A Grue Of Ice (8 page)

47

Christensen surmised, and I know now, that somewhere in

that wild waste of waters is the breeding-ground of the Blue Whale."

" Is a territorial limit of two hundred miles usual for this sort of thing?"
I
asked.

" There was damn near a war when Iceland imposed
a
mere twelve-mile territorial limit ban on ordinary fishing," he answered.

Upton made the whole thing sound plausible. He was

going after the Blue Whale because I had pointed the way

to the goal that whalermen had dreamed of for centuries.

And I wanted to go after that other prong of The Albatross'

Foot.

I
said slowly: " If The Albatross' Foot is within twelve miles of Bouvet, I want nothing to do with your operation. If it is outside the twelve-mile limit, which I consider fair for any territorial-waters claim, then we'll pool ideas. Fair enough?"

He shook my hand. "That's the spirit of the
Sprightly!"
he exclaimed.

Helen turned to Sailhardy. "Are you coming, sailor?" He did not look at her. " I shall go with Captain

Wetherby."

The eyes became luminous for
a
moment. "'That is a very neat distinction."

There was a knock at the door, and she unlocked
it
to Pirow.

" Walter signals he's just coming round the point into the anchorage," he said. " He'll be alongside any minute in the
Aurora."

4.
The Man with the Immaculate Hand

"It is a wild night outside this anchorage," said the big man in the streaming oilskins. Upton did not seem to mind when he

shook the water from his sou'wester on to the cabin's fine

carpet. " The waves come forty feet high to-night."

" That's nothing new to you, Walter," Upton replied jocularly. " Or to Captain Wetherby here." He introduced us. " Gunner-Captain Walter is the finest harpooner in the Southern Ocean."

I
disliked Walter at sight. He looked the sort of sailor 48

for a night like this: his great hand as he gripped mine

was scaled over from the kick of the harpoon-gun, and

matched his massive frame. He stank of whale and Schnapps,

with an overlay of weatherproofing. He was half-shavenI

was never to see him otherwise.

" So you find your man,
eh,
Sir Frederick?" he said. There was a suggestiveness about my mind. Upton had

told me about the Blue Whale ; Walter was obviously the type to carry out such a project ; yet what had been imponderables to them before they found me seemed now to fit neatly —

too neatly—into the pattern.

" Where are the others?" asked Upton.

" I kept them close to the
Aurora
all the way from South Georgia," Walter replied. " In fact, within
W / T
range. You know what these catcher skippers are like—they spot

a whale and go chasing after it, and before you know where

you are, you are chasing him. No, they'll all be in within

half an hour."

" Good," said Upton. "
I
want to brief them as soon as they come in."

" Where is Pirow?" asked Walter.

Was I imagining it, or was there also some innuendo in

the way the tough skipper said it? The question and the

answer were harmless enough in themselves.

" Where do you think?" said Upton. " As always, in the radio room."

" That Pirow," said Walter thoughtfully. " He should have married a radio set." He thrust his big jaw towards Sailhardy. " Who
is
this, heh?"

" Sailhardy,"
I
said. " A Tristan islander."

" Ah, hell," said the big Norwegian. " Tristan islander!

Shipwrecks and black women."

Sailhardy came across the cabin towards Walter. The only outward sign of his anger was a curious flicking of his left small finger into the palm of his hand. I knew Sailhardy's

strength.

Upton intervened. " Walter doesn't mean it for
you." "
Sonofabitch," said Sailhardy.

"Come, boys," went on Upton. " You both need a drink."

"I told you, not for me," glowered Sailhardy.

" A Cape Horner for me," grinned Walter. " A full Cape Homer!"

Upton splashed
half a glass of Schnapps and tipped a
pint
of stout into it.

49

Two more men in oilskins pushed open the cabin door. " Reidar Bull, catcher
Crozet,"
said one.

" Klarius Hanssen, catcher
Kerguelen,"
said the other. Their economy of words as they identified themselves and their snips was typical: to them, the ship and the skipper were synonymous. They eyed the luxurious cabin enviously. I knew what their own quarters were like: a metal box containing a hard bunk, continuously soaked through

leaking bulkheads. It was better to be on the bridge.

They were naming their drinks as Lars Brunvoll arrived. " Brunvoll, catcher
Chimay,"
he introduced himself.

" I laughed when Walter told me the name of your ship," said Upton. " Chimay—iceberg! Don't you see enough ice, Brunvoll?" The skipper was at his ease immediately. " We're still missing one, though."

".Mikklesen," said Walter. " Where is he, Brunvoll?" " He was tying up as I came over," he replied.

The door open and Mikklesen came in. He did not look, like the others, as if he had been lashed together with steel wire. He was of medium height with a thin, pinched nose

and the clearest of blue eyes.

" I am Mikklesen of the
Falkland,"
he said. " You are Sir Frederick Upton?"

He was the odd man out, just as the islands after which

his catcher was named belong more to South America

than to Antarctica.

