S7: “Cowboys and Enguns”

Jeff/Dr. Robert Cope was absent

12 Oct: It was almost mutiny as the Gabrielle entered Port-Phillip-Bay, the crew ready to dump the remaining Pemmican that had become their sole-source-of-food. Bland. The fishy, oily, stinking coal-fire smell of the city oh so inviting. A crowd was already awaiting at their assigned pier, per the radio ahead. Police for “The Hennings’ Affair” (as Moore worded the sabotage) and reporters to interview the globe-trotting adventuring Starkweather. As Starkweather stepped upon the gangplank, he turned to the men on deck, “Enjoy Melbourne but remember we sail in 5 days.”

As the crew and exploration team lined the gangplank for escape into town, Moore pulled the trio aside. “Dr. Cope, I need you to organize our spoiled food replacement. Mr. Sampson, if you would deal with the photography chemicals. And Dr. Orendorf, if you’d please take a truck over to Manfield&Sons to pick up the 5 tons of Pemmican replacement we radioed in. Then deal with the electrical outfitters to repair or replace the heavy equipment Hennings disabled.” For anyone watching, Moore stepped off the boat to meet another van labeled ‘Pinkerton’. About a dozen guards exited the van and took up positions around the pier. Heightened security.

Oskar delegated the electrical task to the more-experienced radio-operator Laroche and the foreman Packard, “Here’s the list of items needed, and address of businesses already contacted. Keep me informed of your progress.” He then climbed in a cab for his drive to Manfield&Sons to inspect the Pemmican shipment. Upon arriving, “What do you mean it’s not ready? What do you mean you don’t even know what Pemmican is? Good God man, why didn’t you say so on the radio call?!” Oskar read the order-slip passed to Roger Manfield. Apparently, the radio-operator’s translation, “Someone from the Gabrielle will arrive to select various dried grains.”

Not like Wilbur had better success as he took one of the film crew along, a Mr. James Clark [the intrepid reporter spy]. Arriving at Foley&Burke…at least the signage remained. The building burnt down. Wilbur walked into an adjacent business, Cottee Bottling Co, “Excuse me. When did that photography store burn down? Two weeks ago?” About the time “The Hennings’ Affair” staged on the ship. Karma? Murphy’s Law? More sabotage? Wilbur borrowed the phonebook and began searching for Photograph Businesses but the Aussie book an unfamiliar layout. Clark suggested, “Try looking up ‘Photographers’ and then just ask them who they recommend.” They soon had the address to Smith&Sons and used the bottling company phone to call in their order.

And that’s when the bottling company manager recognized them, “Say, you Yanks are with that explorer Starkweather. Tell ya what. Here’s a case of our pop, free of charge. Maybe the crew will put in a good word to order more for your passage.” Wilbur recognized the opportunity as he looked at the business card, “I’ve got one better for you, Mr. Timons. Arrive with a delivery of 15 cases tomorrow and Mr. Clark here will take a picture of you beside our Mr. Starkweather. I’ll have Clark title the picture, ‘Starkweather thirsts for more than the Antarctic.’ Great advertisement in your local papers and surely broadcast back in the states.”

Wilbur arrived back on ship, finding Oskar exiting Moore’s cabin. “Wilbur, just in time to volunteer for a little project. How’d you like to help make Pemmican? Should only take a few days, 3 days top. Easy work.”

13 Oct: A dozen men rode in the truck bound for Manfield&Sons. Oskar had already worked out a recipe (his idea to add garlic for taste) as he put the men to work inside the factory. Boiling and rendering fat before adding a variety of nuts and grains and other protein-rich ingredients. Hot/steaming/miserable, Wilbur was too exhausted to question the “easy work” comment. Two hours in, the team tasted the 1st batched (Pharmacy-95), “Blah. Good God, I’ll never complain about the original bland stuff again.” Oskar switched it up. Another 2 hours (Pharmacy-97), “It’d taste better if you added shit.” Once more (Pharmacy-100), “It was a joke. I didn’t seriously mean add shit!” Half the day wasted before they crafted a tasty version. Sunset when they crawled into the truck. Revived when they found a bottle of scotch each waiting for them. Oskar offering, “Least I could do. Only 2 days to go.”

15 Oct: The team stood on the dock as they watched the last of the Pemmican crates hosted aboard ship. Then startled when trucks arrived and began unloading caterers and long tables of food. “Mr. Starkweather thanks you. Dig in.” An endless feast of roast beef, Foster lager, carrots, shrimp, cobbler, you-name-it. Acknowledged by the endless stream of belches and farts from a satisfied team. Who had already forgotten they would soon be living off of the food they crafted. Starkweather approached the trio, “Well done. You are now relieved on any-and-all duties till we sail in 2 days. Now get off my ship! And enjoy the city.”

Robert knocked on Charlene and Gil’s door, “Ready for a night on the town?” Wilbur had his own plans as he met an Aussie lass, Bernadene, to share a tour of the city thru his camera lens. Oskar too planned to see the sights and enjoy the nightlife, curious how Aussies liked their Jazz.

