The Ice Master (34 page)

They left on April 19. Bartlett harnessed their four dogs to the young man's sled. He wanted to take their own sled as well, but the Chukches would get more use out of it, and it would only slow them down now.

Now Bartlett, Kataktovik, and their driver headed back the way they had come, past Cape Onman, and from there followed the shore toward Mr. Olsen's house. Two hours before reaching him, their guide halted the sled and announced that he was not going to East Cape after all.

Bartlett gave the boy five dollars for taking them to Koliuchin Bay, and then their guide turned his sled back toward home and was gone. The captain and Kataktovik were left without a sled and no way of reaching. Olsen, who lived several miles away. That night, however, Bartlett managed to barter with another Chukche who promised to take them to Olsen's place in exchange for a snow knife, two steel drills, and a pickaxe.

In the morning, they harnessed their dogs to his sled, and by noon they reached Olsen, a thirty-eight-year-old trader who knew about the
Karluk
's expedition, and who offered to hire them a guide. From Olsen's, they headed for Cape Serdze, traveling through Pitlekaj. After Pitlekaj, they arrived at an aranga near Idlidlija Island, where Olsen's guide turned back. They paid him off first with a spade and tobacco, and Bartlett realized he had now given away almost all of his tradable items.

They reached Cape Serdze the following afternoon, with the help of two Chukches and their sleds. It was, at last, beautiful weather. The temperature, while still well below freezing, felt more bearable, and the sun's rays warmed them as they traveled. Once again, Bartlett's eyes suffered from the glare of the sunlight upon the snow. It was bright as a mirror, and he was forced to pull a cap over his forehead, and a hood over this to shield his eyes from the light.

At Cape Serdze, they met Siberia's most famous hunter, a man called Corrigan. He was the most prosperous Eskimo Bartlett had met, and with the assistance of a Norwegian neighbor of Corrigan's, the captain was able to convince Corrigan to take them to East Cape. It was ninety miles distance, but they covered it swiftly. They headed out over the sea ice just off the shore and traversed numerous steep inclines, sliding along at rapid speeds. It was a hair-raising and thrilling experience to travel with Corrigan. He maneuvered the sled as deftly as Bartlett steered a ship. His sixteen dogs were first-rate and one of Corrigan's buddies came along for the ride, bringing his own sled, upon which Kataktovik rode.

They passed great jutting cliffs that stood over a hundred feet high. They made fifty miles the first day, the traveling made easier by the nearly twenty-four hours of sunlight and the improving weather. When the temperature rose the next day to freezing point, it felt almost balmy. Traveling was rougher the second day, however, and they were forced to stay close to the cliffs. This wasn't the safest path; the warming sun was melting the ice and now and then boulders would come crashing down from above them, thundering across their paths.

Corrigan knew very little English, which frustrated him immensely because he wanted to tell Bartlett stories of his exploits. He was a hero, the “daredevil of northern
⁴¹
Siberia,” and he was proud of his conquests.

He had heard all about Bartlett's adventures from the Norwegian, and he grew more and more animated as he related stories about his own narrow escapes and great hunts. Bartlett could pick up a word here and there, but the more excited Corrigan grew, the less the captain could understand him. Soon he was just nodding at everything the hunter said until Corrigan realized Bartlett had no idea what he was saying. Grabbing his head in despair, the great hunter moved onward in frustration, driving the sled fast and hard over the ice.

On April 24 at 6:00
P.M.
, Bartlett, Kataktovik, Corrigan, and his friend reached Emma Town, a few miles southwest of East Cape. “The second stage
⁴²
of our journey from Wrangel Island was over,” wrote Bartlett. “We had been thirty-seven days on the march and . . . had actually travelled about seven hundred miles, all but the last part of the way on foot. There now remained the question of transportation to Alaska, and the sooner I was able to arrange for that the better.”

A
T EMMA TOWN
, Bartlett gave his letter of introduction to Mr. Caraieff, the brother of a man he had met at Cape North. Then Caraieff and Bartlett discussed ways to get to Alaska. Because of the season, it was too late to travel by sled and too early to travel by boat. It would be at least June before any ships could reach East Cape. Bartlett could get an Eskimo to take him in a whaleboat to the Diomede Islands, Caraieff said. From there he could take another whaleboat to Cape Prince of Wales. He would have to wait until May to do this, though, and even then the ice conditions would be unpredictable.

