Trapped in Ice (12 page)

Just as the Captain had said, there was a rope tied to the bottom railing. It led away in the direction of the shelters. Jonnie let go of my arm and took my hand, placing it on the rope. He faced me and bent down so the hoods of our parkas touched together.

“DON'T LET GO ... DON'T LET GO!” he screamed so his voice could be heard over the raging wind. I nodded and we started to move.

I'd walked between the ship and shelters hundreds of times. It wasn't far—a straight line across smooth ice. But
now it was all so different; the wind pushed against me so strongly I had to fight for each step forward. The snow, driven by the wind, swirled around me and I could see nothing beyond a few feet. I looked up but I could no longer make out even the grey shape of Michael ahead of me. I turned around. Jonnie was lost from sight as well. Except for the snow, all I could see was the rope, suspended in mid-air, stretching away from my hand. I stopped, frozen in place not by the cold but by fear. I knew that in one direction lay the ship, and in the other, the ice shelters, but I felt completely isolated. And without that thin strand of rope, my lifeline, I'd be wandering through the blizzard, lost and desperate until I finally collapsed and died and a polar bear found my carcass and ... I got a grip on my imagination and held the rope even tighter, with both hands. I put my head down and shuffled on. Within a half-dozen steps I made out the outline of the first building. I dropped to my knees and then onto my belly so I could crawl through the long, narrow entrance. Going in was always harder than coming out because the tunnels were built to rise up into the igloo. This kept the warmer air inside from escaping. Instantly I was protected from the wind and snow. I pushed through the curtain blocking the room from the tunnel entrance. There was an oil lamp glowing in the corner and it lit every corner of the curved structure. It felt warm, or at least warm compared to outside. I knew it had to be below freezing though or the shelter would have started melting.

Jonnie offered me a hand and helped me to my feet. Michael was sitting on a cot. Another figure came through the tunnel and again Jonnie offered his hand.

“Thank you, Jonathan,” Mother said. As she pulled down her hood, I could see she looked scared.

“Where's Mr. Hadley?” asked Michael. There was concern in his voice.

“He's got back ta the ship already. I've gotta go too an' help the next party ta their shelter. You're ta stay in 'ere till the storm blows off.”

“Jonnie …”

He looked at me quizzically.

“Be careful ... please.”

“Be as careful as can be. Ya got me word on 'er.”

He bent down and pushed back the curtain. A blast of wind blew in through the opening. He turned around. “Don't leave, for no reason ... we'll see ya in the morning.”

I sat on one of the low wooden benches which served as a bed frame. It was made out of storage crates and wasn't comfortable, or meant to be. It was only designed to raise the sleeper a little bit off the ice. Once we started travelling these cots would be left behind and we'd have to sleep on skins, right on the ice.

There were two caribou skins underneath my sleeping bag and another piled on top. I pulled my legs up and then scrunched down even lower into my sack. I buried my head in the covers to try to escape the crying of the wind. The sound still penetrated. It whistled and roared and screamed. At times it sounded almost like an animal calling or a person screaming. I tried to block out the sound, but in the total darkness of the shelter there was nothing else to focus on.

I thought back to just last week, when I'd been out on that overnight sled trip and we'd slept in an igloo. That
night started out scary but it became fun, like an adventure. This was so different. It wasn't just one night in the cold with my soft bunk in the cabin to go back to.

My feet felt hot and itchy in my mukluks but I didn't dare take them off. I remembered the stories about the ice opening up in the middle of the night, right underneath people as they slept. In one story the gap was between them and the entrance, and they had to jump across the open water to survive. That thought sent a chill right up my spine. I didn't know if I'd ever get to sleep.

 

I
COULD HEAR VOICES
... coming from outside the ice shelter. It was pitch black inside but I felt, or maybe just hoped, it was morning. I sat bolt upright in my bed.

“Mother?” I called out tentatively.

“Yes, dear, it's okay.”

