Хэммонд Иннес - Calling the Southern Cross!

“Bland is saying we must go south into the Weddell Sea,” Bonomi babbled on. “I ’ope so. He says that after Nordahl, Hanssen is the best whaler in Norway, and if he take the Haakon south, then we shall go too. In the Weddell Sea I think I get very good pictures. You will see. Do not worry about losing the ship. I find a nice job for you, eh — carrying my camera?”

We were both laughing at his little joke when there was a cry of “Ship ahoy!” from the masthead. Ten minutes later a thick blur of smoke on the starboard bow was visible from the bridge. Bland, Judie, Weiner — they all came up, gazing excitedly at that first glimpse of the factory ship. Howe also came up onto the bridge and stood, a little removed from the rest, gazing out toward the smoke. I wished I could read his thoughts. I saw him glance covertly at Bland and then back again toward the smoke on the horizon. And in that instant I felt a tingle run up my spine.

Judie caught my eye. “I hope the whales—” She didn’t finish the sentence, but stared at me, her mouth slightly open, caught on the utterance of the next word. I think she knew that Howe worried me.

Bland went aft to the wireless room then. The others followed. Howe was the last to go. He stood gripping the windbreaker with his bony hands. Conscious of my gaze, he turned and looked at me. Then he swung away and stared for a moment south toward the ice blink. I watched him, fascinated. His glance went once more to the factory ship, and then back to the mirrored brightness of the pack ice. He stared at it for a longtime. Then he turned quickly.

“I must go and prepare my report,” he said and there was a curiously sly lift to the comers of his mouth as he said this.

Once I went down to the wireless room. It was a babel of sound. Norwegian voices boomed out of the R-T receiver — catchers to the factory ship, the factory ship to the buoy boats and towers — everyone was talking on the air at once. I gathered that the whales were plentiful. Bland was smiling. And in intervals between communications I he was discussing the new electrical equipment with Weiner, sometimes in English, sometimes in German.

It was a strange and rather wonderful sight as we closed the Southern Cross. It wasn’t just a factory ship. It was a whole fleet of ships. I examined them through my glasses. There were five catchers strung out in a line behind the Southern Cross. They appeared to be idle. Another catcher was almost alongside. There were two towing ships. I recognized them by their corvette lines. There were also two old-type catchers that I was told were buoy boats — that is to say, they were towing vessels that could be used to supplement the catcher fleet if required. Behind these was an old whaling ship which ferried the meat to the refrigerator ship, I a vessel of about six thousand tons, which was lying astern of the others. Near this was a large tanker, and more catchers were scurrying about on the horizon. To see all those ships gathered together in these hostile southern seas fired the imagination. It was such a gigantic operation — a litter of masts that reminded me of D Day.

I brought round the ship in a wide circle to come up parallel with the Southern Cross. In doing so, we passed right through the black, oily smoke that drifted to leeward of her. The thick noisome smell closed down on us like a blanket. It was a heavy, oily, all-pervading smell. It seemed to weigh down on the senses, thick and cloying and penetrating.

As we emerged from it, I could hear the sound of voices on the factory ship and the clank of winches. The stern was open, like a dark cavern, and a whale was being hauled up through it to the after-plan. The ship was big-about twenty-two thousand tons. Her steel sides, already rusting, towered above us as we glided alongside. Up on the bridge a man in a fur cap held a megaphone to his lips and called down to us. It was Eide. I caught the name. That was all. The rest was in Norwegian.

Judie said. “He’s lowering a boat and coming over to us himself.” Her ace looked puzzled. “I wonder why?” she added.

I glanced across at Bland. He was landing in the port wring of the bridge, gazing aft to where the catchers were strung out in a line. His brows were dragged down and his face had a thunderous look.

We were all there on the bridge when Eide arrived. He was a bony, gaunt man with hatchetlike features and a trick of continually chewing on a match-stick which he slipped to the corner of his mouth when he spoke. He was wearing a thick sweater, and his gabardine trousers were secured by a wide leather belt with a silver buckle.

“Well?” Bland barked at him. “What’s the trouble? Why aren’t all the catchers out?”

Eide looked quickly round. “I will speak in English,” he said, noticing that the man at the helm was watching him. “There is trouble. Half the men in the ship have struck. Also the men on five catchers and one towing ship.”

“The Tönsberg men?” Bland asked.

“ Ja . They have threatened to stop the others from working. But they have not yet made any trouble.”

“They’re waiting to see what I do. Is that it?”

Eide nodded.

Bland’s fist thudded on the bridge rail. “You’ve not much more than a hundred whales to show for six weeks’ work!” He was almost shouting. “And now, when we are right in the midst of whales, they strike! Why? What’s their complaint?”

“They want an inquiry into Nordahl’s death.” Eide hesitated and then said, “Also they wish your son to be removed from the position of acting manager.”

“Who’s behind all this?”

“Kaptein Larvik, I think. He speaks for the others. As you know, he was a great friend of Nordahl. It is he, I think, who start this idea of an inquiry. But they are all of them in it now — Larvik, Petersen, Korsvold, Schnell, Strand and Jensen.”

Bland’s hand clenched into a fist. Then it relaxed. He took off his glasses and wiped them slowly. His heavy jaw was set, his small eyes steely. I watched his mouth spread into a tight-lipped smile. Then he put his glasses on again.

“Very well,” he said quietly. “If that’s the way they want it.” He glanced quickly at Eide. “Who do they want as factory manager instead of my son?”

“Kaptein Petersen,” Eide replied. “He is a good leader and he managed one of the South Georgia stations for three seasons. He returns to catching because he likes the active life.”

“All right. Captain Eide. You will signal for the captains of those five catchers and the towing ship to come on board for a conference with me. I shall then give them an ultimatum — either they get on with the job or they are relieved of their commands.”

“Perhaps they will refuse to come.” Eide’s voice sounded embarrassed.

“Good God!” Bland exploded. “If things have been allowed to get as out of hand as that, then there are other methods of dealing with them! How will they get on in the Antarctic without oil and supplies from the factory ship? Come, pull yourself together, Eide. We can be just as tough. Get down to the wireless room and instruct them to come on board the Southern Cross right away.” His jaw thrust out suddenly. “And if they try to make conditions, tell them they’d better not aggravate me further. While you’re doing that, we’ll get our things into the boat... Craig,” he said, turning to me, “you’ll come with us. The coxs’n can take temporary command here. Before you know where you are, you’ll be in charge of a catcher.” He was almost grinning now. He was the sort of man who thrived on a fight. But I must say I didn’t fancy the role of strikebreaker among a lot of Norwegians whose feuds I didn’t fully understand.

Eide was leaving the bridge now, but Bland stopped him. “Why didn’t Eril come to report this himself?” he demanded.