The Pole (2 page)

“I love yer biscuits,” I said. “I just mean … them people is all rich, so why do they wanta go eating that sort of stuff?”

“They're the ones as put down the money for this ship and those supplies and for the salaries you and me is getting paid.They want a taste of the adventure we's heading out on, an' this is the way they can get a little.Then, in the dark of winter, when they're all snug and safe in their big beds, covered with thick goose-down quilts, lyin' under the warm roofs of their mansions, they can pretend they're in an igloo on the Arctic ice at forty below, listening to the howl of the wind and the barking of the sledge dogs. Does that answer yer question?”

“I guess.”

“Good. Now grab a tray of those biscuits and get 'em topside.”

“Yes, sir.”

The table was covered with trays filled with freshly baked biscuits, some still steaming hot, and slices of pemmican, cold and far from fresh. The pemmican was made of dried meat, fat, and dried berries all pounded together into a gigantic cake. It
came in big tins—either bright blue or red—six pounds to a tin.

I reached out and broke off a little piece of pemmican, popping it in my mouth.

“This pemmican ain't fit for hogs!” I exclaimed. “I don't think I can eat this stuff.”

“You an' me won't be havin' to eat none of it,” Cookie said. “That's the stuff the men'll be eatin' when they sledge north toward the Pole. Me an' you will be safe and warm, sittin' in this 'ere galley with me cookin' and bakin' ta beat the band. Now, off with ya.”

I picked up a tray of biscuits and started topside. Balancing the tray with one hand I grabbed a biscuit with the other. It was warm to the touch and I gobbled it down greedily.

Laughter and conversation flooded down the stairway. I stopped at the very top and then peered around the corner. The deck was filled with people, either clustered together talking in groups or strolling about. I suddenly became aware of how shabby my clothes looked and how out of place I'd be up there amongst those fancy folks. Maybe I should just turn tail and go on back and … I couldn't do that. Cookie expected me—Cookie had
ordered
me—to bring the food topside. I took a deep breath and stepped out onto the deck.There was hardly any open space and I didn't think I could move to the aft
deck to put down the tray without bumping into somebody.

I slipped between people, careful not to touch them or even disturb their conversations. I held the tray firmly. Nothing would be worse than spilling it … actually, it would be worse if I spilled it
on
somebody.

“Are these the biscuits we've been promised?”

I looked up at the man standing directly in my path. “Um, yes, sir, these are the biscuits.”

“Let us have a taste,” he said to the two men standing at his side.

All three took a biscuit.

“Still hot,” one of the men said. “Biscuits straight from the oven.” He took a bite. “Not bad at all.”

The other two agreed.

“Now we have to try some of that pemmican,” one of the men said.

“'Fraid ya won't be findin' that so good,” I said. “You've tried it?”

“It's not like the biscuits,” I said.

“And where can we find out for ourselves?” the first man asked.

“I'll go and get some. Here,” I said, handing him the tray.

He took it, and the other two men laughed.

“Looks like the bank president has become a waiter!” one of them said, and the other roared with laughter.

I suddenly realized what I had done. I tried to take it back.

“That's fine, son. A little honest labour wouldn't hurt any of us. Go and get the pemmican.”

I turned and headed back, but I'd gone no more than three steps down the stairs when I practically bumped into Cookie coming up. He was holding a tray of pemmican.

“I'll take it,” I said.

He handed me the tray and headed back down to get another. I got back to the deck.

“Danny.”

I looked over. It was Mr. Hensen. He motioned for me to come over.

“You don't need to be serving these people,” Mr. Hensen said.

“I was just bringin' it up is all, sir, Mr. Hensen, sir, like Cookie told me to do.”

“Bring the food up from the aft passage.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Hensen.”

“And Danny,” he said, “you just call me Matt … okay?”

“Yes, sir, Matt.”

“I don't see any other members of the crew except Captain Bob.”

“Just me and Cookie. Rest are still on shore leave.”

