The Pole (3 page)

“Use a tray, an' take lots of cups.”

“I only need a few cups.”

“What if Mrs. Peary wants a cup? Ya gonna make'er drink from the pot?” Cookie asked.

I took the tray I'd been carrying, emptying it of the last few biscuits. I popped one of them in my mouth. Then I grabbed seven mugs out of the cupboard and put them on the tray, along with the coffee pot, some spoons, a little jug of cream, and a sugar bowl.

“Get in an' get out an' don't be sayin' too much,” Cookie warned me.

“I won't be sayin' nothin' but
'Ere's the coffee
.”

The Commander's cabin was close to the galley. There at the door, one on either side, backs against the wall, were the two police officers. They stood, still as statues, staring straight ahead. I could hear ragtime music playing through the door.

“Coffee,” I said, explaining why I was there. One of them nodded.

I knocked.

“Come!”

I opened the door and entered. Commander Peary, the president man, and Captain Bartlett were sitting at a small table in the corner of the cabin. It was a beautiful cabin, all yellow pine, with a big pianola—which was playing the music—and a large bed. I knew he even had his own private head with a bathtub.

“Put it down right here, Danny,” Captain Bartlett said, motioning to the side table.

Carefully I put the tray down. “Do you want me to pour?” I asked.

“Nice of ya to offer,” Captain Bartlett said. “All black, right?”

Both men agreed, and while I started to pour they picked up their conversation.

“So, tell me the details of your assault on the Pole.”

“We hope to make Cape Sheridan by the first week in September,” Commander Peary replied.

“Is that where you landed on your last attempt?”

“One an' the same,” Captain Bartlett said.

“The farthest north a ship has ever been taken and returned,” Commander Peary pointed out. “A testament to the man who captained her.Without Captain Bartlett, I would never have achieved the title of farthest man north.”

“An accomplishment of great merit,” the president guy said. “But of course this time you are not seeking merely to be
farther
north but the
farthest possible
north. The attainment of the Pole should be your main object. Nothing short of that will suffice.”

“On this, we agree,” Commander Peary said.

“It's ninety or nothin',” Captain Bartlett added. “The North Pole or bust.”

Trying not to interrupt, I put down two mugs of steaming coffee—one for the president and the other for Commander Peary.

I went back to get the third mug for Captain Bartlett, and as I walked my eye was caught by the large portrait on the wall behind them. I stopped dead in my tracks. I looked at the painting, and then at the man, and then back at the painting. It was
him,
the man … and on the frame was a little plaque saying who he was.This man wasn't the president of the Peary Arctic Club … he was the President of
the United States of America
! This was President Roosevelt!

The mug almost slipped through my fingers.

“Ya bringin' me that coffee?”

“Yes, sir.” Suddenly I was very aware of my feet and not wanting to trip over them.

“So, Danny,” the man—the
President
—said, “you must be the youngest member of this expedition.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How old are you?”

“Fourteen, sir.”

“Isn't that the same age as your oldest, your daughter?” he asked the Commander.

“She'll be fourteen in September, Mr. President.”

“I don't suppose you'd allow her to travel with you on one of these expeditions,” he said.

Commander Peary scoffed. “It isn't a fitting place for a woman, young or old. Besides, she would miss far too much school.”

He turned back to me. “How about your school, Danny?”

I shook my head. “My schooling's all done.”

“But hopefully not all your education. Most of what is important I learned not from school but from life.Wouldn't you agree, gentlemen?”

They both did, although I had the feeling that they would have agreed with pretty much anything he said.

“You are a very fortunate young man to be part of such an adventure at such a tender age,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

He pulled a big gold watch from his vest pocket and opened it up. “It is time for me to take my leave. Gentlemen, Godspeed.”

