“But she—”
Dexter patted my shoulder. “She's safe, Nick. Safer than you, by thunder. Someday when you're back in New Bedford, you can see her again. But you can't see her if you're dead. Besides, all the fellows are saying you're a blasted fool for meddling with Thorndike's daughter. Once he finds out, your life won't be worth a bucket of pig squat.”
Waiting for an opportunity to escape was like waiting for our hair to grow.
We chased whales, aye, but either we were too far from land or the weather was too clear for us to take refuge in anything other than the whaler. Meanwhile, the Sea Hawk sailed northeast along Alaska's northwest coast, caught in a swift current.
Dexter and I held back portions of our food now at each meal. I was always hungry, my stomach as empty as Briggs' head. We stored the food in Dexter's sea chest, away from rats, cock-roaches, and hungry shipmates.
In between chasing whales, in between goat duty, I was set to work with Dexter scraping gum from the slabs of baleen—the hairy, bonelike slats that grew like teeth in the mouths of polar whales. Each piece was flat and long, some of them twice as long as I was tall. Baleen was as valuable as whale oil; it was used in ladies' corsets, buggy whips, hats, shoehorns, brushes, and um-brellas, to name a few. It was tough, like fingernails or horses' hooves.
As Dexter and I scraped gum hour after boring hour, we whispered about our escape, planning every last detail, gazing at the land whenever we caught glimpse of it. Empty, treeless, flat, it stretched forever. Despite our fancy plans, the thought of run-ning away across that vast expanse left my stomach in my toes.
Whenever I had a moment to myself, I spent my time carving. Carving figures out of ivory or wood gave me something to do besides think of escape. And as figures formed in my hands, I felt almost normal. Life was good, none of the rest of this was real, nothing bad could possibly happen. I carved an ivory figure of Prince Albert and gave it to Duff to give to Elizabeth to remem-ber him by. She wrote a letter saying thank you, that she'd treas-ure it always and that she cried for Prince Albert every day. Letter clutched to my chest, I fell asleep in my bunk, dreaming of drowning cats, lilacs, and Briggs' ugly mug looming over me.
As August slipped into September, Dexter and I became right anxious. Thorndike and the captain of the Merimont pushed their ships ever north, farther north than anyone had gone before, according to Garret. It was uncharted territory, and win-ter could come at any time in these parts. Dexter and I weren't the only ones glancing at shore, wondering if we'd ever see home again.
Finally, in mid-September, to everyone's relief, Thorndike ordered the Sea Hawk south. It was slow going, for now we fought the current, which was swifter than we'd first believed. Even so, Dexter and I knew there would soon come a day when the Sea Hawk would sail through the strait and head back to the Sandwich Islands. What, then? We both knew the answer, for Garret had already told us: we'd spend another winter season hunting sperm whales in the Pacific and then go back to the Arctic for another summer season.
I chewed my fingernails down to the nubs. I would have chewed my toenails too, but the rats had taken care of my toe-nails handily.
Then, finally, there came a day in late September when our fortunes changed.
It was a beauty of a whale—fifty-five feet long, weighing fifty tons, likely to yield at least a hundred barrels of oil plus a thou-sand pounds of baleen. Worth a fortune. But while my shipmates congratulated each other, I glanced longingly toward shore. Wind slapped my aching ears. The coast was some distance away, but I could see it—low, flat, white with snow…. Freedom. Freedom from Thorndike.
Again we'd failed.
Dexter kicked the mainmast and hopped around a bit on one foot, cursing the world, his toe, the Sea Hawk, and all whales in general. “That was our last chance,” he said, cursing again, kicking the chicken coop this time as chickens squawked and feathers danced in the wind. “We're stuck. Do you hear me, Nick? We're stuck for another year.”
“Aye, I hear you,” I said as the Merimont luffed alongside.
“Our hold is full!” the captain of the Merimont hollered through his speaking trumpet. “We've enough oil and are heading home!” Sailors lined the Merimont's rails, grinning. A few tossed their caps into the air and cheered.
The Merimont's hold is full. They're going home. They're leaving us.
“We'll be right behind ye,” Thorndike replied through his speaking trumpet. “We've got to finish cutting in and trying out our whale.”
