The White Voyage (18 page)

‘Greenland!’ Mouritzen said.

‘The Alps of Liverpool Land,’ said Olsen. ‘They are pretty, are they not?’

‘How far? Twenty miles?’

Olsen shook his head. ‘You underestimate again. Twice that – three times. I have got a rough calculation of our position. About 72 North by 20 West. We lie west and north of Scoresby. A hundred and twenty miles away, maybe, as the crow flies.’ He pressed his hand to his chin. ‘Listen, Niels, I am going to talk to them all. I have a plan.’

‘What is it?’

‘That will emerge. But if they think those mountains are no more than twenty miles away, let them continue to think it. It will be better if they do.’

Mouritzen felt some resentment at the combination of confidence and reticence in Olsen’s attitude to him; whatever scheme he had in mind, there was no reason why he should not discuss it with Mouritzen in advance. But this was a part of Olsen – of the inflexibility, the chill, inhuman quality that stamped him. Mouritzen wondered, as he had before, about the crisis point of the mutiny. Olsen had never talked of it. True, they had killed Møller when he tried to stop them, but by that time Olsen had been knocked senseless, and they had been committed to the full completion of the act.

But there would be no point in arguing with Olsen, nor in resenting his attitude. He was almost certainly unconscious of it. Mouritzen said:

‘You want to see them? Where? In the lounge?’

‘First show them the mountains,’ Olsen said. ‘I do not think they have noticed them yet. Then, yes, I will talk to them in the lounge. I will come down in ten minutes.’

The noise of chatter died away as Olsen came in through the swinging doors. He had presence, Mouritzen reflected – a mysterious quality. When he required attention, it was given, without hesitation or stinting. Now he stood, looking round the table for a moment before taking his seat. He smiled, almost boyishly.

‘Well – you have seen the mountains?’

He allowed the murmur of acquiescence to die down, and continued:

‘That is Greenland,’ he said, ‘our Danish empire! On this side of those mountains lies the settlement of Scoresbysund. After all, the storms have brought us within sight of haven. Now all that remains is we take a little walk over there.’

Despite the obviousness of the implication, Mouritzen was staggered by this. His protest came automatically:

‘Across the pack-ice?’

His eyes on the others, Olsen nodded. ‘A little walk,’ he repeated.

‘But the risks!’ Mouritzen protested. ‘That stuff is moving all the time. At any moment a floe might break up beneath you.’

Olsen turned towards his First Officer. His eyes were narrowed: his face showed something of a sense of betrayal. Mouritzen realized that he had come down prepared to meet and to beat down the objections of the others, but that, despite having failed to take him into his confidence, he had expected blind and unquestioning support from his deputy. The expectation had clearly been so certain that for a moment Mouritzen felt that it must have been justified.

Olsen said: ‘I am the Captain of this ship, Niels. I take no unnecessary hazards. You know that.’

But it was not justified, Mouritzen argued. This was merely another sign of Olsen’s inability to come to terms with other personalities, other wills.

He said: ‘The hazards of a journey over sea-ice are not the same as ordinary sea hazards. They should be discussed. After all, we will no longer be on the
Kreya
.’

‘Do you know the Arctic ice?’ Olsen asked.

‘No.’

Olsen looked down the table. ‘Is there any here who does?’ The response was negative. ‘I have been here before,’ he went on simply. ‘Twenty years ago I came to Scoresbysund, on the supply ship. It is not much, for experience, but it is something: enough to give my words weight, I think.’

‘But the ice is shifting,’ Josef Simanyi said. ‘One sees that. And we are safe here in the
Kreya
. We can wait here until help comes.’

‘What help?’ Olsen asked. ‘Who seeks us here? As to the ice, it is firmer to the west – one can see that through the glasses.’

Mouritzen said: ‘Would it not be better to wait for a time? We might be seen from the air.’

‘Since we have lain here,’ Olsen said, ‘has anyone heard the noise of an aircraft? And they would be flying high, and this ship is a speck in the Arctic Ocean.’

He paused, drawing them into a silence, a measured pause for consideration.

‘And there is something else,’ he went on. ‘Two things. It has been a long voyage, though there are fewer mouths than when we started. We do not have too much food left.’

‘There are fish to catch,’ Josef said. ‘And I think I saw a seal out there.’

Olsen smiled. ‘So we live on the fishes that Josef catches. How many so far, Josef?’

