Trial by Ice (29 page)

Everywhere the region seemed to be settling into the steely grip of the coming winter. The air grew heavy and thick with the cold, and the earthy scents of the land disappeared. Once more the ear-shattering silence of the dreaded Arctic night crept forward to muffle the world.

Unlike the Ancient Mariner's predicament, fresh water was abundant for the trapped men. Melted portions of the glacial ice and snow filled the hollows of the ice pack with pools of fresh water. Daily parties of men crossed the ice to fill their buckets and casks with brackish water to drink and feed to the steam boilers. As the temperature fell and the pools froze, they cut blocks of ice from the icebergs.

More coal vanished in fruitless attempts to break free. One long day of working the hand lines and using the steam engine moved the vessel less than its own length. Nine hundred pounds of coal per day vanished into the firebox of the steam pumps. Chester and Schuman struggled to reduce the constant flow of water from the
cracks. Ninety fathoms of chain was fed into the forepeak in an effort to freeze the water in the forward hold in hopes this might slow the influx of seawater.

Tarred sailcloth was fed under the bows and winched tightly against the damaged side. Called “thrumming,” the process involved piercing the sailcloth with an awl and feeding short strips of yarn thrcugh each of the hundreds of holes. In theory the suction of the leak would draw the yarn into the holes and bind the canvas against tie ship's hull. In practice thrumming a sail worked well and had saved many a ship from a watery grave. But that was in warmer waters. Encountering frigid air and icy water, the tarred canvas froze into an inflexible sheet too stiff to closely enfold the damaged hull.

The thud of caulking hammers driving oakum into the cracks rang for days. In the end the leaks proved worse.

Schuinan abandoned his attempts to stop the leaks and turned his attention to reducing the coal needed to run the pumps. Besides having a large firebox, the steam donkey labored far in excess of its intended purpose. Originally designed only to transfer water to the engine boilers, the overstressed steam pumps kept the ship afloat by their continuous use, something they had never been built to do. Their breakdowns frayed the crew's nerves and kept Schuman busy with emergency repairs. He settled upon a small boiler designed to aid the combustion nozzles in the engine room. The men brought it on deck nd bolted it down. Ingeniously the engineer redirected the small boiler's smokestack through Ebierbing's cabin to provide extra heatir g for the Inuit while the machine fired.

By the twenty-third of September, Schuman had the little machine wo rking well enough to replace the steam donkey. As he had hoped, it did cut down considerably on the amount of coal needed to do the job. Only 350 pounds of fuel per day emptied the holds of water. However, their respite did not last long. Six days of heavy use burned up the boiler beyond repair. The end of September found thti
Polaris
with less than twenty tons of coal left. Forced back to burning close to half a ton of coal a day just to keep from sinking, by November the
Polaris
would be out of coal to fire its engines. Hall had stored enough coal for two and one-half years, but the leaks had drastically altered fuel consumption.

Buddington prepared for the worst. Should the pumps fail or the ship's side be crushed by the ice, the vessel would sink within minutes. Following Captain Hall's lead, he moved stores necessary for survival topside. The storm staysail and gaff-topsails were cut up and sewn into seabags. Bags filled with two tons of coal and loaves of bread joined the growing piles of tinned goods, twenty barrels of pork, and cans of molasses heaped by the guardrails. One remaining whaleboat was lowered onto the ice and the last remaining skiff unlashed from the cabin roof and swung over the side on davits, ready for fast deployment.

Probably to keep Captain Tyson occupied, Buddington bestowed upon him the grandiose but hollow title of “master builder” and ordered him to construct a tent on the ice beside the ship. During the construction, they discovered that the ice surrounding the
Polaris
measured six feet thick. Sinking poles into the ice for support and lashing the crossbeams together, Tyson, Morton, Mauch, Bryan, and Ebierbing built a frame twenty-seven feet long and twenty-five feet wide. The canvas used to house the deck during the winter at Thank God Harbor enclosed the tent. Eight hundred pounds of bread was stacked in canvas bags beside the shelter. Within days of the food transfer, a polar bear approached the camp, probably attracted by the smell. Two rifle shots wounded the animal without bringing it down. Half the crew took out after the fleeing bear, but it escaped. By week's end tracks of three more bears crossed close to the cache of bread.

October ended their two-month respite. Just as the donkey steam pump broke down yet again, new and dramatic events gripped the ice floe and its captive sailing ship. The ice started to move. First, the vast island swung slowly around until the bow of the ship faced directly west. Then a gale struck from the south, creating waves and troughs that crumpled the weaker parts of the ice. Hills and hummocks rose before the men's eyes, accompanied by grinding noises that reverberated throughout the ship. Giant, razor-sharp shards pierced the frozen seascape surrounding them and tumbled over close by. Any one of these frozen knives striking the ship could easily hole the wooden hull beyond all repair.

Resigned to the fate of spending another winter locked in Smith Sound, the crew found themselves propelled backward by the sudden
and swift movement of the ice southward. Snowfall accompanied the storm, obscuring any sun sight. Meyer used land bearings to place the
Polaris
at 78°45' N. The next day he reckoned the ship to be 12 miles from Cape Grinnell. They had drifted south another 120 miles in a matter of days.

Spirits rose. Their floating world approached the northern outlet of Baffin Bay. At this rate they would soon drift within reach of help. Once the vessel entered Baffin Bay, it would float with the pack until spring melted the ice. Besides, each mile brought the ship closer to Disko, where a storehouse of coal and food awaited.

