Voyage of Ice (12 page)

Finally, in mid-September, to everyone's relief, Thorndike ordered the
Sea Hawk
south. It was slow going, for now we fought the current, which was swifter than we'd first believed. Even so, Dexter and I knew there would soon come a day when the
Sea Hawk
would sail through the strait and head back to the Sandwich Islands. What, then? We both knew the answer, for Garret had already told us: we'd spend another winter season hunting sperm whales in the Pacific and then go back to the Arctic for another summer season.

I chewed my fingernails down to the nubs. I would have chewed my toenails too, but the rats had taken care of my toe-nails handily.

Then, finally, there came a day in late September when our fortunes changed.

It was a beauty of a whale—fifty-five feet long, weighing fifty tons, likely to yield at least a hundred barrels of oil plus a thou-sand pounds of baleen. Worth a fortune. But while my shipmates congratulated each other, I glanced longingly toward shore. Wind slapped my aching ears. The coast was some distance away, but I could see it—low, flat, white with snow….
Freedom. Freedom from Thorndike.

Again we'd failed.

Dexter kicked the mainmast and hopped around a bit on one foot, cursing the world, his toe, the
Sea Hawk
, and all whales in general. “That was our last chance,” he said, cursing again, kicking the chicken coop this time as chickens squawked and feathers danced in the wind. “We're stuck. Do you hear me, Nick? We're stuck for another year.”

“Aye, I hear you,” I said as the
Merimont
luffed alongside.

“Our hold is full!” the captain of the
Merimont
hollered through his speaking trumpet. “We've enough oil and are heading home!” Sailors lined the
Merimont'
s rails, grinning. A few tossed their caps into the air and cheered.

The
Merimont'
s hold is full. They're going home. They're leaving us.

“We'll be right behind ye,” Thorndike replied through his speaking trumpet. “We've got to finish cutting in and trying out our whale.”

“Aye! But be quick about it.” The captain of the
Merimont
glanced over his shoulder. A thin line of white stretched across the northern horizon. I'd noticed it a while back but didn't know
what it was. “The pack ice is a-coming. If it gets here before ye get out, my friend, you'll be stuck. I fear winter has us by the throat at last!” As if to prove his point, his cap flew off his head and into the water with a fierce blast of wind. Then, after the captains promised to look each other up in New Bedford and traded other such pleasantries, the
Merimont
was off.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” murmured Dexter as we watched the
Merimont
's sails fill for home.

“Nonsense,” said Sweet, overhearing. “We'll be in his wake before ye know what hit ye. Now heave and pawl, men! Look lively!”

Within an hour the sky blackened and the wind increased until it howled like a pack of wolves. Ice and oil coated the decks. We slipped and slid as waves, white-capped and furious, tossed the ship round and washed over the men cutting in the whale. They clung to the cutting stage for dear life, sometimes buried up to their necks in foam. In the trough of the waves, they hacked the blubber, their lips blue. The trypots threw up huge clouds of steam and oil droplets as seawater swirled round the fires.

Finally, letting fly a string of bloodcurdling curses, the old man ordered the whale cut loose, the tryworks closed down, and all men aboard even though we weren't half finished.

We'd been anchored a couple miles from land in less than fif-teen fathoms of water, and now we drew up anchor, double-reefed our topsails, hauled taut the braces, and dashed madly after the
Merimont.
A leaden, heavy sky pressed down. Snow whipped round us, gusting over our decks. Ninny bleated. Chickens squawked. Spray flew the length of the
Sea Hawk
as she plunged through the waves, groaning, burying her rails in water.

Although we could no longer see it, to our port was the shore. To our starboard was the polar ice pack, bearing down on us like a horde of bloodthirsty pirates. We sailed blind, knowing
that if the ice reached us before we could claw our way out of here, we'd be crushed between land and ice. Like being smashed between a hammer and anvil.

I was checking the lashings on the port-bow boat, as ordered, when someone tapped my shoulder. It was Cole. Water sluiced off his sou'wester. “Captain wants to see you!”

I made my way aft, lurching this way and that, clinging to whatever was handy, dreading the captain, wishing I'd had time to shed some of my clothes. I wore six layers and could hardly move. Hard bread and salt beef bulged in my pockets beneath my oilskins.

“Going somewhere?” Briggs said, grinning as I passed him. They were the first words he'd spoken to me since he'd been tarred. “Say hello to your ladylove.” I ignored him, hating his smug, ugly face, and continued aft.

Light from the binnacle lamp illuminated Thorndike's face beneath his sou'wester. Ice frosted his beard, and for a moment, while he peered at the compass, I saw the scar. The intensity in his eyes. My mouth went dry at the sight of him, my tongue a block of wood.

He looked up and saw me. “Robbins?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Follow me.”

Sleet stung my face as I followed him to the steerage com-panionway. Water swirled about my ankles, icy cold.
What does the captain want with me below?

Holding a lantern aloft, Thorndike clambered down the companionway. I took a deep breath and followed, wishing I could hide in my bunk instead.

We were in the blubber room. Aft of the companionway was the door leading to steerage. Save for the blubber pieces held in pens to prevent them from sliding round, the blubber room was
empty. Wasting no time, the captain proceeded down the hatch-way and into the hold. Huge casks lined the floor, wedged in side by side. The
Sea Hawk
moaned and shrieked even louder in the hold, as if the ship were alive and suffering. A shiver trickled down my spine like ice water.