CHAPTER THREE

JULY 8, 1908

THE BOAT
 was bucking and rocking, bounced by the waves and strong headwinds. The deck was slippery from the spray and I kept one hand on the railing as I moved along the deck. I could feel the spray against my face, while the rest of my body was protected by the heavy slicker that I wore over my clothing. The moon and stars were hidden by clouds and the only light was coming from the portholes of the topside cabins.

Carefully, slowly, I moved toward the foredeck. I guess I should have stayed inside but I was feeling a little bit queasy—it had been two days but I still hadn't gotten my sea legs, or, more important, my sea stomach … a fact that some of the other sailors had noticed. Some of the men treated me well. Others called me things like “half-pint” or “squirt” and seemed to like to make fun of me.There were a
couple that I would have enjoyed throwing up on, but being outside was easier on my stomach, and if I did get sick again nobody would be the wiser.

I gripped the railing tight and used it not only to steady me, but to pull myself forward as I worked my way slowly toward the foredeck.

“What are ya doin' up 'ere?” a voice called out. It was one of the sailors—Keith—standing against the rail in his black slicker. I hadn't even noticed him, even though I was practically on top of him.

“Just gettin' some air,” I explained.

“Lots of air down below, an' that's where you should be.”

“I'll go down soon.”

“I'd be down there right now if I wasn't on watch. You be careful, it's not safe to be up 'ere in conditions like these. Don't want to be tryin' to fish ya out of the drink … that's assumin' somebody would even see ya goin' overboard in the first place.”

I looked over the side. I could just make out the tops of the waves as the cold, dark water rushed by. I felt a shudder go up my spine that had nothing to with the wind or the spray.

“I'll be all right.”

He patted me on the back as I moved by. There were always at least three men on duty all the time: one on the bridge steering, a second navigating, and a third man on watch.

With even greater care I kept moving forward. I worked my way around the cabin and finally slumped down on the foredeck.There was a slight overhang so I was a little bit sheltered from the spray and safely away from the rail. I wouldn't stay out long—just long enough to get some fresh air and try to settle my stomach.

We'd been at sea for two days. It would be another two or three days before we reached Sydney, Nova Scotia.There we'd be putting in for coal and to let off Mrs. Peary and the children.They'd be travelling back down to New York by train. I could understand them wanting to be onboard for the first leg of the trip, though. Even if things went perfectly, Commander Peary would be gone from his family for at least a year. It would be hard not to see your father for that long … or to never see him again … I couldn't let my mind go flying off in that direction—there was no point in dwelling on what couldn't be …

I thought I heard somebody scream! The wind could sure play some funny tricks when it was whipping around the lines and the rigging and—there it was again! I couldn't see anything from my little protected perch. I braced myself against the cabin and unsteadily got to my feet again. Where had that voice come from? Was it really a voice or—I heard it again … somewhere off to the port side. I moved around the corner and took a few steps and there,
lying on the deck, was a body! I stumbled forward, practically tripping over top of it.

“Are you okay?” I yelled as I dropped to my knees. I kept one hand on the lower railing and reached out to help with the other.

The slicker-covered figure raised its head—it was Marie Peary! Even in the dim light I could see a look of total terror on her face.

I rose to my feet, pulling her up, and then the ship bucked and the two of us were tossed forward and to the side. My body absorbed the blow as we crashed into the cabin and bounced down, hitting the deck again, this time with me collapsing right on top of her. She let out a scream and then a groan as I landed on her.We were a tangle of arms and legs, and as hard as I tried to separate us she was clinging to me for all she was worth.

“We 'ave to get inside!” I screamed into her ear.

“I'm scared!”

“Nothin' to be ascared of!” I yelled. “Just take my hand.”

She grabbed my hand and I rolled off to the side. For a split second my leg slipped under the lower railing and I felt myself panic. I pulled it back in and grabbed on, using the railing to pull myself up. I dragged her to her feet and we stumbled and staggered a few steps before her legs went out from under her and she fell headfirst into the cabin wall!
She slumped down to her knees, and only my grip stopped her from going down completely.

