PERILS of the ICE PATROL

Press, Volume LXXIV, Issue 22419, 4 June 1938, Page 6 (Supplement)

PERILS of the ICE PATROL

FOR THE BOYS

'£■' “Ahoy, there! Berg on the port bow!" A warning cry from the look-out man ahd the clarion notes oTthe fog-bell shattering the husn , pf the second dog-watch made Pat forever’s blood’ run cold. ['■. The young operator paused irresolutely on his way to the wireJess cabin. ’An uncharted berg " drifting across the track of the Ice Patrol—and no warning broadcast -It was unbelievable. They would blame him for this, yet he had Iv. (distinctly received a radio an Clear" when he had been last *on ■.i fluty. ... .:. : JWith a vague idea of justifying " ' himself to Commander Hawke, the ■Untied boy turned and. raced on v deck. All was confusion and alarm, ?- A huge iceberg had stolen like a vv iffibst out of the mist that lay ° v^r Grand Banks of Newfoundland, . and was bearing rapidly down on • fee little vessel! . . •.. ‘ .Commander Hawke, skontmg .tzW emergency' orders from the bridge, glanced down at the White-faced W?-bOy.' “Hey, you!” he roared fur- . Jously. “What’s the meaning of • this? Have you been asleep at your ipost?” vV .. ■«v There were reasons . for _ the ■kipper’s suspicions. It is part of the duties of the Ice Patrol, whose electric-drive cutters range, the Waters of the North Atlantic, to 'collect and distribute radio reports ,of ice conditions, for the enormous bergs which break away fromtne glaciers of Greenland and arm ■ohthwards are a menace to tne • . Transatlantic steamship lanes. ■But, recently, in spite of commander Hawke’s vigilance,. tne / system had broken down. .False information had been mysteriously broadcast, and several small cargo • Bb|ps had been sunk, apparently oy ; • .drifting bergs of which they had not been warned. And . tne catastrophes had all happened since Trevor had become second ' wireless operator on the Ice Patrol r Vessel! 1 “No, sir!” he cried, desperately. an ‘all-clear’ this morning- I can’t understand it. I—,,He got no further. There was a ■j. dull boom as the vessel went about 1 and collided with the berg, which now towered above her topmast f..-HvliSe some grey, threatening giant. ' The jar sent Pat reeling backwards . across the slippery deck. He Clutched at a stay to save himself, 'M-WSsed it, and, tripping over the £;«n of the heeling cutter, was preoverboard! ... -.Pat’s first sensation as he hit the . i.Sittato’* was one of surprise at its Kited warmth. He did not hat the temperature of the Banks shallows is often high for bathing. ; . • is he rose, gasping,, to the his feeling of relief-was ed by one of sheer .panic, itter had been completely up in the dense mist! ..

All that he could see were_ the seething waters round him and the great berg looming above. He tried to shout for help, nut his voice was drowned in the thunder and crackle of breaking ice. ■ ‘ Terrified of being crushed between the floating fragments he stfuck, out with all his strength. A “growler,” or detached remnant of the main berg, seemed to offer a possible foothold; and, clambering up its broken sides, he found himself more or less safe on top. Still he could see no sign of the cutter through the .blanket of mist, He shouted till he was hoarse, but there was no reply save the lapping of waves. Then presently he became conscious of motion, and realised that the “growler” on which he crouched was being .rapidly borne along in the current. “Well,” , thought the boy, a chill about his heart, “this is the end of Pat Trevbr!” and an absurd tag of comic verse came into his mind: — Forty years on an iceberg,. Out in the ocean wide, With nothing on but pyjamas And nothing to do but slidfe!

This reminded him of ' his wet clothes, and, with chattering teeth, he set about the difficult task of drying them,* Then he waited for the long night to pass and the mist to break. • . The warmth of the morning sun on his body told him that, in spite of the cold, he had dozed off. As he had hoped, the mist had cleared. The sea was a sparkling, whitecrested green beneath the wide blue arc of the sky. But a single glance at the horizon dashed all his hopes • of rescue. Nothing could be seen of the cutter ’ save her topmast dipping above - the blue rim of the Atlantic-and a faint puff of hanging in the sky. It was little consolation ta him to know that the ship had not suffered seriously from the collision, for Commander Hawke had evidently given him up for lost. , , , . He turned to stare hopelessly at the berg, towards which the “growler” seemed to be drifting, and for the first time saw its unusual. striking shape. . .... A towering citadel of ice, glittering with all the colours of the spectrum in the rays of the sun, it was partly. hollowed out by a deep, cavernous bay formed by the lapping pfthe waves. The sea birds

hovering above it on motionless white wings added to the majestic desolation of the scene. ....

Then, suddenly, as the boy gazed, a small boat put out from the hidden bay and began to approach him!

Pat could hardly believe his eyes; He counted six rough, vil-lainous-looking men at the oars. Looking beyond them at the berg for some explanation of their sudden appearance, he was further amazed to see the nose and menacing six-pounder of a gunboat protruding from the wall of ice that concealed the innermost shore of the bay! “A pirate stronghold!” was the first thought that flashed through his bewildered brain. ■ The boat came alongside the "growler.’’ A man stood up in her, jerked his thumb and rapped out laconically: “Come aboard!” Without a word Pat slid down the ice and dropped into the boat. The men settled to their oars again, and in. perfect silence rowed back to the mystery berg. As if in a dream Pat found himself carried between the lofty walls of ice into a circular bay, or lagoon, within the berg, where the gunboat moved with her drift. A crystal roof enclosed them. In a few moments he was standing on the deck, confronted by a tall, sleek, dark man in naval uniform. , “No doubt, you are surprised to meet me,” smiled his captor, toying with a monocle attached to a black silk ribbon. “Allow me to present myself—Captain Polaris, the Pirate of the Grand Banks!”