Bartlett was most concerned about sending a wire to the government in Ottawa to alert them of the
Karluk
tragedy and of the castaways on Wrangel Island. He knew time was critical, and that every day that passed would be harder on the men he'd left behind. The closest place with a wireless station was Anadyr, at the tip of the northeastern Siberian coast, just off the Bering Sea. This, he knew, was where he would go.

Caraieff helped him make the arrangements. Some local Eskimos would take Bartlett to Indian Point, and from there he would find other Eskimos to take him to Anadyr. Kataktovik would remain at East Cape. He wanted to go to Point Hope, Alaska, he said, even though he had joined the expedition at Point Barrow. Bartlett planned to give him provisions enough to last him until he could get a ship across to Alaska.

And so the plans were set into motion. They would start in the next few days.

Bartlett went to bed feeling satisfied at last. He was on his way for help. He would be there soon and the wireless message would be sent to the authorities; then they would do everything possible to rescue his men as soon as they could. It had been a long, difficult journey, but soon help would be on the way.

The next morning, Bartlett awoke to find his legs and feet rapidly swelling. He was in tremendous pain and could barely move, and he couldn't imagine why. The only thing he could attribute it to was the harsh pounding his legs and feet had received, day in and day out, from the long and tiresome trek across ice and water and cliffs and snow. Whatever it was, though, he had become an invalid overnight.

Three days after Bartlett had arrived at Caraieff's, a distinguished Russian dignitary from Emma Harbor came to visit. His name was Baron Kleist, and he was the supervisor of Northeastern Siberia. The captain was thankful to run into Kleist. He had been hoping to track him down while he was there. Kleist was leaving May 10 for Emma Harbor and asked Bartlett to go with him. This might be faster, they decided, than traveling to the wireless station at Anadyr.

But for now, all trips, and the telegram to Ottawa, would have to wait. Bartlett was utterly helpless. He was no longer in pain, but the swelling in his limbs was so severe that it drained him of every drop of energy. He had lost forty pounds and, aside from the swelling, was dangerously thin. Kataktovik was pale and gaunt as well, and suffering from sharp pains in his legs.

They had won through. They had traveled over seven hundred miles of perilous ice and savage Arctic wilderness. But the journey had beaten them, and now they were too weak to move, too ill to continue. They were completely unable to take those final steps to bring help to the castaways back on Wrangel Island.

May 1914

I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.. . . The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.

—P
SALM 121

D
IARY OF
B
JARNE
M
AMEN
R
ODGER'S
H
ARBOUR
F
RIDAY
,
M
AY
1.

T
RY AS HE MIGHT,
McKinlay could not keep the peace. Now Kuraluk was afraid of Hadley, and Hadley was mad at Kuraluk; Munro and some of the others were furious with Hadley; and then Munro had it out with Williamson, who, in turn, seemed to be getting on everyone's nerves and enjoying stirring up trouble. He and Breddy were constantly quarreling and got into a violent argument one day, although McKinlay had no idea what provoked it.

“Tempers seem to
¹
be wearing short,” he worried in his journal; “what will happen if things ever get really bad, I cannot imagine, for there have been some little signs that some dispositions will not stand much strain.”

McKinlay was torn. He longed to join Mamen and Malloch down at Rodger's Harbour. He was feeling stronger now and more able, but not strong or able enough to make the trip. And Munro now relied so heavily upon McKinlay's counsel and opinion that McKinlay would have felt bad leaving him, especially with the tension in camp.

Their oil was running out now, so they could only cook and make their tea over driftwood fires. They traveled two miles from camp to find wood because they had already used up everything in the immediate area. Unfortunately, the weather wasn't always cooperative for fire building, and when it was windy or snowing (as it always seemed to be), they had to forgo the fire and eat their pemmican cold and dry “and dream of
²
better,” McKinlay wrote wistfully.

By chance, they had discovered something that made the pemmican more palatable. Williamson was heating a tin of the stuff one day, trying to open it, and without meaning to, overheated one side. The result was a bit of fried pemmican, the taste enhanced 100 percent. From then on, they would fry it in seal oil. They also found they could cook blubber and make it palatable, although no one but the Eskimos could stand to eat it alone.

They enjoyed three or more mugs full of tea for supper. “What a godsend
³
is tea to us these days—the only warm dish we have,” McKinlay wrote. “The two hours I had to stand shivering while making it were well worth it.”

