Horace Putney.
The crew turned. Andrew was sitting up with great effort.
Jack wished he could greet him with good news. Instead he told the truth. “About twenty-five hundred.”
“Impossible!” Bailey said.
“Gar!” Nigel shouted. “In lifeboats ?”
“My good man, that is the entire length of your country,” Philip said, “give or take a state or two.”
“Father, how can we possibly do this?” Colin asked.
Oppenheim began to pace back and forth. “We all labour against our own cure, for death is the cure of all diseases.”
“It has been done,” Jack said confidently, “by lesser men than we. It is our backup plan, remember. We’ll start tomorrow morning.”
The men studied his face. He kept a confident cut of the jaw, an upbeat expression.
Confidence was the key.
The journey hadn’t been done. It was impossible.
But that didn’t matter. Walden was out there.
And they would find him.
Part Three
Launch
10
Colin
February 5, 1910
“H EEEEAVE-HO-O-O!”
Colin gave a solid push and the Horace Putney slid off its runners. Its bow slapped into the water.
Day one.
If he thought about it, he would count the men and dogs — thirty and thirteen — and then count the boats — four — and he would imagine those four lifeboats on the same savage sea that had battered the Mystery. All heading off to die foolishly.
If he thought about it.
But so much had to be done — checking and packing and discarding and rigging and rounding up — that he could easily choose not to think about it at all.
“We can’t fit the seal chops!” O’Malley shouted.
“Toss ’em or eat ’em now!” Captain Barth replied. “We’re only packing penguin hoosh, hardtack, and pemmican! We’ll anchor and hunt when the need arises.”
“Can’t anyone get these bloody pigeons away?” Philip shouted, shooing a bird away from a chunk of meat cooking on the stove.
“They ain’t pigeons, ya blighter—they’s seagulls!” Nigel said.
RRRROWFF! Socrates lunged at a tern, knocking over the stove. The meat fell to the guano-covered rocks.
“My seal!” Philip whined.
“We could fit the meat in the boats if we didn’t have the dogs,” Ruppenthal snarled.
“Don’t start in about them again,” Talmadge said.
The dogs had been a problem. A couple of the men had wanted to abandon them. But Jack had said no, they come, too.
The stove and many of their supplies would be left behind. The men would take two Primus stoves, Ruskey’s photographic plates, weapons for hunting, buckets for bailing, string and frozen seal blood for repairs, a Bible, lots of extra wood — and, of course, ballast. With the weight so evenly spread port-to-starboard, the boats would need to be ballasted properly to prevent heeling.
No extra clothes.
“Dogs first, then men!” Jack cried out.
“Socrates! Demosthenes! Iosif! Kalliope!”
Socrates ran for the Samuel Breen. The others ran away.
“Ellàteh, paithià mou!”
Socrates leaped. His front legs locked onto the gunwale, but he fell back into the water, dousing Nesbit.
Demosthenes jumped on Socrates. Kalliope jumped on Nesbit.
“Get this thing off me!” Nesbit shouted.
Mansfield let out a whoop. “This is war!”
The men ran after the dogs, picking them up one by one and depositing them in the boats.
One by one, the dogs jumped out.
Lombardo fell to the ice as Fotis licked his face. Ireni began digging a hole. Nikola bayed at an albatross.
It took the better part of a half hour to get the dogs settled. By then everyone was soaked and in high spirits.
Except Philip. Philip was dry and miserable. “I request a canine-free vessel,” he said.
“You’re coming with me in the Horace Putney ,” Jack said, reading from a handwritten list, “along with Colin, Mansfield, Cranston, Sanders, and Kennedy.”
Philip?
Colin couldn’t believe it. As Father turned for the boat, Colin elbowed him. “Why’d you pick Philip ?”
“For his protection,” Jack
The crew turned. Andrew was sitting up with great effort.
Jack wished he could greet him with good news. Instead he told the truth. “About twenty-five hundred.”
“Impossible!” Bailey said.
“Gar!” Nigel shouted. “In lifeboats ?”
“My good man, that is the entire length of your country,” Philip said, “give or take a state or two.”
“Father, how can we possibly do this?” Colin asked.
Oppenheim began to pace back and forth. “We all labour against our own cure, for death is the cure of all diseases.”
“It has been done,” Jack said confidently, “by lesser men than we. It is our backup plan, remember. We’ll start tomorrow morning.”
The men studied his face. He kept a confident cut of the jaw, an upbeat expression.
Confidence was the key.
The journey hadn’t been done. It was impossible.
But that didn’t matter. Walden was out there.
And they would find him.
Part Three
Launch
10
Colin
February 5, 1910
“H EEEEAVE-HO-O-O!”
Colin gave a solid push and the Horace Putney slid off its runners. Its bow slapped into the water.
Day one.
If he thought about it, he would count the men and dogs — thirty and thirteen — and then count the boats — four — and he would imagine those four lifeboats on the same savage sea that had battered the Mystery. All heading off to die foolishly.
If he thought about it.
But so much had to be done — checking and packing and discarding and rigging and rounding up — that he could easily choose not to think about it at all.
“We can’t fit the seal chops!” O’Malley shouted.
“Toss ’em or eat ’em now!” Captain Barth replied. “We’re only packing penguin hoosh, hardtack, and pemmican! We’ll anchor and hunt when the need arises.”
“Can’t anyone get these bloody pigeons away?” Philip shouted, shooing a bird away from a chunk of meat cooking on the stove.
“They ain’t pigeons, ya blighter—they’s seagulls!” Nigel said.
RRRROWFF! Socrates lunged at a tern, knocking over the stove. The meat fell to the guano-covered rocks.
“My seal!” Philip whined.
“We could fit the meat in the boats if we didn’t have the dogs,” Ruppenthal snarled.
“Don’t start in about them again,” Talmadge said.
The dogs had been a problem. A couple of the men had wanted to abandon them. But Jack had said no, they come, too.
The stove and many of their supplies would be left behind. The men would take two Primus stoves, Ruskey’s photographic plates, weapons for hunting, buckets for bailing, string and frozen seal blood for repairs, a Bible, lots of extra wood — and, of course, ballast. With the weight so evenly spread port-to-starboard, the boats would need to be ballasted properly to prevent heeling.
No extra clothes.
“Dogs first, then men!” Jack cried out.
“Socrates! Demosthenes! Iosif! Kalliope!”
Socrates ran for the Samuel Breen. The others ran away.
“Ellàteh, paithià mou!”
Socrates leaped. His front legs locked onto the gunwale, but he fell back into the water, dousing Nesbit.
Demosthenes jumped on Socrates. Kalliope jumped on Nesbit.
“Get this thing off me!” Nesbit shouted.
Mansfield let out a whoop. “This is war!”
The men ran after the dogs, picking them up one by one and depositing them in the boats.
One by one, the dogs jumped out.
Lombardo fell to the ice as Fotis licked his face. Ireni began digging a hole. Nikola bayed at an albatross.
It took the better part of a half hour to get the dogs settled. By then everyone was soaked and in high spirits.
Except Philip. Philip was dry and miserable. “I request a canine-free vessel,” he said.
“You’re coming with me in the Horace Putney ,” Jack said, reading from a handwritten list, “along with Colin, Mansfield, Cranston, Sanders, and Kennedy.”
Philip?
Colin couldn’t believe it. As Father turned for the boat, Colin elbowed him. “Why’d you pick Philip ?”
“For his protection,” Jack
Similar Books
