The White South

by Hammond Innes

  After the meal Nordahl had had a few drinks and then worked for half an hour in the office. A good deal of his time was spent in the office—not only was it necessary for him to supervise the checking of stores and the supply of fuel, stores and equipment to the catchers and towing ships, but also to keep an eye on the entry of whale brought in and handled, since all the men got a share, over and above their pay. The outfit was run on what amounted to a co-partnership basis. Young Bland wasn’t much help to him here as he had insufficient knowledge. In fact, Nordahl bore the whole weight of management, both as regards policy and detail. The secretary said that he was very tired at the end of the day. He was sixty-two years old and the burden of decision and administrative detail must have been considerable.

  After leaving the office, Nordahl went up on to the bridge. He stayed there for a short time, talking to the officer of the watch. The half light of the Antarctic summer night had fallen. But shortly after Nordahl left the bridge a bank of fog rolled up.

  Leaving the bridge, Nordahl had gone as far as was known straight to Eide’s cabin. There he’d had two drinks—that made about half a dozen he’d had during the evening, and he was a man with a big capacity for liquor.

  Captain Eide, who then gave evidence, said that he had seemed perfectly normal. “But he was tired, you know,” he added. “There had been trouble between him and Erik Bland. I must say it—since it may have a bearing on his state of mind—Bland did not know enough about the job. On the other hand, the trouble was not by any means all Bland’s fault. Nordahl did not like him and he took no trouble to conceal his dislike. Also he was impatient. He made no allowance for Bland’s inexperience.”

  “Was there open trouble between them?” I asked.

  Captain Eide shook his head. “I do not think so. Bland always treated the manager with the respect that was his due—even when he was provoked. But there were those messages to Colonel Bland. Things like that have a way of getting round a ship. The Tönsberg men supported Nordahl and most of the Sandefjord men sided with Bland. It did not make for smooth running.”

  “And Nordahl took most of Bland’s work on his own shoulders?” I suggested.

  “Ja. That is so.”

  “And you think this was too much for him? He was overtired?”

  Eide nodded.

  After leaving Eide’s cabin Nordahl had gone to the wireless room. He was there talking to the Chief Wireless Officer till shortly after midnight.

  I then called Kyrre, who had been officer of the watch during the period Nordahl must have disappeared. He had come on watch at midnight. The ship was stationary and blanketed in fog. The navigation lights of the ships riding astern of her were not visible. Nothing unusual happened throughout his watch. After he had been on watch about half an hour the fog suddenly lifted and visibility increased to several miles. I asked him whether he had heard a cry or a splash. No, he had noticed nothing unusual. Had he seen Nordahl or anyone that might possibly have been Nordahl up on the deck? But he’d seen nothing. “The fog, she was very thick. I could see nothing beyond the bridge.”

  “And about twelve-thirty the fog lifted and visibility was good?”

  “Ja”

  “If Nordahl had gone overboard then he would have been seen?”

  “That is so. I was out on the bridge all watch, and there was the lookout.”

  It was clear, therefore, that Nordahl must have gone overboard between the time he had left the wireless room and just after twelve-thirty when the fog lifted.

  Finally I called Erik Bland. I nodded to a chair and he sat down. He was frowning slightly and his eyes were screwed up so that they were small, like his father’s. I was conscious again of the similarity in appearance and the dissimilarity in character. He seemed nervous. “There’s only one question I want to ask you, Bland,” I said. “Nordahl left Captain Eide’s cabin shortly after ten-thirty on the night of 2nd January. Did he visit you at all?”

  “No. I had a few words with him during the evening meal.” His eyes flicked towards Judie and he gave a slight shrug to his shoulders. “I never saw him again.”

  “Had you had a row with him?” It was Judie who put the question, and I remember the feeling of shock caused by the blunt way she put the question and the hardness of her voice.

  Bland hestitated. “Do I have to answer that question?” he asked me.