16 Oct: It was after 10am when they awoke in their cabin to the knocking on the door. Professor Moore, “The City of Melbourne invites all to a formal dinner. You don’t have to go.” Enough said as Wilbur and Robert dressed to enjoy another night on the town. Both thinking, “Another Starkweather production; no thanks.” Leaving Oskar to ask Moore, “What time and what should I wear?”

Robert stopped at the girls’ cabin “you ready?” before joining Wilbur at the bottom of the gangplank. Into a cab to pickup Bernadene then off to experience more of the town. Bar hopping and dancing the night away, till they ran into Oskar (formally dressed) hours at Whiskey Sam’s. “It wasn’t so bad once I stuffed tissue in my ears to silence Starkweather's speech. And check this out: he gave each attendee $100 Aussie money and told us to get lost. We don’t have to report back till 6am tomorrow; so, I’m spending the night in a hotel. Now excuse me as I look for a little lady to join me.”

17 Oct, 5pm: It was a steady stream of crewmembers returning to the boat, one by one. Then the arrival of a canvas-topped Lorrie truck labeled Axel Welding&Plating. Starkweather exited the cab and directed dockworkers to help unload the 2-dozen tall metal O2 bottles. Was it coordinated? Stark climbing the plank just as reporters arrived to snap his picture. It was more than just the trio gagging at the familiar glory-hound production, “All I can positively say is the man has deep pockets. Paying for everything.” It wasn’t till Starkweather reached the deck his mood turned sour, “Damn Acacia has already sailed. Two days ahead. CAPT VREDENBURG, can’t you get the boilers up to steam any faster?!”

18 Oct, 3:30am: As the Gabrielle slipped out on the tide, most folks were double-checking their gear, knowing the last resupply stores behind them. The crew quickly settled into the doldrums of sea-duty. And the Exploration team into efforts to break the boredom. A long 3 days the mess-hall blackboard updated with their position, now 250miles outside Port-Phillip-Bay.

22 Oct: The seas rougher with winds gusting 25 knots throwing the vomit back into Oskar’s and Robert’s faces.

23 Oct: Wilbur joined them at the rail as the winds grew to 50 knots. Their cabin already a sickbay of stench, “Just kill me now.” But by 5pm the seas actually calmed and the sun appeared. Cheerful news…till report of the 1st iceberg. Or the sight when they climbed topside to find the railing and structures white with ice buildup. Their breath hanging before them in the chilled air. Wilbur tried to cheer them, “It gets worse.” The air now filled with thudding noises as the crew pounded ice buildup. By midnight, pee-soup fog rolled in to add an eerie/disorientating scene. Then the ship speaker came alive with Mr. Albermarle’s voice, “Barometer is dropping. Expect colder.”

24 Oct: Now a line of icebergs on the horizon and freezing cold ripping thru their clothing. They returned to their beds to find warm beneath the covers and in the offered glasses of scotch. Sleep? With all the ship creaking noises and the roll of the ship almost 45 degrees in the waves? Unending up and down advance of the ship thru the waves. Maybe that’s why Oskar listened closer to the newest sound: a rumble somewhere below deck. Synced to the roll of the ship. “What is that?!” They dressed to investigate. Starkweather poking his head out his cabin, “What is that?!”

Now close enough to the source to realize, “Sounds like heavy equipment has broken loose.” Starkweather realizing, “Good God man, that’s hold 2 with the airplanes.” And to gain access to the hold meant crossing the deck topside. At least lifelines had been strung along the railing. Some comfort…in theory. By now a small team organized. Wilbur suggested roping men together as they crossed to the hold. Oskar adamant, “One man drops and he drags everyone overboard.” Wilbur trying to reason, “We use this method on the ice with crevasses.” Oskar compared, “The ice shelf is not rolling!” Wilbur relented as there was no time to argue, they needed to act…NOW.

And Wilbur (DEX 92) the first to slip and slide to the edge, straining the lifeline. Oskar reached for him but missed. Luck another crewman grabbed and pulled him to safety. They cautiously worked their way to the hold, and with crane lights overhead, peered in. Definitely something large rolled across its floor and crashed into crates and the bulkhead. Starkweather’s voice, “Good God, it’s a plane engine. Both broke free and being tossed about!”

With netting and rope, they descended into the hold expecting to play cowboy roping a steer for branding. “Cowboys and Enguns.” A rogue wave threw off the rolling rhythm sending the engine careening sooner than expected. Starkweather jumped out of the way. Wilbur…fell, catching his ankle on a floor seam, but in the path of the engine. Had Stark not shoved him…just enough to avoid the full impact…only a broken right arm. [POW-failure] Wilbur screamed in pain before clenching his teeth and cradling his arm, “I’m OK but I can’t help.” Starkweather and another man threw netting but missed their target.