“Stay down!” I yelled. “Stay on your knees … crawl!”

I hovered over top of her, a hand on one cabin wall, bracing myself against the other, waiting for the next jolt. The deck was slick and I had trouble keeping my feet under me as I struggled to move her along. She was dead weight. Practically dragging her behind me, I grabbed the cabin door and with a burst of strength pushed her inside, then tumbled over on top of her. We were inside and safe!

She started crying, big, deep sobs.

“Are ya hurt?”

She shook her head but kept on sobbing. I slammed the hatch door closed, sealing us in and the storm out.

“We're safe … ya don't have to cry no more.” She nodded in agreement.The tears were starting to slow down.

“Just sit 'ere,” I said. “I'm goin' to get yer father.”

I SAT IN THE GALLEY
, a blanket wrapped tightly around my shoulders. I had changed out of my wet clothing but I was still feeling all shaky and shivery— I didn't think it had to do with being cold any more. Cookie was over by the stove and Captain Bartlett
paced back and forth the length of the room. Having Cookie there made me comfortable. Having the Captain there was making me nervous. He hadn't said a word to me, and the longer he went without speaking the worse I figured it would be when he started. I'd heard the Captain lose his temper before. The words flew fast and furious and were so blistering that they could peel the paint from a wall or the barnacles from the keel of a ship.

“This will take away the shakes,” Cookie said as he handed me a steaming mug.

“Maybe that isn't such a good idea,” Captain Bartlett said, finally finding words.

We both gave him a questioning look.

“I think the shakes might be good for the lad … might shake some sense into him, because he can't have much goin' on up in that head of his!”

I knew it was coming now. I braced myself.

“Can you tell me, boy, what in the name of the good Lord were ya doin' on deck in a storm like that?” he demanded.

“I don't know, sir. I know I shouldn't 'ave been up there, sir,” I apologized.

“So you had no good reason, is that what you're sayin'?” he asked angrily.

I shook my head.

He started yelling and screaming, throwing in words that I knew had never been heard inside of no
church. I kept my head down and just said “Yes, sir” or “No, sir” when I thought he wanted me to answer.

“An' bad enough puttin' yourself at risk, why did ya have to put Marie at risk too? You should know better … couldn't ya have thought up a better place to meet with her?”

“What?” I asked, understanding the words but not what he meant.

“Meeting her. Couldn't the two of ya met down below?” he demanded angrily.

“But we weren't meetin' anywhere … we was both just up there,” I stammered.

“Do ya think that I'm the one that's the idiot?” he screamed. “Ya don't think I can remember what it was like to be a lad and wantin' to see a young lassie who ya like and—”

“But it wasn't like that!” I protested. “I wasn't meetin' with 'er, it was just that we was both up on the deck is all!”

“Bad enough ya risked the lives of two people, but don't ya go lyin' ta me now, boy!”

“But I'm not lying!” I protested. “Honest!”

The Captain opened his mouth to say something and then stopped. He came closer until he was standing right over top of me and looking down. It was an angry stare, but at least he wasn't yelling—for a few seconds. I tried to keep looking him straight in the eye—I knew that liars looked away—but his stare
was too fierce and I finally lowered my eyes to the floor.

“Do ya mean to tell me that it was just chance that the two of ya were up there on the deck?” he asked. His words were suddenly quiet and measured— somehow that seemed even more frightening.

“Yes, sir, chance, sir.”

“Do you swear ta God that that is the truth?”

“Ta God, on a stack of Bibles, sir, it's God's own truth.”

He straightened up and started to stroke his face with his hand. He looked like he was thinking. He slowly walked away and I felt like a pressure—the pressure of his presence—was lifted off my chest. He stopped at the stove and poured himself a coffee. He walked back over, pulled out a chair, and sat down on the far side of the table.

“Right now the Commander is talkin' with his daughter. Do ya think she's goin' to tell the same story as you?”