“Aye! But be quick about it.” The captain of the Merimont glanced over his shoulder. A thin line of white stretched across the northern horizon. I'd noticed it a while back but didn't know what it was. “The pack ice is a-coming. If it gets here before ye get out, my friend, you'll be stuck. I fear winter has us by the throat at last!” As if to prove his point, his cap flew off his head and into the water with a fierce blast of wind. Then, after the captains promised to look each other up in New Bedford and traded other such pleasantries, the Merimont was off.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” murmured Dexter as we watched the Merimont's sails fill for home.
“Nonsense,” said Sweet, overhearing. “We'll be in his wake before ye know what hit ye. Now heave and pawl, men! Look lively!”
Within an hour the sky blackened and the wind increased until it howled like a pack of wolves. Ice and oil coated the decks. We slipped and slid as waves, white-capped and furious, tossed the ship round and washed over the men cutting in the whale. They clung to the cutting stage for dear life, sometimes buried up to their necks in foam. In the trough of the waves, they hacked the blubber, their lips blue. The trypots threw up huge clouds of steam and oil droplets as seawater swirled round the fires.
Finally, letting fly a string of bloodcurdling curses, the old man ordered the whale cut loose, the tryworks closed down, and all men aboard even though we weren't half finished.
We'd been anchored a couple miles from land in less than fif-teen fathoms of water, and now we drew up anchor, double-reefed our topsails, hauled taut the braces, and dashed madly after the Merimont. A leaden, heavy sky pressed down. Snow whipped round us, gusting over our decks. Ninny bleated. Chickens squawked. Spray flew the length of the Sea Hawk as she plunged through the waves, groaning, burying her rails in water.
Although we could no longer see it, to our port was the shore. To our starboard was the polar ice pack, bearing down on us like a horde of bloodthirsty pirates. We sailed blind, knowing that if the ice reached us before we could claw our way out of here, we'd be crushed between land and ice. Like being smashed between a hammer and anvil.
I was checking the lashings on the port-bow boat, as ordered, when someone tapped my shoulder. It was Cole. Water sluiced off his sou'wester. “Captain wants to see you!”
I made my way aft, lurching this way and that, clinging to whatever was handy, dreading the captain, wishing I'd had time to shed some of my clothes. I wore six layers and could hardly move. Hard bread and salt beef bulged in my pockets beneath my oilskins.
“Going somewhere?” Briggs said, grinning as I passed him. They were the first words he'd spoken to me since he'd been tarred. “Say hello to your ladylove.” I ignored him, hating his smug, ugly face, and continued aft.
Light from the binnacle lamp illuminated Thorndike's face beneath his sou'wester. Ice frosted his beard, and for a moment, while he peered at the compass, I saw the scar. The intensity in his eyes. My mouth went dry at the sight of him, my tongue a block of wood.
He looked up and saw me. “Robbins?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Follow me.”
Sleet stung my face as I followed him to the steerage com-panionway. Water swirled about my ankles, icy cold. What does the captain want with me below?
Holding a lantern aloft, Thorndike clambered down the companionway. I took a deep breath and followed, wishing I could hide in my bunk instead.
We were in the blubber room. Aft of the companionway was the door
leading to steerage. Save for the blubber pieces held in pens to prevent them from sliding round, the blubber room was empty. Wasting no time, the captain proceeded down the hatch-way and into the hold. Huge casks lined the floor, wedged in side by side. The Sea Hawk moaned and shrieked even louder in the hold, as if the ship were alive and suffering. A shiver trickled down my spine like ice water.
The captain hung the lantern on a peg, snow and ice dripping from his sou'wester and oilskins.
Why would the captain bring me into the hold alone? My pulse roared in my ears, for I knew something terrible, right terrible, was about to happen.
Without a word the old man took hold of my arm and yanked me forward. As I stumbled over the casks, I wondered if I should resist. Refuse to cooperate. Turn back. He stopped beside one of the deck stanchions—wooden support posts ranging fore and aft down the center of the hold—stooped down, and grasped hold of a heavy chain lying there. It was round six feet long, with a shackle on each end. Thorndike fastened a shackle onto my wrist.
“Captain—what—what—”
And while I stood there stammering like a dummy, he wrapped the chain round the post and shackled the other end to my other wrist. By fire, I was chained to the post!