Pat was amazed at the ruffian’s cool insolence. “You villain!” he burst out. ■ “Are you responsible for all those .wrecks?” “Correct, my dear boy, correct! said Captain Polaris. “I have suer ceeded in sinking three cargo ships in as many weeks —but not, as you might suppose; by hurling icebergs at them! I cannot direct the movements of those vast bodies, although I make use of them for my own purposes. They simply provide me with a floating stronghold or ambush—until they melt.’ “How do you mean?” gasped Pat, fascinated in spite of himself. ■ “I will explain,” said the Ice Pirate, with a smile of gratified vanity. “I conceal my gunboat in or behind a berg, approach a ship under cover of dark or mist, and suddenly board her. My men then transfer her cargo, if valuable enough, to our own hold, and when we have locked the crew below decks we leave her to crash into the berg. If anything goes wrong, of course, we put a shell in her below the waterline. But the newspapers will tell you that the ship had sunk after collision with an iceberg. Neat, is it not?” - “You scoundrel!” shouted Pat, and flung himself at the man. Captain Polaris stepped swiftly

backwards and whipped out a revolver. But it was unnecessary. Two men had gripped Pat’s arms and held him, struggling. “Let him go," ordered the pirate. “I am sure he will he reasonable. I have a proposition to offer you, my. friend. We need an extra wireless operator, for radio is an important part of our activities. We sometimes broadcast misleading information about the movements of bergs. We tried to wreck your cutter last night, but the mist defeated us—luckily, as it happened, for it placed you at our disposal." “How do you know—” began

Pat. “I know everything about the Ice Patrol—including your radio code,” smiled Captain Polaris. “Now kindly follow me” “If you think—!” “I think you will prefer work to —death.” Captain Polaris screwed his monocle into his eye, and, revolver in hand, led the unwilling boy to the wireless cabin. A dark-faced operator was sitting at the switchboard. “This is your new assistant, Diego,” said Captain Polaris, closing the door. “Let me have your seat a moment. In order to familiarise him with the sort of work we do I am going to send out a message to his friend, Captain Hawke —myself.” “What are you going to say?” cried Pat, sharply. “I am going to say that you have been picked up by a trawler in this latitude, and when he comes along to collect you”—Captain Polaris yawned—“we shall open fire on the cutter from behind the shelter of this berg. Here, take my revolver, Diego!” He held out the weapon as he spoke, and Pat, seizing his opportunity, stepped swiftly in front of Diego and snatched it from the pirate’s hand! “If either of you utters a word I will blow out your brains!” the boy rapped out, covering them with the revolver. “Now, Captain Polaris, you are going to send out a radio—but at my dictation!” The monocle dropped from the pirate’s eye, but he said nothing. The tables had been completely turned!

“You know the code—and so do I!” continued Pat, through his teeth. “If you play false I shall shoot you dead. Send this out:— ‘S.O.S. Calling all ships. Destroy berg in (he named the latitude and longitude) immediately; Pirate’s lair. Ice Patrol prisoner calling all shins.’ Got that?” Captain Polaris ceased tapping and looked up. “And now?” he said, with a peculiar expression. Pat spun round—too late. He had not heard the cabin door ouietly opening behind him, and three pirates flung themselves on him and wrested the revolver from his hand!

“No—don’t shoot!” cried the Ice Pirate, starting up from his seat, “No harm is done. It will be hours before any armed vessel can possibly reach this berg, I will broadcast a few further messages before we leave for safer quarters. They will think the whole thing ,is a Drank. Meanwhile.” Captain Polaris languidly replaced his monocle, “I think it would be better if we sent this young gentleman off on his ‘growler’ again. He is not cut out for a pirate!” Pat’s heart sank as he was hustled out of the cabin and once more flung into the small boat. His gallant effort had been in vain! Within 20 minutes of being taken on board the pirate gunboat he found himself once more adrift on the “growler,” doomed to death

either from drowning or exposure. With lack-lustre eyes he watched the boat returning to the berg. It disappeared within the hidden bay where Captain Polaris carried out his nefarious activities. Then suddenly a deep, vibrant hum, like an angry bee, made him look up with a wild hope. A bombing seaplane was swooping down out of the clear blue sky! Captain Polaris had been mistaken. It would be hours, true, before a battleship could reach the berg, but—boom! Already that was unnecessary! A Canadian seaplane had picked up the radio message, and, hovering over the berg, had dropped a bomb! The vast mountain of ice was rent asunder. Glittering fragments flew into the air. Pat shut his eyes as another egg-like object fell from the seaplane and a second explosion shattered the silence of the Grand Banks. When he opened them again the berg was nothing but a litter of broken ice tossing on the Atlantic billows, and of the pirate gunboat and its villainous crew there was no sign. “Gosh, sonny!” exclaimed the pilot, when he had swooped down to pick up' Pat from the ‘‘growler,” “Lucky you’d left the berg! But what’s the whole story? And what’s fee particular regiment of heroes that you belong to, eh?” “1, belong to the Ice Patrol," said Pat proudly. (The end.) HISTORICAL RHYME Sir Walter Raleigh A very brave Englishman Was the seaman, Walter Raleigh, His ships were full of riches Taken from many a Spanish galley.

'Twas in the sixteenth century He sailed upon the sea. Giving glory to Great Britain, A brave man was he. —BEVERLEY STOOP, A. 8., L.B.H. , (aged H), 48 Orwell street, Oamaru. What do we use but we cannot see? Air.