But progress came with a price. Pressure increased on the ship's sides, and the vessel protested constantly with nerve-racking creaks and snaps and fresh leaks. Buddington redoubled his preparations to abandDn ship. The men piled a total of eighteen hundred pounds of bread about the tent. All items necessary for survival were brought topside and stacked for quick access. Should the ship suffer a fatal blow, the plan was to heave the goods onto the ice. Yet the unstable nature of their surroundings prevented moving the items off the boat until the last moment. To place all their supplies on the ice would be to risk losing everything should the ship break free or the tent be swallowed by a sudden opening in the island. Crates of tinned pemmican, tobacco, and hams rose on the deck in preparation. Piles of musk ox hides joined the jumble until walking about became difficult. Below decks prudent sailors stuffed their belongings into seabags and waited.

A D
READFUL
N
IGHT

They wouldn't have long to wait. Late in the day on October 15, the sky grew threatening. Dark clouds gathered to the northwest and steadily advanced in a glowering mass of molten lead until the edge of the storm hung over the ship like a black pall. Ominously the wind died down. An oppressive stillness pressed down upon the ship. The nervous banter of the deckhands trailed off until the only sound heard was the creak of the ice-encrusted deck as the men moved warily about.

As if spurred on by the coming gale, the stretch of ice that encompassed the
Polarises
world surged forward, dragging the ship along. Out of the icy mists, two ghostly mountains rose directly ahead. Shimmering and sliding silently through the water, these icebergs loomed like twin giants, drawing ever closer to the ship.

Men standing their watch gasped as their drift drew them inexorably toward their doom. The ship was trapped in the floe, and there was no possibility of escape. Within minutes the floe bearing its puny vessel would crash into the frozen giants. If the ship did not hit one of them directly, the pileup of the oncoming ice pack into the icebergs would surely shatter the expanse of ice surrounding them and crush the hull like a paper cup.

Just then the gale struck from the northwest. Snow, mist, and ice crystals swirled about the air. Visibility dropped to mere inches in front cf the men's faces, punctuated by fleeting glimpses of the ice and w iter when the wind scattered the snow.

The ice field swung around with the storm and drove between the two towering mountains. The floe shuddered to a halt upon impact. High-pitched screams emanated from the icebergs as slabs weighing tons sheared from their sides to tumble onto the floe.

Resembling an earthquake opening fissures, the impact buckled the floe and sent spidery cracks racing outward from the point of impact. Close behind these widening fissures, the ice rose and heaved like falling dominoes. The crumpled ridge rushed toward the trapped ship like an ivory tidal wave.

Then it struck the ship. Crumpling, cracking, and twisting, the enormous sheet of frozen water encasing the
Polaris
exploded into fragments. The force lifted the
Polaris
bodily and drove it onto its port side. Shuddering and trembling from the pressure, the vessel wrenched out of its frozen bed and rode up onto the ice. A cleat securing ore of the ice anchors pulled free with a sharp crack and vanished over the side with the hawser. Heavy oak timbers groaned and snapped, mostly abaft the beam. The stern section appeared to split in two.

A tortured groan wrenched George Tyson from his deep sleep and caused him to sit bolt upright in his narrow bunk. Flakes of frost from condensed moisture on the walls rained down on him as the ship's sides trembled. The cold flakes stung his face like needles and brought him fully awake.

Grop ng within the blackness of the cabin, his fingers touched the rough oak walls of the ship, an act of reassurance every mariner performs when frightened. No sounds of rushing water reached his ears; no streams of freezing water met his touch. The solid sides were still intact. Tyson murmured a prayer, and he calmed himself.

Tyson cocked his ear, uncertain of what exactly was happening. As assistant navigator of the expedition, his twenty years sailing the Arctic ha d prepared him for the creaks and sounds each ship makes as it lives uneasily among the ice. No vessel ever masters the Arctic seas. Ratier, the massive bergs and blocks of ice
permit
a ship to
exist. Already cracked and leaking, the
Polaris
had plenty of reason to protest the pressure of the ice, but these sounds were different more intense, more … painful.

Tyson blinked in the dark. He must get topside, he realized. A feeble shaft of light marked the forward ladder. Another, lesser moan followed the first, this one issuing from the ribs of the ship itself. It was as if the
Polaris
were being tortured, crying out in pain with each blow to its sides.

Suddenly the vessel lurched violently to port, throwing Tyson from his bunk.

“We are sinking!” The shout came from the deck. Another roll followed close on the cry, and a sharp grinding shook the keel. Above his head running feet thudded across the deck, mixing with the scrape of sliding crates.

A voice he recognized as belonging to Campbell, the fireman, screamed down the hatch: “The ice has driven through the side!”

Instantly Tyson leaped to his feet and bounded up the ladder. A wall of frigid air struck his lungs as he skidded onto the ice-rimmed deck. His bare fingers caught the rigging to keep his balance. The frozen cordage burned like molten iron.

The perpetual gloom of the Arctic winter provided scarcely more light than his darkened room, but he could see the faint outlines of the forecastle rising like a dark wedge into the inky sky. Snow and sleet peppered his face, blinding him at times. Squinting through the mist, he forced his eyelids to remain open. What he managed to see chilled his heart.

Surrounding the ship, ice floes and jumbled pack ice hovered in the blowing snow like ghostly specters. Two monstrous icebergs threatened the ship from both sides. At first Tyson thought the bergs had struck the ship, but a swirl of the snow revealed that not to be the case. The bergs had struck the ice floe instead, he realized.

A body tumbled past Tyson, striking his left leg on the way by. The tilt of the deck had slid the crew against the port railings, clustering them in a bunch like ninepins near the waist of the vessel. Those who could stand peered over the railing. Tyson slipped and skated to them and followed their gaze over the side.