McKinlay was suffering badly from the cold. Even though the temperature increased, it was still well below freezing. He was used to the biting winds and low temperatures of Scotland, but Wrangel Island was a different place altogether. His parka was riddled with holes, and he cursed Stefansson for purchasing such cheap secondhand furs. He tried patching the garment, but it was beyond repair. Whatever he did, he couldn't seem to keep warm, but he did not complain to his colleagues. There was no one here in whom he could confide, and it wouldn't help matters anyway. Besides, as he said, “we have sufficient
⁴
of the loud-voiced variety in camp these days.. . .”

The crippled men were progressing nicely, except for Chafe, who refused to eat or take proper care of his heel, which had turned a frightening shade of black. Williamson would have to perform another operation to remove the dead flesh even though the second engineer himself was ailing, showing the same signs as the rest of them—swelling accompanied by great weakness. McKinlay wondered where it would all end. He was suspicious of the pemmican and wondered if it had anything to do with how they were feeling, but there was no way to be sure. And even if it was the pemmican, there was little else to eat.

Auntie did have a way of surprising them with food she had stored and hidden away. She was much better at rationing than the men were, and every now and then she would present a bit of meat from, as it seemed, thin air, and they would have a brief reprieve from the pemmican.

Several flocks of eider ducks flew over the camp, but the men could do nothing because Hadley and Kuraluk had all the guns with them at the ridge. By May 7, McKinlay and the others were beginning to worry about the long absence of the two hunters. Auntie anxiously waited for her husband's return. She was frightened while he was away, especially of bears, so Williamson had moved into the Eskimos' tent to help settle her nerves.

Kuraluk appeared in camp at midnight that same night, dragging a small seal. There were three more at the ridge with Hadley, he said, and the next day the men ate their share of the animal, frying the liver in a pemmican tin as a special treat. It was, thought McKinlay, the tastiest bit of food they had eaten for as long as he could remember.

But then the trouble started. Williamson, who had remained in the tent with the Eskimo family, began reporting things that he claimed Kuraluk had told him. He said that Hadley had tried to persuade Kuraluk to take his family out to the Ridge to live so that they would have fewer mouths to feed. He said that Hadley didn't want any of the rest of them to eat. He wanted to have all the meat for himself so that he alone would survive. Williamson also reported that Hadley had not been hunting at the ridge, instead lying in the igloo all day or taking walks on the ice.

The tempers of the crewmen were already volatile from hunger, and now everyone but McKinlay and Munro cursed Hadley and boasted about what they would do to him, the next time they saw him. The matter of food was not to be treated lightly, and they would teach him a lesson once and for all for wanting to deny the rest of them their share. Trouble had already been brewing, and McKinlay felt a great sense of unease as he listened to the threats against Hadley, who wasn't even there to defend himself.

Munro had a long talk with Kuraluk, who claimed to be afraid of Hadley, although he said nothing regarding the rumors Williamson had been spreading about the old man. Kuraluk did say he thought Hadley was in charge and that he needed to do whatever the old man told him to do. The Eskimo had wrenched his back, which put him in a great deal of pain, but he was planning to head back to the ridge the next day in spite of it, because he was afraid not to follow Hadley's orders.

Nonsense, Munro told him; he should rest his back first and recuperate. Then, when he was well enough to go to the ridge, some of the other men would go with him. They were all eager to get their hands on Hadley even though most of them until now had been content to lie about camp, their greatest exertion being talking of food and complaining about their situation.

The wind blew strong and hard, sweeping over the landscape until the snow was blown away and dark patches of earth remained. It was the season of the midnight sun, and they now went to bed in sunlight at 11:00
P.M.

Kuraluk set out for the ridge on May 11, with Munro, Breddy, Maurer, and McKinlay following the next day. They took with them a mug and some pemmican and followed Kuraluk's trail. The snow was deep with a firm, thin crust, which sustained them briefly with each step before they sank into it up to the thighs. McKinlay went along to keep the peace, dreading the moment of confrontation. “I hope some
⁵
of the tempers cool somewhat before then,” he wrote, “or there may be trouble.”

About 10:00, as the men left the snow and crossed onto the level ice field, they spotted a black object on the horizon. From where they stood, it looked like a sled, but they soon decided it was only a piece of ice. After another mile or so, however, they saw that it was indeed a sled. As they approached it, they soon saw a dejected-looking figure, muttering over and over again, “Me no good
⁶
lose.”

Kuraluk was snow-blind and had lost the trail. The men asked him what he wanted to do, but it was hard to understand him. Finally, they all turned back to camp, guiding Kuraluk, who could barely see. McKinlay also felt the onset of snow blindness, his eyes painful and gritty, as if they were full of sand. The light was strong that day and it was impossible to wear goggles because they frosted up so quickly.

