The Ice Master (19 page)

“This has made
³²
a man of you,” the captain had told him earlier that night, or that morning, he couldn't be sure which anymore. And McKinlay believed he was right. The Arctic was making him a man, and he was doing a man's work. He just prayed to God that he would not fail.

And there, in the great Arctic darkness, he could swear he still heard the strains of Chopin, very faint and whispering, an echo. He could hear the notes, clear, precise, and mournful, a final, distant wail.

Somewhere, thirty-eight fathoms below their feet, perhaps that Victrola was still playing.

By morning, the lead in the ice had frozen over completely. The last trace of the
Karluk
and her descent into the sea was gone. One would never know that she had ever been there at all. One would never know that there had been a lead of water wide enough to pull her down. As far as the eye could see, there was only ice. Ice everywhere. Ice and darkness.

T
HEY NAMED IT
S
HIPWRECK
C
AMP,
that particular area of floating ice pack, marked by latitude 73 degrees north and longitude 178 degrees west. They set about making the most of it, willing themselves to forget that it was shifting, fragile ice instead of solid earth, and trying to make the place seem as much like a home as possible. As Maurer remarked, “The ice that
³³
held us in its grip and destroyed our ship was now the only means of safety—precarious as it might be.”

January 12, their first day living on the ice, was raw and overcast, the temperature hovering steadily at minus twenty-six degrees Fahrenheit. The water's depth was thirty-eight fathoms, and somewhere, in the vast blackness beneath them, lay the
Karluk
.

She had gone down at exactly the point where De Long's
Jeannette
had been frozen in just before she began her westward drift to Henrietta Island, where she was eventually crushed by the opening and closing of the ice—just like the
Karluk
.

By law, Bartlett was still in command of these men, and Kiruk, Helen, and Mugpi, even without a ship. “But I was
³⁴
in command of a shipwrecked party. Had we been on a desert island things might have been brighter. But to be out there on the ever-shifting ice pack, far from land, and faced with the coldest months of the winter night, I could not look ahead without some uneasiness.”

McKinlay was awakened at 8:00
A.M
. by Seaman Morris yelling “Coffee!”
³⁵
The men stumbled from their makeshift beds and grabbed their mugs, which, by now, were coated with a layer of old cocoa, butter, and tea. They scrambled for food because most of the supplies still had not yet been uncovered, and then all hands were summoned onto the ice. Everyone, except for Dr. Mackay, Murray, and Beuchat, turned out, fatigued and spent from the past two days. Their colleagues, Bartlett included, knew it was hopeless to rouse the trio, so they were allowed to remain in bed all day long.

The rest of the party did their best to sort through the provisions salvaged from the ship. They dug through the furs, skins, and blanketing, piling them all together. They found the pemmican intended for the dogs and put it aside. They found their own pemmican and laid it in another pile. The oil and the oil tins were separated into a stack. The rifles and ammunition were placed in another. So it went, time-consuming and tiring. The men were already exhausted from the exertion of the past two days, a bone-weary fatigue that none of them could shake.

Each of the “living shacks” had a stove at the center. The snow igloo was fifteen feet long and twelve feet wide and had a canvas roof supported by rafters. The box house was twenty-five feet long and eighteen feet wide. The bed platforms were raised and built out from the walls on three sides of the stove. In the box house, Chafe and Clam smuggled out the small stove and replaced it with the former engine room stove, which was much bigger and made their little quarters almost too warm.

Attached to the box house was a room built of boxes and snow, serving as the galley, and another adjoining room for the Eskimos. Then they pitched a tent that would work as a storehouse for their woolen clothing and as much gear as it would hold. Their wool clothes would be useless on the trail because they were neither warm enough nor light enough, but they worked just fine for now and allowed the men to conserve their precious animal skin clothing for later. McKinlay was the only one allowed in the storehouse besides Bartlett, since the skipper had appointed him in charge of the supplies and gear.

