Dan Simmons - The Terror

When the fog did lift a bit, they were less than a hundred feet from the inlet.

“I see the pike,” Mr. Reid said tonelessly. “A bit to starboard and you have it lined up nicely, Harry.”

“Something’s wrong,” said Peglar.

“What do you mean?” called back the lieutenant. Some of the seamen looked up from their oars and frowned at Peglar. With their backs to the bow, they could not see ahead.

“Do you see that serac or big ice boulder near the pike I left at the mouth of the lead?” said Harry.

“Yes,” said Lieutenant Little. “So?”

“It wasn’t there when we came out,” said Peglar.

“Back oars!” ordered Little, uselessly since the men had already ceased their rowing and were backstroking briskly, but the heavy whaleboat’s momentum continued carrying it toward the ice.

The ice boulder turned.

From the private diary of Dr. Harry D. S. Goodsir:

Tuesday, 18 July, 1848 -

Nine days ago, when our Captain sent Lieutenant Little and eight Men ahead in a Whaleboat through the Lead in the Ice with orders to Return in 4 Hours, the rest of us Slept the best we could for a Pitiful Remnant of those 4 Hours. We spent more than 2 Hours loading the Sledges onto the Boats and then, taking no Time to unpack Tents, we attempted to sleep in our Reindeer Skin and Blanket bags atop waterproof tarps set down on the Ice next to the Boats themselves. The days of the Midnight Sun were past now in early July and we slept – or Tried to Sleep – through the few Hours of near Darkness. We were very tired.

After the apportioned 4 Hours were up, First Mate Des Voeux woke the men, but there was no Sign of Lieutenant Little. The Captain allowed most to return to Sleep.

Two hours later, All were Wakened, and I tried to lend a Hand as best I could – following the orders of Second Mate Couch as the Boats were made ready to Launch. (As a Surgeon, of course, I always have some Fear of injuring my Hands, although it is True that so far on this Voyage they have Suffered every Insult short of Serious Frostbite and Self-Amputation.)

So it was that 7 Hours after Lieutenant Little, James Reid, Harry Peglar, and the six seamen had set off on their Reconnaissance, 80 of us on the ice prepared our own boats to follow. Due to movement of the Ice and lowering temperatures, the Lead had narrowed somewhat during the few hours of Darkness and few more hours of Sleep, and getting the nine Boats placed properly and launched correctly took some Skill. Eventually all of the boats -the 3 whaleboats with Captain Crozier’s in the lead (Second Mate Couch’s in second position with me aboard it) and then the 4 cutters (commanded, respectively, by Second Mate Robert Thomas, Bosun John Lane, Bosun’s Mate Thomas Johnson, and Second Lieutenant George Hodgson), followed by the two pinnaces under the command of Bosun’s Mate Samuel Brown and First Mate Charles Des Voeux (Des Voeux was third in command of our overall Expedition now behind Captain Crozier and Lieutenant Little and thus assigned the Responsibility of bringing up the rear).

The weather had grown colder and there was Some light Snow falling, but by and large the Fog had lifted to become a Low-Hanging layer of Clouds moving only a Hundred Feet or so above the ice. While this allowed us to see much farther than in the fog of the previous Day, the effect was oppressive, as if all our Movements were taking place in some strange Ballroom set in a deserted Arctic Mansion with a shattered White Marble Floor underfoot and a Low Grey Ceiling with trompe l’oeil clouds just above us .

At the moment the 9th and Final Boat was shoved into the water and its Crew clambered in, there was a faint and Sad Attempt at a hurrah from the men since it was the first time that most of these Deep Water Sailors had been afloat in almost 2 Years, but the Cheer died aborning. Concern about Lieutenant Little’s Crew’s Fate was too great to allow for any Sincere hurrahing.

For the first Hour and a half, the only sounds were the Groaning of the Working Ice around us and the occasional Answering Groans of the Men Working at the oars. But seated near the front of the second boat as I was, sitting on the Thwart behind where Mr. Couch stood at the Bow, knowing that I was Superfluous to all Locomotive Purposes, as much Dead Weight as the poor comotose-but-still-breathing David Leys – whom the men had been hauling in one of the pinnaces without Complaint now for more than 3 Months and whom my new aide, former steward John Bridgens, duly fed and cleansed of his own Filth every Evening in the medical tent we shared as if he was caring for a Beloved but Paralysed Grandfather (ironic since Bridgens was in his early 60’s and comatose Leys was only 40) – my position thus situated allowed me to hear Whispered Conversation between the Men at the Oars.

Little and the Others must have got themselves Lost, whispered a seaman named Coombs .

There ain’t no way that Lieutenant Edward Little got himself Lost, shot back Charles Best . He may be Stuck, but not Lost.

Stuck in what? whispered Robert Ferrier at an adjoining Oar . This Lead’s open Now. It was open Yesterday.

Maybe Lieutenant Little and Mr. Reid found the way Open Ahead of them all the way to Back’s River and just raised their Sail and went on, whispered Tom McConvey from one Row back . They’re there already is my guess… eating Salmon that jumped into their boat and Trading beads for Blubber with the Natives.

No one said anything to this unlikely Suggestion. The mention of the Esquimaux had caused Quiet Consternation since the massacre of Lieutenant Irving and 8 of the Savages on 24 April last. I believe that most of the Men, however desperate for Salvation or Rescue from any Source, Feared rather than Hoped for another contact with the local Native People. Revenge, Some natural philosophers suggest and Sailors endorse, is one of the most Universal of human motivations.

Two and a half hours after leaving our campsite of the Previous Night, Captain Crozier’s whaleboat broke out of the Narrow Lead into an Open Stretch of water. Men in the lead boat and my own boat let out happy shouts. As if left behind to Point the Way, a tall black ship’s pike stood Upright, embedded in the Snow and Ice at the exit from this Lead. The Night’s snow and freezing drizzle had painted the northwest side of the pike White.

These shouts also died Aborning as our Close Line of Boats pulled out into Open Water.

The water was Red here.

On shelves of ice to the Left and the Right of the Lead Opening, crimson streaks of what could only be Blood were smeared on the flat ice and down the Vertical Planes of the ice edges. The Sight sent a Shiver through me and I could see other men reacting with Open Mouths.

Easy now, men, muttered Mr. Couch from the bow of our Boat . This is just the sign of seals caught by the White Bears; we’ve seen such Seal Gore before in the Summers.

Captain Crozier in the lead boat was saying Similar Things to his Seamen.

A minute later we knew that these Crimson signs of Carnage were not the Residue of Seals butchered by White Bears.

Oh, Christ! exclaimed Coombs at his oar. All the men quit rowing. The Three whaleboats, Four cutters, and Two pinnaces floated into a sort of circle in the choppy red-tinted water .

The bow of Lieutenant Little’s whaleboat rose vertically from the Sea. Its Name (one of the 5 boat Names not changed after Captain Crozier’s Leviathan sermon in May) - The Lady J. Franklin - was clearly Visible in black Paint. The boat had been Broken Apart about 4 feet Back from the bow so that only this Forward Section – the ragged End of shattered thwarts and splintered Hull just visible beneath the surface of the Dark and Icy Water – floated there .