The next day, Hadley arrived in camp. No one was happy to see him and the crewmen demanded that Munro come to some sort of understanding with the old man. “Munro's job is
⁷
not an enviable one,” McKinlay observed. “To provoke ill-feeling would probably make our final state worse than at present.”

Something had to be done. If Munro didn't take care of it, the rest of the men would—and not so diplomatically. The following morning, the engineer took Hadley aside and had a private talk with him. McKinlay and the others had no idea what they said to each other; but at the end of it all, they seemed to be on remarkably good terms, and Hadley, it appeared, was forgiven. Some of the more vocal members of the group were not pleased about the private discussion and demanded that they have a “round-the-fire” talk to straighten things out. Williamson, in particular, was unhappy that he wasn't privy to their conversation, and upon Munro's return from the meeting, complained bitterly about it.

Afterward, Hadley avoided the second engineer completely. He would never forget that Williamson's antipathy nearly cost him his life. Munro had been heading out there to the ridge to have Hadley killed. He had ordered Breddy to do the deed for him so that he wouldn't have to do any of it himself. If they hadn't come across the snow-blind Kuraluk, Breddy would have done it. And it was all thanks to Williamson's lies.

Some time ago, Hadley had thought Williamson a decent man and had even loaned him his rifle as a sign of his belief in him. That, however, was before he discovered that Williamson was a “contemptable rotter.”
⁸
He had stolen from Hadley's knapsack and he had made threats. In Hadley's mind, the second engineer had been out to get him ever since the ship went down.

“I would not
⁹
Live another winter on this Island another winter with this push for the Dominion of Canada if the ship fails to show up,” Hadley wrote with obvious disgust. “[T]he general plan is to push on for Siberia because it will be Impossible to make a living here any way and Everybody is free to come or stay but if they come They must keep up or get Left.”

Munro and Williamson had never gotten along well. But now Munro's dislike for the man had turned into a deep-seated hatred and anger. Williamson had started the trouble and now, Munro could see, he was not to be trusted. The story about Hadley had been a fabrication, from Williamson's lips to their ears. Most of the men had been so quick to believe it that Munro had never asked Kuraluk to back up the story. Munro realized he would have to be careful what he believed from now on.

It was always something with Williamson—he was never happy and always complaining. Williamson still had the rifle Hadley had lent him, but was doing nothing with it. In fact, now that they were on the island, Williamson had done nothing at all—except for performing the operations on their feet. Other than that, he never lifted a finger, never walked when he could ride, never did more than his share, and sometimes did less than that. And now he was trying to stir up trouble.

“It's hard to
¹⁰
have to listen to all his hard words,” Munro wrote in his diary, “but I have made up my mind not to quarrel with him so must pass it off, but as there is a God above who spares both of [us] to get out of this, it will do him no good. I'LL get my own back. I have come to the conclusion as many others in the party that its that class of Englishman who has got the English despised the world over. When out of this I pray to God I may never see him again.”

D
IARY OF
B
JARNE
M
AMEN
R
ODGER'S
H
ARBOUR
T
HURSDAY
,
M
AY
14.

H
ADLEY HAD FIRST OBSERVED
the glorious midnight sun around May 6, and the men planned to sit up and watch it on the night of May 14. Mugpi turned four years old that day, so there was more than one reason for celebration. They built an enormous fire and sat there shivering and waiting, but at last had to turn in around 11:00
P.M.
because of the cold.

The night of May 15, a heavy fog crept in, obscuring the sun and making the temperature drop rapidly. By the next day, snow was falling in thick, white clouds, and the men spent a miserable day in camp. Bad luck seemed to plague them, whether on land or on ice, and they were, as Munro observed, “fed up with
¹¹
everything” by that point, the weather only making things worse.

A nasty case of snow blindness kept McKinlay from making a trip to Skeleton Island to fetch some medication for Chafe and Clam's feet. It was there in McKinlay's knapsack, along with his compass and other belongings, which Mamen was leaving for him. Breddy was sent in McKinlay's place, although that was worrisome because the fireman was notoriously lazy and couldn't be trusted to finish a thing once he had started it.

Clam's toe was healing well, but Chafe desperately needed the medicine. His foot had gone black and was worse than ever, which meant he was forced to undergo another operation, this time to remove the dead matter from his heel. They were all in rotten shape. Maurer was suffering from snow blindness, as was Kuraluk, who was still hoping to return to the ridge as soon as he was better. Munro would go with him so that they could bring back the remaining seal meat.