At a sign from her father, Helen left. The skippers sat uneasily on the fine furnishings. Their concession to the social gathering was to open their oilskins without taking

them off. They were as tough as a Narwhal's tusk. Upton

did his trick with the flaming brandy and raised the metal

tankard with its blue flame to them. " Skoll! To the finest whalermen in the Southern Ocean!"

Only Walter responded. The others stared selfconsciously

into their drinks.

During the next few minutes I admired Upton's handling of the skippers. They were out of their element. Upton wanted them for something. They knew it, and he knew that

they knew. To have put a foot wrong would have sent them

all on their way.

Upton blew out the flame and gulped down the hot spirit.

They looked surprised. He grinned at them as he threw

in another dollop-of brandy. " Surely I don't have to show whalermen how to drink spirits?" he asked.

50

Obediently, they up-ended their glasses.

He raised his tankard. " To the Blaahval."

Here it comes, I thought, with that toast to the Blue

Whale.

"Blaahval!" echoed the Norwegians.

4

"
Captains," Upton began. " Peter Walter has asked you to come and join me here at Tristan to talk business." They eyed him silently. I could see they were not impressed —

you don't get men to voyage two thousand miles in partial radio silence just to talk business, not ordinary business. Mikklesen broke in. " Sir Frederick, before we go further, who is paying for our fuel to get here?"

" I am," Upton replied. " You will draw all food, fuel and supplies—liquor if you like—from this ship. Anything you want." They murmured approval.

Then Upton played it rough, the knockdown for rough men. He gestured at me. " The professor here has found it. He knows where the Blue Whale breeds."

Each turned and eyed me with a long, appraising look, as if searching an uncertain horizon. That, mixed with a kind of iconoclastic wonder. I started to speak, but Upton

went on: " You captains will hunt the Blue Whale with me in its very breeding-ground."

Hanssen said thickly, " Where is it, Sir Frederick?" Upton laughed and punched him on the shoulder. " You bastard, Hanssen!" He turned to the others. " He says to me, where is it? Just like that! The greatest mystery of all time for whalermen, and he says, where is it."

He'd got his audience. The Norwegians roared with

laughter.

Sailhardy whispered to me: " Bruce! Let's get out of this set-up. It's all wrong."

Upton didn't miss his cue with us, either. " Only the professor knows," he told them. " You see, he has been a captain in the Royal Navy. You know what they are. They

never talk."

Mikklesen's eyes were so clear they were devoid of expression. "Captain Wetherby, of H.M.S.
Scott?"
he asked. " Yes."

"The man who sank the raider
Meteor?"

"Yes."

" They still talk about it when men get together," he said. He came over and shook my hand. " I was close, east of Bouvet, in my
Falkland.
I heard the signals. They 51

were clear, not in code—he was a clever one, that
Meteor.
The twisting and the turning! He yapped over the air like a mongrel in a fight. From your ship there was—nothing. Then silence. I knew you had got him then."

Upton was abstracted. I became a punch-line
in
his act. " Captain Wetherby, Distinguished Service Order," he said. " A professor of the sea in peace-time and a man of death in

war-time."

It was so sentenious that I nearly laughed in his face. The captains did not think so. Solemnly, each shook me by the hand.

Upton went on. "Captain Wetherby knows, and he has promised to take us there."

" What is it worth, Sir Frederick?" asked Hanssen.

"This ship will hold about two hundred and twenty thousand barrels of oil," he replied. " That's worth about three million pounds."

Mikklesen chipped in. "To you, yes, Sir Frederick. But not to the men who will do the work."

" There's a hundred thousand pounds net for each of you in this," Upton went on. " Net. I'll pay all expenses, and as I said. I provide all fuel, all equipment." He didn't wait. " Bull?"

Bull nodded quickly.

" Hanssen?"—" Aye."

" Brunvoll?"—" Yes."

" M ikklesen? "

The skipper of the
Falkland
hesitated for
a
moment.
I
thought he might be going to refuse. He did not look at Upton, but at some point on the great map near Bouvet, as if it could help him to a decision. "I have never had so much money," he replied slowly.

" T h a t ' s n o t a n a n s w e r , " j o k e d U p t o n . " Y e s ? " H e didn't wait, but started to fill up the glasses, talking rapidly. " This calls for a celebration. We sail in the morning. Keep close to the factory ship. Pirow will pass my orders to you on the W/T."

Mikklesen waited until his glass was full. "It is not as easy as that, Sir Frederick," he said.

The other skippers stared at Mikklesen in surprise.

" We agree to go with you—if so, where? It might be anywhere between here and Australia—or beyond."

Upton frowned. " It is not as far as that. A couple of thousand miles. You have my assurance on that."

52

Mikklesen shook his head. " I sweated for twenty years to buy my own ship. There must be safeguards."

" The safeguards are one hundred thousand pounds in cash," snapped Upton.

" Is this a legal or an illegal expedition?" pressed the Viking-eyed man. " Will I lose my ship? Why ask us to rendezvous at Tristan? I have never heard of whalers gathering here before." He said pointedly: " Why didn't you bring your nice big ship and meet us where we belong,