Dan Simmons - The Terror

All through March, Hoar insisted that he could not stay in Erebus ’s Sick Bay – that he had to return to his berth and to serving and caring for Captain Fitzjames. His blond hair was constantly soaked with caked blood. His swollen arms, legs, and face began to look like pasty Dough. Every day that I tested his skin, it had Lost more Elasticity; by the week before Erebus was crushed, I could push deep into Edmund Hoar’s flesh and the dimple would stay there permanently, the new Bruise spreading and spilling into a patchwork of earlier Hemorrhages .

By mid-April, Hoar’s entire body had become a Bloated, Misshapened mass. His face and hands were Yellow from jaundice. His eyes were a Bright Yellow, made all the more shocking due to the bleeding from his eyebrows.

Despite my assistant’s and my own efforts to turn and move the patient several times a Day, by the day we carried him from the dying Erebus, Hoar was covered with bedsores that had become brownish-purple ulcers that never ceased Suppurating. His face, especially on either side of his Nose and Mouth, was also ulcerated, constantly oozing Pus and Blood .

Pus from a Scurvy victim has an extraordinarily foul stench.

By the day we moved Mr. Hoar to Terror Camp, he had lost all but two of his teeth. And this was a man who – on Christmas Day – had boasted the healthiest smile of any young man on the Expedition.

Hoar’s gums have blackened and receded. He is conscious only a few hours each day and is in Terrible Pain during every second of that time. When we open his mouth to feed him, the Stench is close to unbearable. Since we cannot wash Towels, we have lined his Cot with sailcloth which is now Black with Blood. His frozen and filthy clothing is also Brittle with dried Blood and Crusted Pus.

As terrible as his Appearance and Suffering are, the more Terrible Fact is that Edmund Hoar may linger on like this – getting Worse each Day – for more Weeks or even Months. Scurvy is an Insidious killer. It Tortures for a long time before it grants its victim a final peace. By the time one dies of Scurvy, one’s closest Relative often will not be able to recognize the Sufferer and not enough of the Sufferer’s mind will be left to recognize the relative.

But that is not a problem here. With the Exception of brothers serving together on this Expedition – and Thomas Hartnell lost his older brother on Beechey Island – there are no relatives who will ever come out here on the ice or onto this Terrible Island of wind, snow, ice, lightning, and fog. There is no one to identify us when we fall, much less Bury us.

Twelve of the men in the Sick Bay are dying of Scurvy, and more than Two thirds of the 105 survivors, including myself, have one or more symptoms of it.

We will be out of the lemon juice – our most successful antiscorbutic, although its Efficacy has been Declining steadily the past year – in less than a week. The only Defense I will have then is Vinegar. A week ago – in the Stores Tent on the ice outside HMS Terror - I personally presided over the decanting of our remaining volumes of Vinegar from casks to be proportioned out into 18 Smaller Kegs – one for each boat that had been sledged to Terror Camp .

The men hate Vinegar. Unlike the lemon juice, whose Tartness can be somewhat disguised with dollops of Sugar Water or even Rum, Vinegar tastes like poison to men whose palates have already been damaged by the Scurvy growing in their systems.

Officers who have dined more on Goldner’s Canned Foods than the seamen have – they ate their beloved (although rancid) Salted Pork and Beef until those casks were empty – appear to be more prone to coming down with the advanced symptoms of Scurvy than the regular sailors.

This confirms Dr. McDonald’s theory that there is some vital Element lacking – or some Poison present – in the purely canned meats and vegetables and soups as opposed to spoiled but once-fresh victuals. If there was some miraculous way I could discover that Element – poison or life-saver – I would not only have a good Chance of saving these men, possibly even Mr. Hoar, but would run an excellent Chance of being Knighted when we are rescued or reach safe harbour by ourselves.

But there is no way to do it, given our current Conditions and my lack of any Scientific Apparatus. The best I can do is insist that the men eat any fresh meat that our hunters shoot and bring in – even the Blubber and sweetmeats, I feel, against all logic, may strengthen us against Scurvy.

But our hunters have found no living things to shoot. And the ice is too thick to chop through for fishing.

Last night Captain Fitzjames stopped by as he does at the beginning and end of each of his long, long Days, and after he had his usual Rounds of the sleeping men, asking me the Changes in Condition of each, I was Forward enough to ask him the question I had been wondering about for so many weeks now.

Captain, I said , I understand if you are too busy to answer this or if you prefer not to, since it is a Lubber’s question, there is no doubt of it, but I’ve been wondering for some time – why 18 Boats?

We seem to have brought Every Boat from Erebus and Terror , yet we have only 105 men.

Captain Fitzjames said , Come outside with me if you will, Dr. Goodsir.

I told Henry Lloyd, my Weary Assistant, to watch over the men, and followed Captain Fitzjames outside. I had noticed in the Sick Bay Tent that his Beard, which I had thought was coming in Red, was actually mostly Grey, only rimmed in dried Blood.

The captain had brought an extra Lantern from the Sick Bay and he led the way with it down to the graveled Beach.

There was no Wine-Dark Sea lapping at the Shingle of this Beach, of course. Instead, the heap of coastal Tall Bergs that formed a Barrier between us and the Ice Pack still lined the Shore.

Captain Fitzjames raised his lantern along the long line of boats . What do you see, Doctor? he asked .

Boats, I ventured, feeling every Inch the Lubber I had accused myself of being .

Can you tell the difference between them, Dr. Goodsir?

I looked more carefully in the lantern light.

These first four are not on Sledges, I said. I had been quick to notice that even the first night I was here. I had no idea why this was the case, when Mr. Honey had gone to such Care to make special Sledges for all the Rest. It seemed like Rank Carelessness to me .

Aye, you are correct, said Captain Fitzjames . These Four are our Whaleboats from Erebus and Terror . Thirty feet long. Lighter than the Others. Very strong. Six oars each. Double-ended like canoes… d’ye see now?

I did now. I had never noticed that the whaleboats seemed to have two bows, like a canoe.

If we had ten whaleboats, continued the Captain , everything would have been perfect.

Why is that? I asked .

They’re strong, Doctor. Very strong. And light, as I said. And we could pile Supplies in them and drag them across the Ice without having had the need to build Sledges as we did for the Others. If we find Open Water, we could launch them straight from the ice.

I shook my head. Knowing that Captain Fitzjames would think me a Total Fool as soon as I asked the question – I asked it anyway : But why can the whaleboats be dragged on the ice when the others cannot, Captain?

Captain Fitzjames’s voice showed no impatience when he said , Do you see the rudder, Doctor?

I looked at each end, but I did not. I confessed that to the captain.