“I think it's morning. Can I ... I mean can we get up?” “I think so. Just stay there while I light the lamp.” She struck a match and lit the lamp. I averted my eyes for a moment from the bright flame. Michael sat up, stretched and then rubbed his eyes. I heard voices coming through the walls again. I was anxious to see what was happening.

“I'm going to go and peek out,” I said.

“Me too!” Michael announced.

“Wait!” ordered Mother. “We were told to stay inside. Let me go out first ... I must make sure the storm has passed.”

As she spoke, I realized the sound of the wind was gone and I was sure the storm had passed. Michael and I jostled together, trying to get out behind Mother. I was able to push him out of the way and he muttered something under
his breath. I crawled forward. It was, of course, still dark— not the pitch black of night but the dim darkness of morning. There was just enough light to see by.

I was relieved the storm had gone. I looked around but there was nobody in sight. I didn't know where the voices had been coming from. The
Karluk
was still there, although it was clearly tilted. Along the side, well up from the ice, there was a long dark gash where it had been split open. I caught sight of movement and saw two men coming down the stairs, carrying something between them. Another figure crawled out of one of the igloos and came towards us. I couldn't make out who it was underneath the hood.

“Hello. Did you all sleep well?” It was Mr. Hadley.

“Could have been better,” Mother answered. “And yourself?”

“Sleep, ha! Didn't get any of that last night. The Captain had us up removing things from the ship. We've taken off anything that might be of value.”

“Where is everybody now?” I asked.

“Mostly sleeping, just a few of us left working.”

“Did they get my sewing machine off?”

“One of the very first things, ma'am.”

The air was calm. It was still very cold. Our breath came out in billows of steam, but without the wind it didn't seem bad at all.

“It's good the storm has passed,” I observed.

“Good and not so good,” said Mr. Hadley. “The wind was the thing pushing against the ice, keeping the
Karluk
afloat. Now that it's died down it's just a matter of time before she settles back into the water ... and then down to the bottom.”
I turned back towards the ship. It looked so big and the hole so small I couldn't believe it was a fatal wound. I couldn't imagine the ship sinking. At that instant there was a groan and the ship shifted slightly. I gasped.

“She's been doing that for the past few hours. Ever since the wind died,” Mr. Hadley observed.

“I'm hungry,” Michael said. As always, his stomach was the only thing on his mind.

“Perhaps we should go for breakfast,” Mother suggested.

“Sounds good,” agreed Michael.

“I'm not hungry.” Although I hadn't had anything since supper yesterday, I felt too nervous to eat.

“Helen, you really should eat,” Mother said.

Michael started towards the ship. “I'll start eating while you two talk.”

“Where do you think you're going?” Mr. Hadley asked. Michael stopped in his tracks. “If you want breakfast it's being served in the big ice shelter at the end.”

“Why can't we eat in the galley?” asked Michael. “The ship's been abandoned. You know that.”

“But you said it could be hours before the ship goes down. It won't take me that long to eat,” Michael protested.

“Everything's been taken off the ship and onto the ice. Besides, it could go down sooner, and when it goes down it could go down fast,” Mr. Hadley answered.

“Of course, Mr. Hadley,” said Mother. “Michael, you must understand we're not allowed back on board. Everybody has left the ship.”

“Almost everybody,” Mr. Hadley replied. “The Captain is still aboard.”

“Why is he still on board?” I asked anxiously.

“Just checking things ... maybe he's thinking about going down with the ship.”

“He wouldn't really do that, would he?”

“Of course not!” Mr. Hadley replied. I think he realized just how worried I was. “I was just kidding ... I didn't mean for you to take me seriously, Helen. He's just making the rounds of the ship ... making sure we've taken off what we need ... making sure nobody is on board. Don't worry about Captain Bartlett.”

“I'm not worried,” Michael interrupted. “I'm hungry.” “Come on, then,” chuckled Mr. Hadley. “Why don't we all go and get a little breakfast. Okay?”

“Thank you. As always we'd enjoy your company,” said Mother. “Helen?”

