Voyage of Ice (3 page)

“Here we are,” he'd say, breathing hard.

“Just like we always dreamed.”

Only a few of the men did I recognize—a couple of the mates, men who'd hollered at me many times in years past to get down from the yards, afterward patting my head. Good men, I knew, who had families and went to church Sundays, who tipped their hats to Aunt Agatha as we passed in the streets. Everyone else, some thirty men or so, was a stranger.

Come dusk, as the last of the land fell astern, the first mate called us amidships. The other three mates stood at the rail, watching us foremast hands in the waning light, saying nothing as we gathered round the main hatch. A goat bleated. The air stank of tobacco and cabbages. A side of beef hung from the amidship shelter and moved like a pendulum as the ship rose and fell on the ocean swells. My body ached; my hands were raw and red. I'd left my dinner behind in Buzzards Bay. I hoped they would let us go rest now that we were at sea. Now that the hard work was over.

A cockroach scurried by and I jumped.
By fire, I hate bugs! I thought the
Sea Hawk
didn't have bugs!
Dexter saw me jumping and calmly ground it beneath his brogan.

Still we stood round, no one saying anything. Where was the captain? I'd yet to see him, and wondered what kind of man he was. Was he kindly, like the other captains I'd met? Was he like my father? I thought to tell him that the
Sea Hawk
had a bug problem.

Off to the side, the four harponeers lounged lazy. One sprawled atop a crate of potatoes, picking his teeth. Smug, they were. A breed apart. I knew that not only did the harponeers
bunk in steerage rather than the fo'c'sle, but they earned more money and were tough fellows.

Then the captain appeared. He was a big bully of a man, strong-jawed and barrel-chested. A deep, jagged scar stretched from his neck over his left cheek and disappeared into a depression in his scalp. His eyes were gray, like the sky. Hard, like rocks.

Jerusalem crickets
, I thought,
he could snap me in two with his bare hands!
Dexter and I glanced at one another. He looked a little unsure, as if maybe we'd been a mite hasty signing aboard the
Sea Hawk.

The captain paced in front of us, his hands clasped behind his back. His voice booming like thunder. “I am Captain Ebenezer Thorndike of the
Sea Hawk
. Men, we be here for one reason only: to fetch a cargo of oil. You greenies have one week to learn the ropes. As for all of ye, there'll be no sleeping on your watches, no fighting, no grumbling, no wasting grub, no drinking, and no shirking of your duties. You'll respect the officers and give no back talk.”

Suddenly, he stopped pacing and looked at each of us in turn. I tried not to look scared out of my wits when he stared hard at me. “Now, I'm an easygoing man. Easy so long as ye follow my orders and look lively. But cross me, men, and you'll find me made of sterner stuff altogether. I'll not hesitate to use the lash, lock ye in irons, or hang ye up by your thumbs. I've done it before, and 'tis my right to do so again.” His eyes narrowed and his voice turned leaden. “Cross me, men, and this will become a hell ship. That's all I've got to say.”

Having said his piece, the captain walked aft and disappeared down the companionway.

Then, before I could shut my flapping mouth, or whisper to Dexter that we were goners for certain and it had been nice
knowing him, the four mates strolled down the line of foremast hands, sixteen of us in all.

“Take off your coat and let me see your muscles.”

“Ever pull in a boat? No? Worthless, good-for-nothing trash! What did you come for, then? Hoping to travel the world?”

“What? I can't understand a word you're saying. On this ship we speak English.
Comprenez-vous?
We speak English!”

“Flex your arm. Show me your hands. Why, ye ain't never done a lick of work in your miserable life! What did ye think—ye were a-going on holiday?”

“How old be ye? Seventeen! Why, if I didn't know better, I'd say ye be a liar. Ye still talk like a girl.”

The fourth mate prodded a boy next to me. The boy looked round eighteen years old. Orange-haired, freckled, green-eyed, teeth white as milk. “Ever look an angry whale in the eye, farm boy? Eh? Speak up!”

“Yes, sir!”

“What ship and for how long?”

“The
Alabaster
, sir, and for two years, sir!”

“What position?”

“Tub oarsman, sir!”

“Ever darted an iron at a whale?”

“Once, sir!”

“And?”

“I—I missed, sir!”

Suddenly, the first mate barked in my face. “How old be ye?”

I blinked and my stomach shriveled into a knot.
Why, I know him—he's Alexander Cole, one of the mates who acted friendly-like when Dexter and I were children.
Only he didn't seem so friendly all of a sudden. He was short and squat, his brown hair sticking straight up like a brush. “Fifteen, sir!”

“Green as the hills, ain't ye?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Never done a lick of work in your life, have ye?”

“Yes, sir—I mean—no, sir!”

“Take off your coat, greenie.”

I whipped off my pea jacket. Cole grabbed my arm and yanked it toward him. “By thunder,” he snarled. “If this ain't the most pathetic arm I've seen in all me whaling days. Ain't an ounce of muscle.” He dropped my arm. Then, with his face just two inches from my own, veins bulging, he roared, “How do ye expect to pull an oar with just your bones, eh, Bones?”

“I'll do my best, sir!”

He grunted and moved on, screaming at Dexter an inch from Dexter's face as saliva flew from his mouth. “What are ye standing there looking like an idiot for? Take off your blasted coat so I can have a look at your muscles!”

“Yes, sir!” Dexter quickly shrugged off his coat.

“Ever pull in a boat, greenie?”

“No, sir! I mean, yes, sir! To—uh—Palmer's Island, sir!”

“Palmer's Island? Why, even babies do that! What good are ye to us, then? Whale bait, maybe? At least you'd come in handy!”

