Gunnar! Søren! Iver!
Nils’ and Christian’s boats had been closer; they had got there before us. The raw voices of their crews screamed wildly, calling out the names of the missing sailors as my oarsmen pulled us into the carnage.
As I stood at the bow, the sea suddenly turned to molten lead as a cloud passed in front of the low sun. The wind swung direction, bringing a frigid westerly which tugged at my coat and caused a shiver to ripple over my body.
With my heart hammering against my ribcage, we rowed through a sea strewn with splintered cedar. The blade of a broken oar clattered against our keel, as a faint metallic scent hung in the usually crisp Arctic air.
My stomach churned, bile rising in my throat as we approached the looming wall of ice. Bright crimson smeared its surface, standing out clearly against the pure white-blue of the floe.
“Gunnar! Gunnar!” My voice was as desperate as that of my crew. “Gunnar!”
Grabbing the killing lance from the bottom of the boat and thrusting it socket first into the water, I bashed aside flotsam, determined to find any sign of that old harpooner, any sign of his crew.
“Can you see them?” The usually smooth but now taut voice of Christian called out from over my starboard bow.
“No!” I screamed back. “Keep looking!”
I couldn’t leave them here. I couldn’t lose Gunnar.
A lump stuck in my throat as my eyes locked, fixated on the swirling mass of grease ice and timber surrounding my small boat.
Swallowing, the grim reality settled over me like Arctic frost. It was hopeless. Those who hadn’t been dragged under the ice with the boat would have been pulled down by the weight of their sea-boots and heavy woollens.
“Return to the ship!”
The following crewmen are hereby lost, drowned in the performance of their duty:
Gunnar Isaksen
Søren Hansen
Iver Nilsen
Jørgen Dahl
Rasmus Torgersen
Olaf Pedersen
With a shaking hand, still numb from exposure, my pen etched the final name into the ledger. The light scratching of the quill tip against the roughly textured paper was a barely audible din in the oppressive silence of my cabin.
Six of my most experienced men were lost, along with our entire catch.
A sharp click shattered the atmosphere as the cabin door opened, and without invitation, Jens, ducking his head under the low frame, stepped in.
The cold, silver light from the window behind me cast hard shadows across his leathery, weather-worn face.
“Any sign of their trail?” I asked in a rasping voice.
“The last sighting was two of the animals heading north,” he answered in a dull tone. “But the grease ice is thickening by the minute, Torstein. We’ve lost the slick trail, the wind has veered westwards and the lanes are closing. We need to turn back.”
My seven remaining toes curled inside my boots as the muscles of my jaw twitched. An injured whale left behind it a trail of blood and oil, easy to follow in open waters, easily lost under these rapidly freezing seas.
“They’re pulling the drogues. They won’t have gone far. Hold the ship steady and keep a watch in the mastheads.”
Jens’ hand landed on my desktop with a sullen thud, his eyes fixed on mine.
“The men are talking of curses.” His voice was a low growl. “They’re seeing figures walking amongst the floes. They’re saying that Gunnar was your price for mocking the sea.”
My cheeks suddenly flared with a red heat. The heavy mahogany chair clattered backwards, my frost-worn joints creaking as I sprang to my feet.
“Superstitious nonsense!”
I was done with being a friend. Even if my motivations were my own, it was time that Jens and the rest of the crew saw me as the captain.
With footsteps that pounded loudly on the oak floorboards, I strode towards that door. My shoulder collided with his as I pushed past him and stepped out onto the quarterdeck.
Above the ship, the bright, clear skies were gone, replaced by low, boiling clouds blown in on the brisk westerly wind, a wind that rattled the rigging and flapped the grey sails. All around, the towering pillars of ice rose like the cliffs of a constantly narrowing fjord. Growlers knocked heavily against our hull, and the slush of the sea hissed against the wood as we cut a passage through.
“Nils!” I called over to the second mate, who was deep in conversation with Christian at the helm. “Where do we stand?”
Turning to face me, Nils’ stone-grey eyes were barely visible from within the shrouds of his white hood.
“We’ve lost the catch, Captain,” he said in a booming voice. “Helm reports that the ice is becoming impossible to navigate.”
I had to accept it. I had to let them go. I’d believed those whales were my salvation, my escape from ruin, but perhaps it was time to accept my destiny.
I needed a miracle.
“Ahoy! A wreck in the ice!” came a sudden cry from the crow’s nest. “Broad on the starboard quarter!”
My head snapped around. It was hidden at first, but as we passed a narrow gap between two floes, there it was. Black against the surrounding ice, the stern of a ship, rising at a forty-five-degree angle. Its masts broken and its bow crushed between two massive sheets.
My chest lurched. A heavy, suffocating knot tightened in my throat as I stared at the dark hulk. Just moments ago, I had written six names in the ledger. That meant six families back in Tromsø without a husband or father. If we left now, what were their deaths worth? A half-empty hold of whale oil.
But a salvage… oil, whalebone. This could be the miracle I had been looking for.
“Nils, ready the boats,” I called out in a quivery voice. “Christian, clear the decks. We’ll be hoisting cargo, if there’s anything to save.”
“You can’t be serious, Torstein!” Jens’ voice growled at me as the big man stomped onto the quarterdeck. “Look around you! If we don’t get out of here soon, we’ll share the same fate.”
A searing flame flared inside me. Questioning me in private was one thing; insubordination in front of the crew was intolerable.
“Stand down, first mate!” I spat the words at him. “That’s a full rigger! English, by the lines of her stern, probably sailing from Hull. If she’s even a quarter full, the salvage will more than fill our hold.”
“Ready the boats!” I cried. “Nils, you’ve got the Håpet. Jens, you’re with me.”
I had asked for a miracle, and there it was.