Another throw captured the engine but now they needed to secure it. Oskar (STR 94) couldn’t hold on. Turlough and 2 others held tight, “Need more hands!” Another scream as another seaman suffered a broken leg. Wilbur used his left hand to shove his useless righthand into his pant-waist, then stepped forward to lend one hand. Two more hands joined in to finally gain control. Enough to tie the engine down, secure for now. “Now let’s get the 2^nd.” Finally secure. “Let’s get out. We can evaluate it in the morning. Hopefully calmer seas and sunlight.” It took crewmen above to haul up the injured. Oskar directing them to the Medical room for treatment, “You'll survive Wilbur. Bruised, not broken.”

25 Oct: Starkweather pissed he’d lost one plane. The Shackleton reduced to spare parts. Others more interested how and why. Investigation revealed the D-rings used to secure the cabling was broken. Acid burns. “Another saboteur or did we not coerce Hennings into telling everything he tampered with?” A heavy snowfall their only answer.

28 Oct: Sheet ice appeared. Every-once-in-a-while, a walrus passenger aboard a slab. The ship slowed as it maneuvered around the larger and thicker sheets. Lookouts on the bow. Sheets scratched along the hull, the Gabrielle now an icebreaker.

31 Oct: Stuck in the ice. What a way to spend Halloween. But more like the 4^th-of-July when Capt Vredenburg sent teams out on the ice with dynamite, “Boom, BOOM.” Too close as a spray of super-cold water rose over the bow, soaking the lookouts. “Below deck now else hyperthermia!” A photo-op of Starkweather shoving the dynamite plunger timed to catch the fountains of water in the background. “Can’t you set another close to the ship to case the fool in a block of ice?!” The ship finally broke free. But the next days repeated the dynamiting.

4 Nov: The worst storm yet. Winds/waves/ice sheets pounded the hull. Another 2 days with the crew on ice-removal duties.

6 Nov: “Mast ahead!” The lookouts spotting an old whaler. Alarms sounded. “Captain to the bridge!” Vredenburg peered thru his binocular, “It’s the Wallaroo, out of Melbourne. Lost in a squall last year. Organize a boarding party.” Oskar joined as the doctor while Wilbur joined for his survival skills. The life-raft lowered, they rowed toward it. Closer, they could see it encased in ice, “Looks like it’s boiler blew. See midship metal curled outwards?” Survivors unexpected but salvage rights and chance to collect the logbook to give to the Insurance company and families.

With grappling hooks, the climbed over the side and began their search. Thru a side door only to find frozen bodies lined head2foot against the wall. Flesh stripped bare, skin melted away. Wilbur already turning to puke at the unholy scene, before he made the sign-of-the-cross, “Spectacles, testicles, wallet, and watch.” Oskar knelt to examine, “Some flesh and bone seem to be eating away by acid. Mr. Turlough, is there acid in the boiler room? Was their cargo acid? Do you use acid in whaling? These bodies were moved here after their individual deaths. I notice some skulls missing.”

As they pressed further into the ship, they found the mess-hall cabinets empty and ransacked with the doors ripped off. Wilbur took pictures to document the find. The galley was cluttered with overturned tables and chairs. They passed one empty room after another as they worked their way down the narrow hall till, they reached the captain’s quarters. A desk and empty bed with footlocker most obvious. But unexpected, the decomposed but clothed body beside the bed. Natural causes if you discount the new hole in his skull. And his fisted and gnarled left hand. An old pistol dropped to the right of the body. Oskar looked closer at his leg, “Coloration and deformity suggest gangrene. No wonder suicide.”

Turlough found the logbook open on the desk. “Hope Capt Stephen Willard lived long enough to tell all.” “Last entry, his suicide note. Gangrene took his left hand. His acceptance of his icy doom. His love for wife and boys.” He warmed the book in his armpit before trying to turn the frozen pages. “Notes the boiler explosion. 2 dozen men departed for rescue in 2 longboats. Hoping to repeat the Shackleton crew success. No mention of what happened to the rest of the crew stacked neatly in the passage.”

As Oskar listened, he decided to check the desk. A false backing on the top drawer. A weighted pouch inside. An iron key and 5 gold coins. Strange stampings. The front an odd-shaped sea creature. Vaguely humanoid with a round fishy head and squid-like body. The back of the coin the head of a bear. He handed them over to Turlough, “Your salvage rights.” The key opened the footlocker:12 full bottles of Rye Whiskey.

Search of the rest of the ship confirmed it a whaler per frozen whale carcasses and long cutting blades. Barrels of whale oil and a few cans of kerosene. Turlough studied the damaged midsection, “Miracle the fore-section of the ship not sunk. Or a curse that prevented an easier death.”

When they climbed back aboard the Gabrielle, Turlough made entries in their own logbook of the Wallaroo’s coordinates. “The way this ice breaks and shifts, no surprise if the Wallaroo never found again. Captain, you’re clear to make headway.”

Next episode: https://rigglebmm.blogspot.com/2020/11/s8-mayday-mayday.html