“Yes, sir! I'll do everything I can to catch a whale, sir!”

The mate's eyes narrowed. “Why, if I didn't know better, I'd say you've never seen a whale before, have ye?”

Dexter licked his lips. “Uh—no, sir. I hear they're very big, though.”

Cole reeled backward and punched his own forehead. “Blast me eyes, if we come home with more than a barrel of oil in less than ten years, it'll be a miracle.”

Finally, the mates finished looking us over. One by one, beginning with First Mate Cole, they began calling names. The red-haired fellow was chosen by the fourth mate. Dexter was also chosen by the fourth mate; he said he liked Dexter's hustle. I was
the last left leaning against the rail. None of the mates looked as if they wanted to choose me. Me, a greenie, not very quick on his feet, only fifteen, with no muscles to speak of.
Bones.
I stared straight ahead, my face hot as a blister.

The fourth mate sighed. “Blast it, greenie, I always get the leftovers. You're with me.”

I never worked so hard in my life.

There were scores of tasks to do. Spurred on by the mates, we worked like madmen getting ready for whaling. “For what if a huge sperm whale passes in front of our bow, and us not ready?” said the second mate. “Captain Thorndike will nail your hides to the masts.”

There was cutting tackle to rig, a cutting stage to construct. Four whaleboats to prepare with oars, rigging, and sails. We stretched out whaleline, removed the kinks, and coiled it in tubs. The harponeers sharpened their lances and harpoons from dawn till dusk. I heard the stony rasp of whetting metal even in my sleep. Strangely, sometimes after nightfall I thought I heard piano music. Bach or Mozart or some such.

All that first week we greenies were drilled on the ropes and boxing the compass. My head swam and I broke into a sweat whenever someone asked me a question or gave me an order. Dexter hopped to every task with a mind to outwork us all. When orders were given to trim sail, he was the first up the rat-lines. Already he was a better sailor than I was, remembering everything as if it were easy, as if he'd done this all his life.
Why is everything so hard for me?
I thought.
Why can't I be like Dexter— handsome, smart, living life like it was made just for me?

One day I headed aft, past the tryworks, past the duck and chicken coops, to fetch our dinner from the galley. Cook put the food in a tub or two, and today it was my turn to bring my
shipmates their grub. I was just past the steerage companionway when I saw a girl.
What in tunket?
I craned my neck as I walked. With a cat cradled in her arms, she leaned against the rail, her corn-silk blond hair blowing round as she gazed out to sea.

By fire
.
There's a girl aboard the
Sea Hawk.

he must have felt my gaze, because she turned and looked at me with eyes blue as Aunt Agatha's cornflowers. My heart flipflopped.
She's my age. And pretty as a posy
.

A smile played at the corners of her lips. Our gazes locked for the briefest moment before I crashed headlong into the galley door.
Dad blamedest!
I heard her laugh. Cook opened the door. “What the—”

“Sorry, Cook.”

“Stupid greenie. Watch where you're a-going.”

I looked back to where the girl had been, but she was gone, cat and all.

“Ah, ye ain't the first one who's gone goggle-eyed over her.” Cook wiped his hands on his apron. “The captain catches you staring, though, he'll rip out your eyes and fry 'em for supper.”

“Who—who is she?”

“Why, she's Elizabeth, the captain's daughter, who else?” he answered, loading my arms with the tub.

Thorndike's daughter!

“Lived her whole life at sea. Fifteen years, or thereabouts. Born aboard ship, she was. Takes her school lessons from her mother most days. Now, Mrs. Thorndike's some picky, doesn't like cabbage or pickled meat, likes tea 'stead of coffee, and that stuff's expensive, mind! She's a regular genteel lady. They both are. Go on now. The fellows be waiting.”

“She's a looker,” whispered Dexter one day. “All the guys are talking about her.”

The two of us stood at the lookout station, one on each side of the mast. A single iron hoop circled each of us, chest high. Dexter leaned against his hoop and gazed aft to where Elizabeth sat sipping tea with her mother, a tall, spare woman who dressed in black.

Mostly, Elizabeth and Mrs. Thorndike stayed aft, near the captain's quarters, seldom venturing even as far as the mainmast. And except to fetch grub from the galley or to take a trick at the helm, we sailors rarely went abaft, as that was “officers' country.” But looking aft was free.

“Who, Mrs. Thorndike?” Like Dexter, I whispered soft as no talking was allowed on lookout.

Dexter glanced at me as if I were nuts.

I looked away, out over the ocean, the breeze catching my hair, a tight feeling in my chest
.

“By fire, little brother, if I didn't know better, I'd say you have a crush on Miss Elizabeth. Well, you'd better not do anything about it. I mean, blood and thunder, she's the captain's daughter! That's like being the daughter of Ivan the Terrible or something. We touch, we die.”

It doesn't matter
, I thought, irritated that Dexter always seemed to know what I was thinking and always told me what to do.
All I'm doing is looking anyways.

Day after day, the seas remained empty.

Some days we backed the sails and went a-whaling—or at least pretended to. Each of the four whaleboats was thirty feet long, pointed at both ends so it could sail in either direction. If in close quarters with a whale, the rudder was drawn up and a steering oar was used, making it possible for the boat to turn quickly on its own length. Our boat, the starboard quarter boat, was crammed with six of us and half a ton of equipment. After rowing hard that first day, I had blisters the size of pancakes.

Occasionally a log was thrown into the water and we took turns tossing the harpoon. Of course, during a real chase, only the harponeer would dart the harpoon, but it was good training. I struck several times, and was glad when the fourth mate, Henry Sweet, clapped me on the back and said, “Well done. I guess them bones of yours be good for more than just clacking together.”