  It was clear he was trying to save her unnecessary pain, but I had no alternative. “I’m afraid so,” I said.

  He looked at her then and said, “Yes. You know as well as I do we couldn’t get on together. It wasn’t the first row we’d had.”

  “What was it about?” Judie’s voice was drained of any emotion.

  “Nothing. Just a difference of opinion about the promotion of a certain man.”

  “As assistant manager your duty surely was to assist my father, not to obstruct him?”

  “I wasn’t obstructing him.” His voice was pitched a shade higher. “Listen, Judie—your father and I didn’t get on. Leave it at that, can’t you? I had nothing to do with his death.”

  “Nobody is suggesting you had,” I said.

  He looked at me quickly. His face was paler now and there were beads of sweat on his forehead. “No? Then what is she driving at? And she’s not the only one. Larvik and Petersen are spreading the idea through the ship—and the Tönsberg men will believe anything they say. Everyone on the ship knows Nordahl and I couldn’t get on together. What they don’t know is the reason.” He turned back to Judie. “Your father did everything he could to make things difficult for me. I was new to the job, yet he couldn’t have been more impatient with me over my mistakes if I’d been on as many expeditions as he had.”

  “I don’t believe it.” Judie’s voice was sharp and uncompromising.

  “Whether you believe it or not, it’s true. He wanted to put me in a position where I’d be forced to ask my father to recall me.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Why? Because he wanted to control the company after my father’s death. He wanted me out of the way.”

  “This is getting us nowhere,” I cut in. “Have you any suggestions to make concerning Nordahl’s death?”

  “No,” he said. “I’ve no more idea how it happened than you have. The only explanation I can think of is that he had financial troubles.”

  “Financial troubles?” Eide repeated. “What sort of financial troubles?”

  “He was gambling—” But Bland stopped short there. “It’s his affair,” he murmured.

  “I don’t believe that,” Judie said quietly. “Father never gambled. He couldn’t possibly have had financial troubles. He was interested only in whale.”

  “He would like to have controlled the company, though, wouldn’t he?” There was a suggestion of spite in his tone. Then he gave a quick shrug to his shoulders. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. I’d rather not say any more about it.”

  “But he had financial worries,” I said, “and you think this may have had some bearing on his death?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “And you saw nothing of him after he left the officers’ mess?”

  “I told you—no.”

  “Very well,” I said. “I think that’s all.” I glanced at the others. Eide nodded to indicate that he was satisfied. Judie was sitting, very pale, staring at her husband. Her hands were clenched where they lay in her lap. She didn’t say anything so I nodded to Bland. “Thank you,” I said. He got up quickly. I could see he was relieved. I didn’t know what to think. There was clearly something behind his statement that Nordahl had been in financial difficulties, but just what I didn’t know and Judie either couldn’t or wouldn’t enlighten me.

  The last witness I called was the officers’ messboy who had brought tea to Nordahl’s cabin as usual at six in the morning. He told how he’d found the cabin empty, the bunk not slept in. Finally Eide detailed the steps he had taken as Captain to discover what had happened. His enquiries had told him no more tha
n we’d discovered that morning. “There are many men on this ship who do not like Erik Bland,” he added. “So much I discover. You will hear this after middag when we see the men who wish to give evidence. There will be talk of much bad feeling. But there will be nothing definite.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I think there is no doubt what happens.”

  “You’re suggesting my father committed suicide, aren’t you?” Judie’s voice trembled as she said this. Neither Eide nor I said anything. I must admit it was the conclusion that I had come to. Nordahl was clearly over-worked. He may even, have had personal worries that we knew nothing of. Tired and worried, his mind had become over-wrought. “Captain Eide—you knew him quite well,” she went on in a more controlled voice. “Was he, in your opinion, the sort of man to take his own life?”

  Eide hesitated, rubbing his beard with his fingers. “No,” he said. “Not in normal circumstances. But—”

  “Please,” she interrupted. “I knew him better than anyone. He was my father. Please believe me when I say—it would never occur to him to take his own life.”