By 3:30
P.M.
it was too dark to work, so everyone retired to their respective snow houses and continued sewing. They also had their first real meal since leaving the ship—boiled bacon, pea soup, and rice. They ate their soup that night from their tea cups. Templeman had made the broth in the same water he'd boiled the bacon in, and it “tasted as sweet
³⁶
as the finest concoction of the finest of luxury hotels,” according to McKinlay. Their cups were dirty, as were their plates, which were encrusted with old remnants of eggs, shells, bacon, grease, and matches, none of which could be rinsed or scraped off as they were frozen to the surface. McKinlay remarked, “We have reached
³⁷
the stage when the dirt on our dishes acts as seasoning; there is no health hazard, since germs cannot exist in our temperatures!” After they devoured the soup, they filled their dirty cups with rice and ate it with their hands. Add hardtack—or biscuits—bacon, and coffee, and they felt like they'd had a feast fit for kings.

Over the next several days, the castaways adjusted to life on the ice. Wrangel Island could now be seen plainly, much to their great relief, approximately thirty to thirty-five miles away to the southwest, although their charts showed they were eighty miles to the north of Wrangel Island and two hundred miles from the coast of Siberia. The sight of land was inexplicably cheering to the members of this lost company. They had been afraid that they had drifted too far east due to the winds, but now there was the island, much clearer than before.

Even with Wrangel Island looming up in the distance, there was no serious plan yet of abandoning Shipwreck Camp and starting for the island. The days were still too dark, and there was too much to be sorted out yet. On January 14, Bartlett spoke with both McKinlay and Mamen about moving the party to the eastern part of Wrangel Island, which should be easier to reach, due to its lower-lying shore. Bartlett was also interested in making the trek to Siberia, although the condition of his men worried him. Many were weak and suffering from frostbite or injury, and he knew this endangered their chances of making such a long journey. Siberia, to his estimation, was approximately 250 miles away over the ice pack, and he doubted whether some of the men would live to finish the journey.

“I sincerely hope
³⁸
that we will stay here until the beginning of February,” wrote Mamen. “The days will then be longer and we can drive with our dogs about 12 hours a day. Yes, I hope that with the help of God everything will come out all right but, if not, that we may have a quiet and peaceful death, without too much pain and agony.”

During the twilight hours, the men worked to put their camp in order. It was difficult to locate everything, and some items, such as a missing box of ammunition, were never found. Many things were retrieved from the wreckage of the ship—articles from the deck that were thrown to the ice as the
Karluk
sank. McKinlay and Sandy walked through this graveyard of cast-off provisions and tried to take stock—the whaleboat, two kayaks, two umiaks, tins of biscuits, the ice tank, an enormous coal oil tank, a box of Horlick's Malted Milk, a meteorological instrument case.

Mamen and McKinlay labored over the dysfunctional Primus stoves until they were covered with soot and dirt. The small stoves, or lamps, were used for cooking and for warmth, and there were ten altogether, although three were broken beyond repair, which left only seven stoves that could be relied upon.

The days were growing lighter, which brought hope and relief, but they were still, essentially, living in darkness. Bartlett was anxious about many things but his main concern was that everyone get their clothing in order as soon as possible. There was no time now for idling; they must have their clothes ready or they would suffer on the trail. They would be unable to sew once they started for land. Realizing this, everyone worked as fast as he could, even Malloch, who was notorious for spending weeks mending one garment.

As the days passed, the staff, crew, and officers began to think of Kiruk as a mother figure. They had underestimated her worth aboard ship and had never taken the time to get to know her as they should. Now they found a strength and warmth in her that they needed, and from then on she was known as “Auntie.”

Auntie was busy making clothes for her family, as well as doing all the cutting for the rest of the company with a piece of circular flat steel with a sharp edge. “She used it
³⁹
with great speed and efficiency, and without any patterns or guides of any kind,” Chafe said. “She would cut out socks and other things that would surprise you. I don't think you could find a quarter of an inch difference in any part of twenty pairs.. . .” Fur clothing was heavy enough so that it had to be sewn by hand, but there was other stitching that could be done on the two sewing machines they had saved from the ship. These were used by Auntie and Munro, who was a skilled tailor in his own right.