He looked at his watch. “Two hours till we weigh anchor. Commander wouldn't want a delay.”

“No delay, sir. Cap'n Bartlett told 'em to be 'ere, they'll be 'ere. Nobody would want to get the Cap'n mad at 'em.”

“I know
I
wouldn't,” Mr. Hensen said, and he laughed. “Captain Bartlett is the best ice captain in the whole world. He's a good man, but one of the toughest I've ever met. You ever see him lose his temper?”

“Just once, and never at me … praise the Lord.”

“Lucky thing. Now get going and bring the rest of that food up topside.”

CHAPTER TWO

COOKIE AND I
 sat well off to the side and watched as the guests—he called them “the 'igh and mighty”—sampled the biscuits and pemmican.

The biscuits got rave reviews.We could hear what folks were saying, but more telling, we could see their expressions as they came back for seconds and thirds and fourths. There was even one woman who stuffed four or five in her purse. She was a big woman who looked like she'd never missed a meal in her life and sure didn't need any more biscuits.

It was more fun to watch them sampling the pemmican. They'd bite down and their faces would say it all. Some tried to choke it down but others spat it out, either over the rail and into the water or into their hands.

“Look,” Cookie whispered.“Here goes another one.”

We watched—without trying to be too obvious—as a very dignified woman, dressed all fancy, picked up a piece of pemmican. She put it up
to her face and seemed to be smelling it. If she had known that it tasted much worse than it smelled— and it didn't smell very nice at all—she would have just put it back down or tossed it overboard. Instead she put it in her mouth. We could see her chew it and watched in fascination as her eyes bulged and she started to cough and gag. She reached into her purse and pulled out a lacy-looking handkerchief and brought it up to her mouth.Then she delicately folded the handkerchief up and put it back into her purse.

“Guess we knows now how a lady spits out 'er food,” Cookie whispered.

“Don't see nobody comin' back for a second piece.”

“But those biscuits of mine are doin' good business,” Cookie said. “Who knows, maybe after this trip I'll become a cook for the
crème de la crème
of 'igh an' proper society 'ere.”

“They could do worse,” I agreed.

I liked Cookie. When he gave me orders, most of the time it was more like he was just asking me to do a favour and not yelling at me or nothing. Being the youngest and the smallest—as well as the one with the least experience—aboard ship meant that everybody figured they were my boss.Worse, some people thought they could pass on any job they didn't want to do to me.

Mixed in with the crowd of rich people were a few familiar faces. Along with Commander Peary and his family, Matthew, and Captain Bartlett, there were also the four other members of the expedition.There was Dr. Goodsell, the expedition surgeon, Mr. MacMillan, who was a high school teacher, and Mr. Marvin, who was some sort of university professor. The fourth member, George Borup, hardly seemed that much older than me. He was a student at Cornell University where he was a star athlete. He was big and strong and solid, and he moved like a cat. He was also friendly and always smiling and givin' me a pat on the back and tellin' jokes. I liked him a lot.

“Can I have your attention, please!” a loud voice boomed out. It was Matthew Hensen. “Could we all assemble on the foredeck?”

I looked over at Cookie to ask if that meant us too, and he nodded. We got up and trailed behind as the people shuffled forward.

On the foredeck, standing on a bulkhead—head and shoulders above the crowd—was Commander Peary. He raised his hand and the murmur of conversation stopped.

“In two hours, on the next tide, we will weigh anchor and set forth on an historic mission. On our last trip, I earned the right to call myself the man who has travelled the farthest north.”

There was a round of applause.

“And while this was a momentous accomplishment, it was not enough. Our goal for this expedition is simple. Ninety degrees north, the Pole, nothing else. That is my pledge.”

The audience burst into thunderous applause. Obviously, this was what they had come to hear.

“But no man could undertake such a mission without help. I am supported in my quest by the members of our expedition, by the crew and captain of the
Roosevelt,
and, perhaps most important, by those of you who are gathered here today, the members of the Peary Arctic Club. Without your encouragement, counsel, and generous support this mission would not be possible.”

