Trapped in Ice (4 page)

“Ah ... thank you,” I answered, although the truth was I didn't want to be any part of this trip. I'd tried my best to talk Mother out of it. She explained to me that it was not something she wished to pursue either, but the money being offered would help to establish us when the trip was over. Even with Father, things had always been tough, but they'd been almost impossible since his death. I think the struggle and worry had worn away Mother's softness.

At that instant the carriage pulled to a stop, and I heard the driver leap to the ground. The door opened and Michael scrambled to his feet. Mr. Stefansson leaned forward, blocking him with his arm.

“Manners, Michael.”

“Yes, sir,” Michael answered, as he plopped down on his seat again.

Mother rose and the driver helped her disembark. I followed and again the driver offered his arm. Mr. Stefansson and then Michael emerged. We were
standing on the road, in front of the dock. I shielded my face from the grit and dirt being blown about by the wind. Mr. Stefansson paid the driver and we proceeded down the pier. Up ahead I could see Jonnie, assisted by two other men, unloading a wagon alongside the ship. He waved to us and flashed me a big smile. I didn't know why, but I looked away and felt embarrassed.

“Please excuse me. I must attend to this matter. You should board and start to put your things in your cabin,” said Mr. Stefansson.

We climbed down the ladder. As we reached the deck, the man we now knew was Captain Bartlett came up through the hatchway.

“Good day, Captain,” Mother said.

“It'll be a good one when this ship is ready.”

“I am sure that will be soon. Now, where would you like us to take our bags?”

“I'd like ya ta stow your gear back in town, but I don't think I'm goin' ta be gettin' what I like.”

“Why do you object to us coming along?” Mother asked.

“This isn't some little fun trip. We're headed for the high Arctic!”

“I know our destination,” replied Mother.

“Maybe ya do but ya don't know what that means.

We're heading ta the most cold, desolate, inhospitable place in the world. This is the last place in the world a mother would want her children ta be.”

“That is the place where I am going, so it is the place where my children will be going. Don't you think a mother's place is along with her children?”

“Course I do, in a snug, warm, safe house, waitin' for her man ta come home.”

“There is no man to come home. The children's father, my husband, is dead.”

Captain Bartlett looked taken aback for a second. “Sorry ta hear that, ma'am. But ya just don't understand what it's goin' to be like! I've seen grown men, big strong brave men, broke an' battered an'—”

“Those are my concerns, Mr. Bartlett!” interrupted Mother sharply.

“That's Cap'n Bartlett, and everything and everybody aboard this ship is my concern!” he snapped back.

“That is where you are wrong. I will take care of my children!”

“Then ya better get started,” Bartlett said.

“What do you mean?”

“Up there,” he answered, pointing up.

All eyes looked up. There, barely visible in the darkening sky, was Michael, climbing in the rigging, almost at the very top. I gasped.

“What now, Mrs. Kiruk?” asked Captain Bartlett.

Mother turned her eyes away from Michael and looked directly into Captain Bartlett's eyes. I knew how much she hated Michael's climbing. She had forbidden him to climb trees which were far shorter than the rigging to which he now clung.

“He climbed up, and he will climb down,” she said calmly. “Now, where do you want us to put our bags?”

Captain Bartlett smiled slyly. “Follow me and I'll show ya ta your cabin.”

“Thank you, Captain,” she replied as he started to walk away. “And Captain?” He stopped and turned around. “It would be gentlemanly if you were to help carry some of our luggage.”

“Maybe it would, but I'm neither a gentleman nor a babysitter…. I'm the Captain. Follow me if ya want ta know where you're goin' ta be stayin',” he said and disappeared down the hatch.

Mother started after him and I grabbed her arm. “What about Michael?” I asked.