The captain hung the lantern on a peg, snow and ice dripping from his sou'wester and oilskins.

Why would the captain bring me into the hold alone?
My pulse roared in my ears, for I knew something terrible, right terrible, was about to happen.

Without a word the old man took hold of my arm and yanked me forward. As I stumbled over the casks, I wondered if I should resist. Refuse to cooperate. Turn back. He stopped beside one of the deck stanchions—wooden support posts ranging fore and aft down the center of the hold—stooped down, and grasped hold of a heavy chain lying there. It was round six feet long, with a shackle on each end. Thorndike fastened a shackle onto my wrist.

“Captain—what—what—”

And while I stood there stammering like a dummy, he wrapped the chain round the post and shackled the other end to my other wrist. By fire, I was chained to the post!

“Captain, why are you doing this? Please—you must let me go!” I pulled against the chain, the cold metal of the shackles biting my wrists. Panic fluttered in my chest.

Thorndike said nothing. He walked back over the casks, lifted the lantern off the peg, and began to climb the hatchway ladder. But before he climbed entirely out of the hatchway, he dug in his coat pocket, withdrew a packet, and flung it at my feet.

Elizabeth's letters.

“I'll deal with ye later,” he growled as he left the hold and closed the hatch, plunging me into total darkness.

o! Please! Let me go! I haven't done anything wrong!”

I screamed for hours, it seemed. Finally, my voice hoarse, I collapsed.
It's useless. No one can hear me. No one knows where I am except Thorndike. If the ship wrecks now, I'm dead.
For the first time in my life, I could taste raw fear.

“I don't want to die,” I sobbed. “I want to go home. I want to row to Palmer's Island with Dexter. I want to see Aunt Agatha again. And Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth …
I imagined her locked in her cabin. I imagined her terror as the storm raged.

For a long time I lay against the post, the wood rough against my cheek, until I noticed something was different. Something
had changed. We were tacking. Tacking, in such seas and such wind? We'd normally wear ship, unless … unless …
we were near to running aground!

I stood and strained against the chain, ignoring the pain shooting up my arms. “Down here! I'm chained in the hold! Help me! Someone, please—”

With a sudden boom, something scraped hard across the
Sea Hawk
's bottom. The ship heeled sharply to her side, knocking me off my feet. I screamed. At the same time, I heard an ear-splitting crack, felt a jab of splinters near my cheek. The
Sea Hawk
shuddered from stem to stern as timbers cracked and splin-tered and the deck buckled.
We've hit! We've hit! We're going down!

Seawater roared into the hold.

Again I pulled against the chain. To my surprise, it whapped me in the face.
I'm free! The post must have broken!
Already the water was past my ankles, my feet numb with cold. I staggered toward what I believed was the direction of the hatchway lad-der. Still shackled to my wrists, the chain clanked against my shins.

I stumbled over casks, hands in front of me in the pitch black, everything out of kilter, lopsided.
Where is the ladder? Oh God, where is it?
I turned round and round, this way, that way, as water rushed past my knees, my thighs, my hips, then my waist. The freezing water sucked my breath away, shriveled my insides.

God help me!

Suddenly, a huge wave hit the
Sea Hawk
and crashed through the hold. It swept me off my feet and tossed me against the hatchway ladder as if I were no more than a fly under a fly-swatter. The chain smashed me across the bridge of my nose. I gulped blood and salt water and whale oil, unable to breathe. My brain withered in the icy cold. My muscles clenched in pain. My lungs wanted to explode. Panic flooded my veins, while my mind
screamed,
This is the end!
With a will, I forced the panic back, forced myself to think,
think!

Before I could be swept away, I flung an arm over a step and began to climb. Blackness seeped through my mind, different from the pitch dark of the hold. I fought the blackness, fought the churning water as I pulled myself up step by step. Finally, with a great gasp of air, I collapsed on the floor of the blubber room, coughing, sucking in air.
I'm alive! I'm alive!

After a moment of joyous celebration, thanking God, the angels, the stars, my father, Aunt Agatha, and everyone who had ever been nice to me, I dragged myself to my feet. There wasn't much time. Judging by the tilt of the deck, the
Sea Hawk
rested on the shore or on a shoal. But I knew she could be swept off at any minute and sink. Though it was still black as blindness, now that I had climbed the hatchway, I knew what direction I faced. I took a deep breath and lurched toward steerage, stooping so as not to bang my head on the overhead beams.

“Help! Down here in the blubber room! It's me, Nick!” I stumbled over something and fell headlong. It was hard, yet squishy and slimy. A blubber piece. I crawled along, over and around the blubber, mush oozing under my hands and knees.

Finally, I found the bulkhead and tumbled through the door-way just as the
Sea Hawk
gave a mighty groan and lurch. My heart near stopped ticking.
If she sinks now, I'm a goner.
I scram-bled to my feet and fumbled my way through steerage. Through the far doorway, I could see a lantern burning low, hanging from an overhead beam in the officers' mess. I entered the room—still smelling of coffee and fried potatoes—and, with a clank of chain, removed the lantern from its hook. Turning up the wick so that it burned bright, I edged past a table built round the mizzen and into the captain's cabin.

“Elizabeth!” I banged on her door.

“Nicholas! Oh, Nicholas! Get me out of here!” I heard fear in her voice and knew she'd been crying.