“Captain, why are you doing this? Please—you must let me go!” I pulled against the chain, the cold metal of the shackles biting my wrists. Panic fluttered in my chest.
Thorndike said nothing. He walked back over the casks, lifted the lantern off the peg, and began to climb the hatchway ladder. But before he climbed entirely out of the hatchway, he dug in his coat pocket, withdrew a packet, and flung it at my feet.
Elizabeth's letters.
“I'll deal with ye later,” he growled as he left the hold and closed the hatch, plunging me into total darkness.
o! Please! Let me go! I haven't done anything wrong!”
I screamed for hours, it seemed. Finally, my voice hoarse, I collapsed. It's useless. No one can hear me. No one knows where I am except Thorndike. If the ship wrecks now, I'm dead. For the first time in my life, I could taste raw fear.
“I don't want to die,” I sobbed. “I want to go home. I want to row to Palmer's Island with Dexter. I want to see Aunt Agatha again. And Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth … I imagined her locked in her cabin. I imagined her terror as the storm raged.
For a long time I lay against the post, the wood rough against my cheek, until I noticed something was different. Something had changed. We were tacking. Tacking, in such seas and such wind? We'd normally wear ship, unless … unless … we were near to running aground!
I stood and strained against the chain, ignoring the pain shooting up my arms. “Down here! I'm chained in the hold! Help me! Someone, please—”
With a sudden boom, something scraped hard across the Sea Hawk's bottom. The ship heeled sharply to her side, knocking me off my feet. I screamed. At the same time, I heard an ear-splitting crack, felt a jab of splinters near my cheek. The Sea Hawk shuddered from stem to stern as timbers cracked and splin-tered and the deck buckled. We've hit! We've hit! We're going down!
Seawater roared into the hold.
Again I pulled against the chain. To my surprise, it whapped me in the face. I'm free! The post must have broken! Already the water was past my ankles, my feet numb with cold. I staggered toward what I believed was the direction of the hatchway lad-der. Still shackled to my wrists, the chain clanked against my shins.
I stumbled over casks, hands in front of me in the pitch black, everything out of kilter, lopsided. Where is the ladder? Oh God, where is it? I turned round and round, this way, that way, as water rushed past my knees, my thighs, my hips, then my waist. The freezing water sucked my breath away, shriveled my insides.
God help me!
Suddenly, a huge wave hit the Sea Hawk and crashed through the hold. It swept me off my feet and tossed me against the hatchway ladder as if I were no more than a fly under a fly-swatter. The chain smashed me across the bridge of my nose. I gulped blood and salt water and whale oil, unable to breathe. My brain withered in the icy cold. My muscles clenched in pain. My lungs wanted to explode. Panic flooded my veins, while my mind screamed, This is the end! With a will, I forced the panic back, forced myself to think, think!
Before I could be swept away, I flung an arm over a step and began to climb. Blackness seeped through my mind, different from the pitch dark of the hold. I fought the blackness, fought the churning water as I pulled myself up step by step. Finally, with a great gasp of air, I collapsed on the floor of the blubber room, coughing, sucking in air. I'm alive! I'm alive!
After a moment of joyous celebration, thanking God, the angels, the stars, my father, Aunt Agatha, and everyone who had ever been nice to me, I dragged myself to my feet. There wasn't much time. Judging by the tilt of the deck, the Sea Hawk rested on the shore or on a shoal. But I knew she could be swept off at any minute and sink. Though it was still black as blindness, now that I had climbed the hatchway, I knew what direction I faced. I took a deep breath and lurched toward steerage, stooping so as not to bang my head on the overhead beams.
“Help! Down here in the blubber room! It's me, Nick!” I stumbled over something and fell headlong. It was hard, yet squishy and slimy. A blubber piece. I crawled along, over and around the blubber, mush oozing under my hands and knees.
Finally, I found the bulkhead and tumbled through the door-way just as the Sea Hawk gave a mighty groan and lurch. My heart near stopped ticking. If she sinks now, I'm a goner. I scram-bled to my feet and fumbled my way through steerage. Through the far doorway, I could see a lantern burning low, hanging from an overhead beam in the officers' mess. I entered the room—still smelling of coffee and fried potatoes—and, with a clank of chain, removed the lantern from its hook. Turning up the wick so that it burned bright, I edged past a table built round the mizzen and into the captain's cabin.
