeth shrugged out of her fur coat, climbed over the rail, and jumped overboard, her white dress and blond hair billowing upward as she disappeared.
lizabeth!” I screamed, leaving the wheel and starting for the rail.
Behind me, I heard shouts. “Man over-board! Man overboard!” “Hard down!” “Let go the life buoy!”
Suddenly, Thorndike was in front of me. “Back to your station, helmsman! Hard down the wheel! That's an order!” I tried to move round him, to reach the rail, to save Elizabeth, but before I could even blink he smashed me upside my jaw, his fist hard as a brick. I spun with the impact and collapsed to the deck.
My vision swam. I tasted blood. Elizabeth! Before I could get my feet under me, Thorndike hauled me to my feet and set me before the wheel. “Hard down!”
Then he was gone, and Garret was there helping me turn the wheel.
“Let flow the head sheets!” Cole ordered. “Haul in spanker boom….”
I shook my head to clear the dizziness, stunned with the pain in my jaw. I heard the rattle of blocks and the splash of a boat hit-ting the water. Mainsail aback, the Sea Hawk finally drifted to a stop.
“You okay?” whispered Garret.
I nodded, still unable to speak.
“They're fetching Elizabeth, don't you worry none.”
Then, from the sea, I heard crying. Coughing. “He's gone. Albert's gone. You let him die. I hate you! You're a horrid father!”
A silence settled, thick as fog. Beside me, Garret shifted his feet, cleared his throat. After a moment, a bo'sun's chair was low-ered, and Elizabeth was brought aboard. Hair in strings, lips blue, teeth chattering, dripping wet, she disentangled herself from the bo'sun's chair and, without a word to anyone, went below. One by one, several men, including Dexter and Thorndike, clambered over the ship's side and onto the deck.
Thorndike was breathing hard, his scar a vivid purple, his face like a gathering storm. “Cook, make Miss Elizabeth some tea, or some hot chocolate. Blood and thunder, I don't care what you make her.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Duff, stoke the stove in the cabin and bring her some dry towels.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Cole, man the mastheads.”
“Aye, sir.” Then, still breathing hard, he strode toward me while removing the pistol from his holster. Light flashed as he
swung the pistol, bashing the side of my skull. I crumpled to the deck, my bones turned to noodles. I saw stars and legs all round me.
“What use is a helmsman,” Thorndike was screaming, “if he can't follow orders?”
I felt a sharp kick in my ribs.
Not again. I groaned. I hate this ship. I despise Thorndike. He's a monster….
Another kick. Another. Then I heard the sound of a hammer being cocked on a pistol.
“Uh, Captain—” Dexter said.
I heard the captain breathing hard, the puff and bellow of walruses, the bleat of little Ninny. I saw brogans scraping the deck. Feet shifting. Felt everyone staring at me while hot blood pooled in my ear.
Then came the cry, “There she blo-o-o-ows!”
“Where away?”
“Broad off the lee beam, sir! Several of them, sir!”
The captain released a long breath. “Into the boats, boys, and after them. We've got whales to catch.”
“Remember a while back when we spent two days ashore in our whaleboat?” Dexter whispered. “When we couldn't find our way back to the ship until the fog lifted?”
It was the day after my pistol-whipping. I lay in my bunk, my hatred of Thorndike like rat poison in my mouth. I'd been crazy to ever feel sorry for that man. My head roared. The upper bunk spun. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth to stop its spinning. “Aye.”
“Next time that happens, we'll wait for everyone to fall asleep, and then we'll take off. They won't take the time to find us. We'll cover our tracks.”
I groaned. “I think I'm going to throw up.”
Dexter thrust a bucket into my hands. Nothing but dry heaves. A glob of spit. Afterward, I lay back on my bunk. “What about Elizabeth?”
“Face it, Nick, you'll never see her again. At least not on this voyage. Word has it the old man's locked her in her cabin and she won't see the light of day until we're home in New Bedford.”
Voyage of Ice Page 7