‘One needs patience.’

‘To catch a seal, also. But there is also the other thing. The ice out there – it is
storeis
, the great ice that drifts down from the Pole. It is not of this season, nor last. It is many years old. And it is tough. The
Kreya
is tough, but this is tougher. No ship is safe in the
storeis
unless it is specially built for it. Even then, it can happen that the ship is cracked like a nut.’

Mouritzen said sceptically: ‘Would there not be warning?’

Olsen half-closed his eyes. ‘This morning, you saw no difference out there? One ridge of ice is like another. But in the night, I saw an ice volcano. Maybe a mile to the north, in the moonlight, I saw ice lift, swell up like a mushroom.’

‘I felt the ship shudder,’ Mary said, ‘Just as I was waking up.’

Olsen nodded. ‘Great blocks of ice – a hundred tons, maybe, squeezed up into the sky, pushed up thirty feet or more. What happens to the
Kreya
if such a zone of pressure builds up here, instead of a mile away? And it happens fast – in a few seconds.’

‘But it might not happen like that,’ Mary said.

Olsen shrugged. ‘If not, it squeezes more slowly, maybe. Go look over the side. See how the ice is piling up against us. Already I have felt her plates groan from it.’

Mary said apologetically: ‘I’m thinking of Annabel. She’s very small to make the kind of journey you’re talking about.’

‘So we put her on a sledge.’ Olsen peered at the child, smiling. ‘Do you like to ride in a sledge, across the ice?’

‘Might it not be best,’ Mary said, ‘if we stayed behind on the ship? Then when you get to the settlement, you could have them send help.’

‘No,’ Olsen said, ‘we go together. That is the best way.’

Mouritzen said: ‘You cannot force this, Erik. You are Captain of the
Kreya
, but we have our rights.’

Olsen said heavily: ‘I am the Captain, as you say. You are the First Officer, and not a lawyer. I think you forget that.’

‘Human rights come first,’ Mouritzen said. ‘I think you forget that, Erik.’

Olsen leaned back in his chair, and let his chin sink on his blue jersey. He looked grave and then, unexpectedly, smiled.

‘Do I meet a second mutiny, on one voyage? That would be unique for a sea captain, I fancy. Right, we will have democracy, a free choice. I give you the possibilities.’

He raised his hand, clenched except for one finger.

‘First, that all stay here on the
Kreya
. In a week, two weeks at most, there is no fuel for the engines, and so no heat, no light. If we are careful, maybe the food lasts three weeks. Then we begin to starve and freeze, if the ice has not crushed us already.’

Olsen released another finger.

‘Second. That we form a party to travel across the ice to Scoresbysund. This is my plan. There are risks, but we meet them together.’

The third finger went up.

‘Third. Some go, some stay. Those that stay must take the risk of the ice. And they must wait, in patience. If no help comes in a week, they must be patient. In two weeks, even, because in this kind of thing there will always be delays, difficulties. After three weeks, they may guess that the advance party has met disaster. Then they set out in their turn, with less food and with less skill.’

His eyes fastened on Mary. He spoke more slowly.

‘If this is the choice, I take the advance party. And since, for the good of all, this party must travel fast and surely, I choose two men to go with me – Niels and Josef.’ His gaze darted briefly to Mouritzen and then returned to Mary. ‘Josef might refuse this. Niels, as a ship’s officer, cannot refuse. He is bound to obey my order.’

Mama Simanyi said: ‘I go with Papa, if he goes. That is understood.’

‘Those are the choices,’ Olsen said. ‘Now we vote. My plan first – that all go together to the mainland. In favour, please raise hands.’

Their hands were raised. Mary, shaking her head slightly as she looked at Mouritzen, put hers up.

‘Niels?’ Olsen said.

‘All right,’ Mouritzen said, ‘you win.’

‘Put up your hand, then,’ Olsen told him. He smiled faintly. ‘That makes the vote unanimous.’

‘When do we start?’ Jones asked. ‘It’s too late today, isn’t it? Tomorrow morning?’

‘We shall not be ready by the morning,’ Olsen said. ‘First we make our preparations. This is no jaunt. We must make sledges, collect food, prepare clothing. The men will work on the sledges, and the women see to the rest. We start right away.’

Josef and Stefan were Olsen’s chief aiders on the sledges; both, by reason of their experience of the nomadic life of the circus, were reasonably skilled in carpentry and its allied crafts. Olsen sketched out for them plans for two six-foot sledges, and they got to work right away.