“Elizabeth!” I banged on her door.
“Nicholas! Oh, Nicholas! Get me out of here!” I heard fear in her voice and knew she'd been crying.
The door was locked tight. “Stand back! I'm going to bust down the door!” I hung the lantern overhead. Grasping the chain, I swung back and hit the door as hard as I could. Wood splintered.
“Hurry!”
Again I hit the door. Again. Swinging the chain was about as easy as swinging an anchor. Again. Again. Finally, with a crack, the door splintered in half. I ripped it away with my bare hands, amazed at my strength.
Elizabeth squeezed through the opening. She wore her hooded reindeer coat belted round the waist, deerskin trousers, and sealskin boots. Her eyes were bloodshot and watery. Her chin trembled. “I'm ready.”
I wanted to hug her but instead grabbed the lantern and her mittened hand. “Follow me!” I stumbled up the companionway, tripping over my chain once, twice, hearing her ragged breathing behind me.
Out we staggered onto the sloping deck. Cold hit me like a sledgehammer, knocking my breath away. I was sopping wet, bareheaded—my woolen cap and sou'wester lost in the hold. I held up the lantern. Chain rattled. Needles of thick snow stabbed my skin, swirled round the light like thousands of moths, hissing against the glass, stinging my eyes so that I had to squint to see. My breath came out in foggy gasps. From what I could tell, the Sea Hawk was deserted—masts down like felled trees, rigging tangled like a spider's web.
“Hello!” I shouted. “Anyone here?”
At first, all I heard was the howl of the wind, the groan of timber, and the ringing of the ship's bell as waves crashed in and over the ship. Then I heard a vague shouting.
“Over here!” Elizabeth tugged me down the slanted deck. “Hurry!”
We picked our way over rigging and broken spars and then peered over the rail.
Sheltered somewhat from the storm, a whaleboat lay in the lee of the wrecked Sea Hawk. In the center of the boat, clinging to the rope that kept it from being swept away, sat Dexter. His face was white and pinched with cold. When he saw us, a spar
k lit his eyes and his mouth flew open. “Jerusalem crickets, Nick! I thought you were dead! Miss Elizabeth—I thought you were with the captain!”
“Where are the others?” Elizabeth asked. “Where's my father?”
“Everyone's abandoned ship, took off in other whaleboats. Nick, I swear I looked for you everywhere. Where were you?”
“I'll explain later.”
“Well, what are you two standing there for? I was about to shove off. Hurry! Climb down before it's too late!”
Elizabeth hesitated only a second before she clambered over the side. It was tricky, what with the wind screaming and the whaleboat rocking about like a seesaw. She finished the last few feet by falling flat on her back in the whaleboat.
“C'mon, Nick, hurry!” cried Dexter.
Just then, I heard a cry. A moan. It was human and coming from amidships. A chill raced over my scalp. By fire, someone else is aboard! “Hang on a while longer, Dex! I hear someone! I'll be right back!”
“Wait—Nick! Don't …”
I stumbled in the direction of the cry, the blasted chain knocking the devil out of my bruised shins. There! I heard it again! “Where are you?” I hollered.
Then I saw movement. I held up my lantern, squinting through the blinding snow, the smell of burning whale oil sharp in my nose. Pinned under the mainmast was a man. Blood seeped out of his mouth. His lips moved. A hand twitched.
It was Captain Thorndike.
I stopped short.
Part of me wanted to run back to Elizabeth and Dexter. To pretend I'd never seen Thorndike pinned beneath the mast. I hated Thorndike. He deserved to die.
But part of me wouldn't let him die.
I don't know how long I stood there—only seconds, likely— but when Thorndike opened his eyes and I glimpsed the raw pain, the defeat, my hatred vanished. Hatred. One second it was there; the next second, gone. Swallowed in the heart of a storm.
I hurried over and set down the lantern.
He glanced at me, at the chain still dangling from my wrists. “Go,” he said, his voice raspy and weak. “Take Elizabeth and go while you can. Leave me.”
Voyage of Ice Page 8