“Leave him up there ... for now. I'll tan his bottom when it finally reaches the deck. Wait here for him while I go below and see our quarters.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

I looked up at Michael scampering about like a squirrel. The winds were continuing to pick up, and I wished he'd come down soon. His climbing always made me anxious and I looked away. On the dock Jonnie and two other sailors were moving quickly. They were probably trying to outrace the coming storm. Little eddies of dust and dirt and papers swirled around, some being blown over the edge and into the water or onto the deck of the ship. Pieces of paper danced around my feet. I stamped my foot and trapped one. I bent down and picked up a torn piece of newsprint. I felt very much like this newspaper—blown about by uncontrollable forces.

 

 

Chapter Four

July 18, 1913

Dear Diary,

I'm sorry that it's been three days since my last entry, but I've been too sick to write anything. When the ship was tied up in the harbour I enjoyed the gentle rocking of the waves. But almost the instant we left port I felt myself getting seasick. I couldn't believe a ship this big could be picked up so high into the air and set back down again ... and again ... and again and again. Just writing this makes my stomach feel queasy again. Jonnie said it would take a little while for me to get my sea legs but it's my sea stomach I really want.

Neither Mother nor my brother seem to be nearly as bothered by the motion as I am. My brother not being sick is even worse than being sick myself. He was like a little porcupine, needling me as I hung over the railing.

We're sailing north, travelling what's called the inner island route, close to the shore and protected by islands from the open sea. What I can't believe, although Jonnie has told me it's true, is that the waves bashing us around aren't nearly as big as those on the open oceans.

I've had plenty of time to look at the scenery— tall trees that come almost right down to the water's edge, narrow stony beaches, rocky cliffs, inlets that twist away and disappear around bends, and high mountains in the distance draped in fog. Except for an occasional fishing boat, there's no sign of any other people.

Of course that doesn't mean there isn't any life. The skies are filled with birds of all kinds—some soaring overhead and vanishing into the horizon, while others seem to be following the ship as we sail. There are dolphins, dozens and dozens of them, escorting the ship, jumping and frolicking in the ship's wake. Twice the lookout has called out whale sightings but we never got close enough to see anything.

There are thirty-six people on board the ship. This includes the crew of the Karluk, the scientists, explorers, native guides and one passenger. The passenger, Mr. Hadley, is headed up north to set up a trading post. He's been very friendly towards us. All of them, with the exception of the Captain, have been pretty friendly and seem to like to explain things to us. Mr. Stefansson is very gallant. He is such a gentleman and so dashing and so ...

 

I put down my pen and stopped writing. I didn't want to write anything I didn't want Michael to see because I knew sooner or later he'd get into my diary and poke fun
at me. He'd already been teasing me about looking at Mr. Stefansson with “moon eyes.”

I was careful not to write about my feelings. Although I was scared and worried, Mother didn't want to hear about such thoughts. She wanted me to “keep a stiff upper lip.” I couldn't tell her how I was feeling any more than I could allow her to hear me crying in my bed at night. She said she'd never seen a tear solve a problem so there was no point in crying. I hadn't seen her shed a tear since Father's funeral—or laugh either. It was as though she'd buried her emotions that day.

I turned back to my diary.

 

Along with the people there are also animals. There are fifty-four sled dogs on board. I was so excited when I found out we had dogs, but that excitement faded when I met them. They're more like wolves. They're called huskies and are trained only to pull sleds. They're always snapping and yelping at each other and getting into fights. The man who takes care of them (he's an Eskimo and I can't say his name or understand much of what he says) told us that one or two would be killed in these fights before we got to our base.

There's also an old black-and-white cat. He seems a little skittish, like he's afraid of people. His name is Figaro, like the cat in Pinocchio. Captain Bartlett said to remember the cat has a job to do, catching mice and rats, and not to treat him as a pet. My mother, brother and I share a cabin and it's right next door to the Captain's. A couple of times I've heard Figaro scraping on the door of the Captain's cabin and I'm pretty sure that the Captain let him come in. I try to stay out of the Captain's way. He may be friendly to Figaro but he's hardly said two nice words to me or my brother or Mother.

