The Pole Read Online Free PDF Page B

breath and then started to climb. Slowly, carefully, deliberately. I made sure that I always had one hand firmly gripping the ropes before I moved the other hand. Always had one foot firmlyanchored on one step before I moved my other foot up to the next. Hand over hand I inched upward.
    The wind was getting stronger and the sound of the sails flapping in the breeze became louder in my ears. The boat pitched and I felt a rush of fear race through my body. I gripped the rigging as if my life depended on it … after all, my life did depend on it.
    I looked down through the ropes, frozen in place. Were the seas suddenly getting rougher, or was it just that I was climbing higher and that made it feel like the swells were getting bigger?
    Far below was the deck. If I lost my grip and fell I’d be killed instantly. I’d break my neck. But if I started to fall and then pushed off, maybe I could clear the deck and hit the water instead. I could survive if I hit the water. Of course, if nobody saw me fall into the water I’d drown … no, I’d probably freeze to death first. I drove that thought out of my head. I wasn’t going to fall. But I couldn’t stay where I was forever. Up or down? No, there was no choice. I wasn’t going down. If I went back down now I was finished as a seaman and I might as well go back down to the galley and learn to cook.
    I took a deep breath. I had to think about what I had to do, think about climbing up. I unhooked my left hand and reached up to the next rung. I pulled myself up. I gripped the rope tightly and moved my right hand up, stepping up to the next rung. Rung byrung, hand over hand, I was climbing. I looked up. I was practically there.
    â€œWho is that?” Captain Bartlett’s voice came down from above.
    â€œIt’s me, Cap’n … Danny.”
    â€œDanny, what are ya doin’ comin’ up here?”
    â€œBringin’ your supper, sir.”
    â€œGood. I’m hungry as a bear.”
    I climbed up the final few rungs until my head was level with the top of the barrel of the crow’s nest. Captain Bartlett reached out and offered me his hand. I took it and I was yanked up and pulled right into the barrel! Still holding me in a vise-like grip he plopped me down and my feet hit the bottom.
    â€œThought I’d give ya a little helpin’ hand,” he said. “Now, how about givin’ me my supper?”
    â€œSure, of course, sir.” I pulled the bag off my shoulder and handed it to the Captain.
    He reached inside and pulled out a big sandwich. “Was hopin’ for somethin’ hot, but I knew that wasn’t goin’ to be happenin’ as I saw ya start to climb.”
    I gave him a questioning look.
    â€œSpeed ya was travellin’ it was goin’ be cold by the time I got it no matter how hot it was when it left the galley.” He chuckled. “One point there I thought I’d have ta come on down an’ shake ya awake.”
    â€œI was just bein’ careful.”
    â€œCareful is good.” He took a big bite from his sandwich and then reached into the bag and removed a clear glass bottle. It looked like coffee. He unscrewed the lid and brought it up to his face and inhaled.
    â€œAhhhh … as long as the coffee is hot, nothin’ else matters.” He took a sip.
    The Captain drank pots and pots of coffee every day. I’d never even seen him drink anything else— not tea, not beer, not even a shot of rum. It was pretty unusual for a sailor—and even stranger for a sailor from Newfoundland. My mother used to say that for a ship from Newfoundland to run there had to be wind in its sails and screech or rum in the bellies of the crew.
    â€œEver been up here before?” he asked.
    â€œNever been in the rigging before.”
    â€œGuess I should ’ave figured that out. Nice up here. Peaceful. Wonderful view. Look,” he said, pointing off to the port