There were only six sleeping bags for the entire company and not enough skins to make more. Besides this, sleeping bags would be much too heavy to take on the trail. Bartlett ordered that each man make a smaller version—a foot bag, which would cover the feet and reach just up to the knees. For these, he cut up his coonskin coat and divided the pieces among the men.

In addition, they would each need to have four pairs of deerskin or sheepskin stockings and three pairs of deerskin boots. The skins were softened first by scraping them with a piece of iron. This was called breaking the vellum, and sometimes Eskimo women did this by chewing it as Auntie had done.

In the midst of it all, they still found time for games of chess and cards and a concert in the evenings now and then. On rare occasions, they also held dances. With a decided lack of female partners, the men were a strange sight as they twirled each other around the ice. The strangest of all was Bartlett, who once spun his partner so fiercely that they tipped over the stove.

The men, in general, were in surprisingly good humor. If they didn't feel like smiling or looking on the bright side of things, they forced themselves to for the greater good of the company. It was everyone's wish to maintain this sense of optimism, because they knew that, as McKinlay noted, “thus, & only
⁴⁰
thus, can we win through.”

The only exceptions, naturally, were Dr. Mackay, Murray, and Beuchat. Except for getting out of their beds to watch the ship go down, they had been sleeping ever since, waking up only to eat. At night, they kept everyone else awake with their discussions and complaints. “They grumble if
⁴¹
the stove goes low,” wrote McKinlay; “they grumble about the cold coffee; they grumble & grumble but never venture a helping hand. If trouble comes, theirs will be the responsibility, & God help them for everybody is strained to breaking point with their conduct.”

Dr. Mackay frequently unleashed a torrent of verbal ammunition on McKinlay and Mamen, accusing them of being in too tight with the captain. As far as the doctor was concerned, the two young scientists showed great disloyalty by allying themselves with Bartlett instead of their own colleagues. He blamed them for spoiling his chances of getting the captain to take him seriously and listen to his arguments, since McKinlay and Mamen were always there to choose the other side, thus dividing the scientific staff.

Beuchat, in particular, was broken down. He was nervous, edgy, his eyes filled with alarm. Beuchat's already weak heart couldn't stand the strain, and he complained constantly of fever and exhaustion, babbling about the future as if he wouldn't live to see many more days. This kind of behavior made Mamen furious and spurred him to vow: “I have decided
⁴²
to fight for my life as much as I can, one cannot take his fellow-men into consideration, it surely sounds awful to civilized ears, but it is the only right thing here in the Arctic.”

T
HE TEMPERATURE DIPPED
to minus thirty-seven degrees Fahrenheit and the castaways drifted southerly on the ice pack. They continued their shipboard routines, as best they could. They ate at the same times, and lights were out at 10:00
P.M
. They maintained records of the wind and weather, the soundings, and the temperature. At night, two men took turns at watch, one in each snow house. They were in charge of keeping the fires going, and at 6:00 in the morning, one of them would call Templeman so that he could start breakfast.

The galley provided great and much-needed cheer to everyone, and Templeman, under the circumstances, turned out good meals from the sheet-iron stove. Breakfast brought fried bacon, eggs, hardtack, and coffee, and dinner was bacon, seal stew, and tea.

Bartlett's evenings were spent with the Eskimos in their igloo, so that his men could have a break from him and relax a bit. It was tough to live with your captain under such conditions in such close quarters, and Bartlett knew they would need some time out from under his presence.

While the men were sleeping one night, a dog fight left one dog dead. It was the bobtail Mosse, who just a month earlier had refused to leave the side of his injured brother until he died. Nobody heard the sounds of fighting, and in the morning they discovered the blood-soaked area and Mosse's stiff carcass.

It was a great loss to the men, since there were now only twenty-four dogs remaining, including Hadley's pet Molly, and each one was indispensable if they were to make it to land. “Wouldn't we give
⁴³
a great deal for those twelve dogs taken by Stefansson—the pick of the bunch,” McKinlay lamented.