At first I wasn't pleased that our cabins were so close together. But I discovered one good thing about them being side by side. Lying in bed at night, over the sound of the waves and the creaking timbers, I can hear music. Jonnie told me Captain Bartlett has a gramophone in his cabin and what I hear are the records he plays. I love music almost as much as I love dogs.

The first night I heard the music, lying there in the dark of my cabin, I thought I was imagining things. Then, as I concentrated hard, I was able to make out more and more of the notes until I could figure out the melody. Now each night as I drift off to sleep I have one ear against the wall separating our cabins and the music vibrates inside my head.

I've learned a lot more about our expedition. We're sailing up the British Columbia coast, around Alaska and setting up our base on Herschel Island, just off the mouth of the Mackenzie River. The whole first winter everybody will stay there on the island and set up camp. Mr. Stefansson will lead a few trips across the ice. When the ice breaks up in the spring the Karluk will set off again and continue farther north and east. Maybe we'll go along with them but maybe we'll just stay on Herschel Island. I'll be happy to stay there on the island, but it does sound so romantic! Riding on the back of a dog sled ... the cold winter winds blowing ... discovering new land.

 

I stopped writing again. Of course, it's a lot less dangerous to read about adventures than to actually be in one. I knew I enjoyed reading about them. I just wasn't sure how I felt about taking part in one. The heroes in the stories never seem to be afraid, but I've been frightened ever since Mother first told us what we were going to do.

In fact, I don't remember not being afraid since Father died. Life used to be good—going to school with my friends, playing with Michael, Father coming home from work and sweeping me up in his arms, the four of us sitting around the kitchen table eating meals, Mother tucking me into bed and singing me a lullaby before kissing me good night. And then it all changed.

 

 

Chapter Five

“H
ELEN
, get your nose out of that book or you'll miss it!” Michael shouted as he bounded into the room.

“Miss what?” I asked, peering over the top of the book.

“Hurry up. Come up on deck and you'll see!”

“Nothing could be more exciting than what's in my novel,” I said, tapping the cover of one of my very favourite books.

“I don't understand you at all,” Michael replied. “The way you act sometimes, it's like those characters in the books are real and the rest of us are just made-up people.” Maybe not more real but certainly more interesting, I thought, but didn't answer. “Besides, doing almost anything is better than reading about something. Come on up top or you'll miss it.”

“But—”

“But nothing, Helen. I'll meet you on deck.”

He was gone before I could raise any more objections. Maybe he was right, but I knew for sure it was definitely warmer in my cabin. The temperature was dropping so quickly as we sailed north that nothing but my heaviest winter dresses kept away the cold.

Regardless, I thought it best to go topside. I'd been in the cabin all morning, not even venturing out as far as the
kitchen for breakfast, and I knew Mother would be cross with me for “lazing about” if I didn't at least get a breath of fresh air. I started to leave, but turned back to put on another sweater to ward off the chill.

Stepping through the hatch to the deck I was shocked to see a thin film of snow covering everything. I bent down to touch it and something whizzed by my head and smashed against the wall behind me. A snowball! I looked up and saw Michael standing by the rail of the ship, a guilty smile on his face.

“You're lucky I missed,” he said.

“Not as lucky as you were,” I replied threateningly. “So what's so exciting?”

“We just crossed over.”

“Crossed over what?”

“The Circle. The Arctic Circle!” Michael exclaimed. “We're in the Arctic!”

“That would explain the snow.”

“Not quite,” came a gravelly voice from behind me. I turned around to see Captain Bartlett. “Snow this early, this far south isn't usual ... or good.”

“But ... but ... doesn't it always snow in the Arctic?” Michael stammered. He must have been as surprised as me to have the Captain talking to us, and it took a little while for him to find his tongue.

“Arctic doesn't get much snow ... 'specially in August.”

“A little snow doesn't matter, does it?” I asked timidly.