‘Extra sets of runners,’ he warned them. ‘Two extra sets, if it can be managed, for each. That is where the strain will come.’

‘On such a little journey?’ asked Josef.

‘By the time we have hauled them over a couple of hundred ice-ridges, you will not call it a little journey.’

Stefan said: ‘We can be at the foot of those mountains in a day.’

‘Yes?’ Olsen smiled. ‘All the same, we make extra runners.’

He discussed food with Mama Simanyi.

‘We will have two hot meals each day – in the morning and at night. In the middle of the day, we eat chocolate and biscuits on the trail. For breakfast, we make porridge, with milk and sugar, and then cocoa with biscuits and butter. Plenty of butter – at least one hundred and fifty grams each person every day. It is fine to keep out the cold.’

She nodded. ‘More than a kilo and a half each day.’

‘How much have we in store?’

‘Seven kilos – perhaps a little more.’

‘We take rations for ten days; more would be too much to carry. There is margarine?’

‘Enough.’

‘Make up with that. A hundred and twenty grams of biscuits per day. We have enough biscuits, I know.’

‘They are not very good.’

‘They will taste good. For supper, the best thing is a stew. We want plenty of good stew, every night, and those dried potatoes. Then more biscuits and more butter. And more cocoa, sweet and milky. The dried milk is best. The milk in cans may freeze.’

‘How do we cook? The paraffin stove? It is a bulky thing to carry.’

‘No. There are two Primus stoves in the galley. One may need mending, but only a support to be welded, I think. And there are two pressure cookers. That saves fuel, and there is less condensation inside a tent.’

‘Are there tents on the ship?’

Olsen shook his head. ‘But there is canvas, and wood. We will make them.’

‘There is a tent in our caravan down in the hold, if it has not been washed away. That will take four people.’

‘And the child, too? Then that serves for the women. We need only make one for the men.’

Mama Simanyi called to Nadya: ‘Go find the tent, in the caravan, Nadya. It will need drying, I guess.’

Nadya said: ‘Yes.’ She smiled at Olsen. ‘When you work it out, do not forget the rations for Katerina.’

Olsen shook his head, his eyes narrowing. ‘You must turn the bear loose. She will fend for herself.’

‘Then I will see to Katerina’s rations,’ Nadya said. ‘There will be enough left over when you have taken all you need.’

‘We carry no extra weight on the sledges – not one ounce more than is needed.’

Nadya smiled again. ‘You have not seen Katerina’s act, Captain. She wears a harness and carries a sack on her back. She will carry her own rations.’

‘She will not carry much.’

‘She is a strong bear, and a sensible one. And she goes with us, Captain, or we do not go.’

Olsen stared at her grimly; she continued to smile. Mama Simanyi said:

‘She will be no trouble, Captain. We will promise that.’

‘She gets no rations from the sledges, and if there is trouble, we turn her loose – that is agreed?’

‘But yes, Captain,’ Nadya said. ‘Now I will go for the tent. I will get Katerina’s harness at the same time.’

Grumbling, Olsen said: ‘A bear – on such a journey.’

‘For the chocolate,’ Mama Simanyi said, ‘– I get that from Jorgen?’

‘Yes. A hundred grams as the daily ration.’ He paused, considering this. ‘You can take a couple of kilos extra. No, better, I will have Jorgen get you the emergency ration from the lifeboats. That takes up less room, though it does not taste so good.’

‘For the stews, I take as much as I think will be needed?’

‘Yes, but choose what bulks smallest and weighs least.’ He smiled. ‘We should have pemmican, but the company does not expect us to end our journey by sledge.’

‘Can we take coffee as well as cocoa?’

‘Cocoa is better, and more easily made. But you can take some coffee, for special treats.’

‘And pastes, for the biscuits?’

‘Hunger will be the best paste. But there is Gye, in the store. It is made from Guinness – we buy it in Dublin. That will go well on biscuits, and it does not take up too much space.’

‘Special treats,’ Mama Simanyi said. ‘And food for ten days. I guess it is a long little walk we take across the ice.’

‘I like to have all well prepared. We will see how we go when the sledges are loaded. If there is room, maybe we can add a little more – cans of fruit and such. But we make room for the essential things first. We will need plenty of blankets. It may be we have to spend a night out on the ice.’