  I said, “We’ll adjourn now. After lunch we’ll see the men who want to give evidence.”

  We broke up then. But all through middag Judie sat silent and pale. She hardly ate anything. I saw Erik Bland glance at her once or twice, and I thought there was something half-pleading, half-scared, in the way he looked at her. Bland himself only once referred to the enquiry. He asked me when I’d be through. “Some time this afternoon,” I said. “We only have to take the evidence of those who have volunteered to make statements.”

  “Hurry it,” he said. “There are two more catchers to come in—that’s all—and I want to start south as soon as I’ve had a talk with the gunners.”

  But by the end of the afternoon we were still sitting. The men who had volunteered to give information were Tönsberg men, all of them, and their evidence put a different complexion on the whole business. Even allowing for exaggeration, it became clear that the trouble between Nordahl and Erik Bland was much more serious than we’d been led to believe.

  The trouble, it appeared, had started a week after the ship had left Capetown. Certain rations essential for the prevention of scurvy had been withdrawn. When a deputation headed by one of the boiler-cleaners had raised the matter with Erik Bland, who had given the instructions to the chief cook, instead of admitting his mistake, he had enforced his decision. Nordahl had reversed it. A few days later a similar thing had happened over the issue of certain essential clothing. Bland had accused Nordahl in front of the slop-chest manager of toadying to the men. The first day they handled whale, a winch hawser had snapped and one of the lemmers had been seriously injured. Nordahl had found that the equipment had not been properly inspected. Bland had told Nordahl he wasn’t going to be the scapegoat for everything that went wrong on the ship. He ignored the fact that he had been given the job of inspecting all equipment before use. They had had a bitter row on the after-plan in front of the men. But the worst row appeared to have been over an error in the figures for whale brought in by Hval 4. Petersen, skipper of Hval 4, had queried the figures. The mistake was Bland’s. He had reported these whale to the secretary as being brought in by Hval 8, one of the Sandefjord catchers. Petersen, who had come on board to right the matter, called the plan foreman to substantiate his claim. It was this man who volunteered an account of what had happened in the office.

  Bland had refused to admit his mistake. White-faced, he had accused Nordahl of concocting the whole thing between Petersen and the foreman. “I know what it is,” he had shouted; “you’re trying to get rid of me. You’re trying to get rid of my father, too. You want to control the whole company.”

  Nordahl had asked him what he meant by that, and he had answered, “I know what you’re up to. You crawl to me for financial advice. You thought you’d make enough out of it to buy control. Do you think I don’t know what you were up to whilst you were in Capetown. Well, you wait till the crash comes. If I didn’t know it was coming, I’d—I’d—” He hadn’t finished, but had flung out of the office.

  I recalled the secretary and asked him why he hadn’t given us this piece of evidence. He replied that he hadn’t thought it relevant. But I could see that his real reason was that he was scared of losing his job now that Bland was manager and his father was on board. Pressed by me, however, the secretary confirmed every word of the foreman’s evidence.

  There was another row in Nordahl’s cabin, which was overheard by one of the winch-boys. All he heard as he passed was Bland saying, “I refuse to resign. Fire me if you like. But see what my father has to say when he arrives.” And Nordahl had answered wearily, “Your father can do what he likes. I’m not going to be saddled with a rat like you and I’ll see that the company isn’t either.”

  There had been the sound of a blow then. And just as the boy, who had been listening outside, was slipping away, Bland had burst out of the cabin, his face white and his mouth working with anger. “He looked as though he were about to burst into tears,” the boy added.

  I looked at Eide, remembering his support of Bland. It was clear somebody had been pulling the wool over his eyes. And that could only have been Erik Bland himself. He’d almost fooled me too.

  Next came the evidence that all this had gradually been working up to. The witness was a big man with a scar on his cheek over which his beard had refused to grow. I recognised him at once. It was the man who had accompanied Captain Larvik to the gangway that first afternoon just after I’d come aboard.