Commander Peary came to attention, saluted, and then gracefully bowed from the waist.

“And so, when I stand at the Pole, fulfilling not only my dream, but the dreams of mankind for three centuries, I will not stand alone.You will all be there, standing beside me. To you. My sincere and deepest thanks.”

Again, the crowd erupted in applause and cheers of “Hear, hear!” It struck me as sort of funny that they were actually cheering for themselves.

Some of the guests left almost immediately after the Commander had finished his speech. I figured they were hungry and hoping for something better than pemmican to eat. Others lingered longer, but
the last few finally departed. And almost like magic, the first members of the crew arrived. I suspected they had been close by, hiding and watching, waiting until the coast was clear. I couldn't really blame them. It was uncomfortable being around all those people. It wasn't that they said or did anything—in fact, they'd basically ignored me—it was just strange to be around people who were so … different. Cookie had pointed out some of the jewellery the women were wearing and mentioned how some of those little rings were worth more than the money we'd be earning on this whole trip for a year's worth of work.

As soon as the crew members arrived they started to work, getting the ship ready for departure. Captain Bartlett spoke highly of the crew members. He had hand-picked them, and they were all good Newfoundlanders. Some were from St. John's and others from the little outports and villages that dotted the South Shore. I didn't really know any of them, but if they were from Newfoundland they had to be men who knew the sea.

My attention was caught by motion along the pier. I looked up. There were two motorcycles, ridden by policemen, leading a big, long, black car. Flags—the Stars and Stripes—fluttered from the front fenders of the vehicle. Whoever this was, he had to be important.

The car came to a stop right in front of the
Roosevelt
. The uniformed driver quickly got out and practically raced around to the rear door to open it. He then offered a salute as the passenger emerged. This guy was tall and powerful-looking … actually, he looked familiar … maybe he had been on the ship before … no, that wasn't it.

The two policemen walked behind him as he started up the gangplank of the ship. At that instant I saw that Commander Peary had also noticed our guest. He practically ran across the deck with that awkward gait of his. I'd been told that he lost most of his toes when his feet got frozen on one of his expeditions to the north. I guess it said a lot about his dedication that he was willing to head out again, in spite of that. He stopped at the top end of the gangplank, came to attention, and saluted, just like the driver had done.

“Good afternoon, Commander Peary!” the man called out in a booming voice.

Strange, I thought I even recognized his voice.

“And good afternoon to you, Mr. President!” Commander Peary called back.

That was it—he was the president of the Peary Arctic Club, and he must have been here before.That would explain why he was so important … but important enough to have policemen on motorcycles escort him around?

The man—the president—walked up the gangplank, closely followed by two other men who had emerged from the car, with both police officers in hot pursuit.

“Permission to board, Commander Peary?” he asked.

“Permission granted. It is our honour to have you aboard.”

At this point he walked onto the deck and the two men shook hands. I stood there, off to the side, watching as they began talking—too quietly for me to hear—and wondered if I should finish cleaning up or if I should leave out the remaining biscuits and pemmican and lemonade in case he wanted to sample them.

“Boy!” Commander Peary called, and I started out of my thoughts.

“Bring coffee, a whole pot, and some cups, to my cabin.You can show these gentlemen to the galley,” he said, indicating the two men who had been in the car, “and ask Cookie to make sure they are taken care of.”

“Yes, sir.”

I grabbed one of the remaining trays and hurried down to the galley, leading the way for the two men. When I got there, Cookie was bent over the sink, scrubbing away at the baking pans.

“Got to get some coffee for the Commander and his guests,” I announced. “And the Commander asks
would you fix something for these gentlemen as well.”The two men sat down, silent as ever.

“More guests? I thought they'd all left,” Cookie said.

“Just one car's worth.They want coffee.”

He motioned to the stove.There was a pot percolating on the top.