“I don't want to eat now. I'm just going to go back to our shelter and write a little bit in my di—” As I tried to finish the sentence, I realized I'd left my diary behind. I wasn't sure why, but I didn't want to tell Mother I'd forgotten it in my rush to pack.

“All right, Helen, but please join us when you finish,” Mother instructed.

I watched Michael run ahead and Mother and Mr. Hadley walk off behind him. I observed them until they dropped to the ground and disappeared into the tunnel.

I now stood alone on the ice. Everybody else was tucked inside a shelter, except for Captain Bartlett, who was still aboard the
Karluk
.

Without even thinking, I found myself moving towards the ship. I felt almost a magnetic pull, drawing me closer. I walked until it towered over me and all I could see were its dark sides, almost completely hidden by the snow and ice we'd packed for insulation. Right in the middle of the ship I could see the hole. It was a jagged, open wound stretching for at least a dozen feet. I looked inside but couldn't make out anything in the darkness.

Then I heard sounds coming out of the hole. At first it was too soft to make out what it was. Then, it became clearer. I smiled. It was Mozart. Captain Bartlett was listening to his gramophone. I could picture him in his favourite seat, sipping coffee from his mug, his eyes closed, lost in the music.

I thought about how much I enjoyed the music. How I'd lie in my bunk at night and listen or sit at the desk and write in my diary ... my diary. I let out a long, deep sigh. I'd been recording my thoughts in that book for the past two years. Mother gave it to me just after Father got sick. She'd said that sometimes we can write about what we can't talk about. For the first year, every night I wrote about things that had happened to me that day. And, like Mother had said, I wrote about things I couldn't talk to anybody about. About how much I missed him and how sad I felt and how worried I was that something would happen to her. Things I couldn't burden Mother with.

She also showed me her old diary, the one she'd written when she was young, and we talked about how one day I would show my diary to my daughter. At least I would have if I hadn't left it on the ship. A thought started forming in my mind.

I turned around and looked over at the camp. There was no sign of anyone. If I went right now, quickly and quietly, I could go on board, retrieve my diary and get off the ship without anybody seeing me. It would only take a minute. Surely nothing could happen in a minute.

 

 

Chapter Sixteen

I 
MOVED QUICKLY TOWARDS
the rear of the ship. Within a few paces the faint strains of music emerging from the gash in the side of the ship faded away. I placed a hand on the railing and a foot on the bottom step and then stopped. I nervously looked back towards the camp. There was still nobody in sight. Nobody to see me if I went on board; nobody to think I was “chicken” if I didn't. There was just me. I took a deep breath and started up the stairs.

Within a few steps I realized the staircase was bent out of shape. The bottom was still frozen into the ice while the top was attached to the ship. The shifting of the ice had caused it to twist.

Once again I stopped, this time at the very top of the stairs. I thought about the trip across the deck, through the hatch, down the stairs, along the corridor and into our room. I wasn't sure why I was making this into such an adventure. I could stroll down, pick up my diary, and be back on the ice in less than three minutes. The ship was still anchored solidly in the ice and couldn't possibly sink that fast.

I started forward again. My footfalls were soft. The deck was still hidden below the ice and snow we'd packed on top to protect us from the worst of the winter weather,
and it was horribly slanted towards the starboard side. The hatch door was closed. As I opened it, I was relieved to see there was light coming from below. Thank goodness the lamps were still burning. I started to close the hatch tightly behind me, the way I'd been taught to keep out the wind and cold, but thought better of it. I didn't want a closed door between me and the deck.

I placed a hand on the centre pole and started down the circular stairs. Before I'd reached even halfway down I was greeted by the sound of Captain Bartlett's music. It reminded me I wasn't alone on the ship. That was good … and bad. I didn't want the Captain to catch me aboard after he'd ordered everybody off. I had seen the way he reacted to anybody who disobeyed his orders.

At the bottom of the steps I was greeted by more light from the corridor. The music became louder. My mukluks didn't make much sound as I walked, and whatever noise they did make was masked by the music.