  His evidence was that he’d been up on deck shortly after midnight on the night of 2nd/3rd January. He had gone aft and had seen Nordahl smoking a cigar near one of the boats. The Manager had been pacing up and down in a rather agitated manner. The man had seen his face in the glow of the cigar. When he went for’ard again, Nordahl was still there. A few paces farther on he met Erik Bland going towards Nordahl. He had stopped then, wondering whether there was any fresh trouble between them. He had heard the beginnings of an altercation. No, he couldn’t say what was said. He was too far away. The men’s voices grew angry. There was a sudden cry. Then silence. He saw Bland come back. His face was very white. Then he had gone aft to the point where Nordahl had been. Nordahl was no longer there.

  “Did Bland see you?” I asked through Kyrre.

  “No. I was beside one of the ventilators and there was the fog.”

  I had been watching the man closely whilst he gave his evidence. He had a habit of nervously fingering the clean stretch of skin where the scar was. He kept his eyes fixed all the time on the table at which we were sitting. He spoke in a monotone. There was no feeling or interest behind his words. I got the idea that he didn’t see the scene he was describing.

  “And you say Bland’s face was white?” I asked.

  “Ja”

  “Yet it was so foggy he didn’t see you standing beside a ventilator?”

  “He was very much upset.”

  Eide stirred. “Why didn’t you give me this information when I was enquiring into hr. Nordahl’s disappearance?” he asked.

  The man hesitated. “I was scared,” he said.

  He didn’t look the sort of man who was easily scared.

  “What’s your job on this ship?” I asked.

  “Seaman,” he answered, frowning in puzzlement at the question.

  “Ever crewed on one of the catchers?”

  He nodded.

  “On Captain Larvik’s catcher?”

  I saw the quick shift of his eyes as they glanced at me and then away again. He didn’t answer.

  I said, “I don’t believe a word of your evidence.” His eyes looked suddenly shifty. “Who put you up to this? Was it Captain Larvik? Come on, man,” I shouted at him as though I were back on the bridge of my corvette. “Let’s have the truth now. It was Captain Larvik, wasn’t it? Yesterday when he and the others came on board to see Colonel Bland. He told you to give this evidence.”

  The man fidgeted awkwa
rdly.

  “All right,” I snapped. “You can go.”

  I looked across at Eide. There was no doubt in my mind. Captain Larvik had primed the fellow. “Why?” I asked, voicing my own thoughts.

  Eide was fingering his beard. “I think we should call Kaptein Larvik.”

  I turned to Judie for her agreement. She nodded. Her face was set, chin slightly thrust out where it rested on the knuckles of her two hands. “I think he knows something,” she said quietly. “Peer Larvik is a great friend of my father.”

  We had a break then whilst Captain Eide sent for Larvik, whose catcher had just rejoined the Southern Cross. Up on deck the air was cold. I took Judie down to my cabin and got one of the messboys to bring us tea. It was the first opportunity I’d had of talking to her alone since we had begun the enquiry. “Look, Judie,” I said when the tea had arrived, “is there anything you can tell us that would help to discover what really did happen?” Put like that it sounded ponderous. But I felt awkward. I knew what a strain the whole enquiry was on her.

  She stirred her cup for a moment. Then she said, “No. I don’t think I can.” Her voice trembled slightly. “All I know for certain, deep down in my heart, is that he did not commit suicide.”

  “Do you believe the evidence of that man with the scar—Ulvik?”

  “No,” she replied. “No, you showed quite clearly that he was lying.”

  “You agree that Captain Larvik put him up to it?”

  “Yes.”

  “But why?” I asked.

  She looked up at me then. And there was something in her eyes that disturbed me. “He had a reason,” she said. Her voice was suddenly beyond her control. It was harsh and violent. “The man was saying what he’d been told to say. But it’s what Peer Larvik believed happened.”