Dan Simmons - The Terror

“I can’t believe that Captain Crozier’s gone,” said Andrews.

Four of the five men smoked harder. No one spoke. They could hear men outside talking about the seals, someone laughing, and – beyond that – the cracking and rifle fire of ice breaking.

“Technically,” said Thomas Farr, “Lieutenant George Henry Hodgson is in charge of the expedition now.”

“Oh, fuck Lieutenant George Henry Hodgson up the arse with a hot poker,” said Joseph Andrews. “If the little weasel were to come crawlin’ back now, I’d strangle ’im with me own hands and piss on his corpse.”

“I doubt very much if Lieutenant Hodgson is still alive,” Des Voeux said softly. “It’s decided then that I’m in overall command of the expedition now, with Robert second in command, Edward as third?”

“Aye,” said the other four men in the tent.

“Then understand that I’m going to keep conferring with the four of you as we have to make decisions,” said Des Voeux. “I’ve always wanted to be captain of my own ship… but not this fucking way. I’m going to need your help.”

Everyone nodded behind their screen of pipe smoke.

“I have one question before we go out and tell the men to start preparing for the feast today and departure tomorrow,” said Couch.

Des Voeux, who was bareheaded in the heat of the tent, raised his eyebrows.

“What about the sick men? Hartnell tells me that there are six who can’t walk, even if their lives depended on it. Too far gone in scurvy. Take Jopson, the captain’s steward, for instance. Mr. Helpman and our engineer, Thompson, are dead, but Jopson keeps hanging on. Hartnell says he can’t even lift his head to drink – he has to be helped – but he’s still alive. Do we take him with us?”

Des Voeux looked at Couch and then at the other three faces for unspoken answers, but they gave him nothing.

“And if we do take Jopson and the other dying ones,” continued Couch, “what do we take ’em as ?”

Des Voeux did not have to ask what the second mate meant. Do we haul them along as shipmates or as food ?

“If we leave them here,” he said, “they’ll sure as hell be food if Hickey comes back the way some of you think he will.”

Couch shook his head. “That isn’t what I’m asking.”

“I know,” said Des Voeux. He took a deep breath, almost coughing because of the thick pipe smoke. “All right,” he said. “Here is my first decision as new commander of the Franklin Expedition. When we drag the boats to the ice in the morning, any man who can walk to the boats and get into harness – or even into one of the boats – comes with us. If he dies on the way, we’ll decide then whether to haul his body farther. I’ll decide. But tomorrow morning, only those who can walk to the boats will leave Rescue Camp.”

None of the other men spoke, but several nodded. No one met Des Voeux’s gaze.

“I’ll tell the men after we eat,” said Des Voeux. “Each of you four choose one reliable man to join you on watch tonight. Edward will set the schedule. Don’t let those men eat themselves into oblivion. We’ll need our wits about us – at least some of us – until we get safely to the open water.”

All four men nodded at this.

“All right, go tell your men about the feast,” said Des Voeux. “We’re done here.”

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

Saturday, 20 August, 1848 -

The Devil, Hickey, seems to have all the Good Fortune so denied to Sir John, Commander Fitzjames, and Captain Crozier for so many Months and Years.

They do not know that I had Inadvertently put my Diary into my Medical Kit – or, rather, they probably know, since they thoroughly Searched my kit two nights ago after taking me Captive, but they do not Care. I sleep Alone in a tent except for Lieutenant Hodgson, who is as much Captive now as I am, and he does not Mind my scribbling in the dark.

Part of me still cannot believe the Slaughter of my comrades – Lane, Goddard, and Crozier – and had I not Seen with my own Eyes the Feast of Human Flesh half of Hickey’s party celebrated late Friday night upon our return to this sledge Camp out on the Ice not far from our old River Camp, I still might not Believe in such Barbarism.

Not all of Hickey’s Infernal Legion have yet succumbed to the Lure of Cannibalism. Hickey, Manson, Thompson, and Aylmore are Enthusiastic Participants, of course, as are – it turns out – Seaman William Orren, Steward William Gibson, Stoker Luke Smith Golding, Caulker James Brown, and his mate Dunn.

But others abstain alongside Myself – Morfin, Best, Jerry, Work, Strickland, Seeley, and, of course, Hodgson. We are all subsisting on Mouldy Ship’s Biscuits. Of those Fellow Abstainers, I suspect that only Strickland or Morfin and the Lieutenant may continue to Resist for long. Hickey’s People have caught just one Seal on their voyage West along the coast, but that was enough to power a Stove with its Oil – and the smell of Roasting Human Flesh is Horribly Enticing.

Hickey has not Harmed me yet. Not even the past Two Nights when I have refused to partake of the Meal or to agree to Cut Other Bodies Up when the time comes. So far, Mr. Lane and Mr. Goddard’s Parts have assuaged their appetite and Freed me from having to decide between becoming a Chef for Cannibals or being Maimed and Carved myself.

But no one is allowed to Touch the Shotguns other than Mr. Hickey, Mr. Aylmore, or Mr. Thompson – these Last Two have become lieutenants of the New Bonaparte that is our Diminutive Caulker’s Mate – and Magnus Manson is a weapon of his own which only One Man – if he is indeed still a man – can Aim and Unleash.

But when I speak of Hickey’s Fortune, I do not speak of just the Luck of his own Dark Making that brought him a source of fresh meat. Rather, I refer to today’s Revelation when, just two miles northwest and offshore of our old River Camp where Mr. Bridgens went missing, we came upon Open Leads that stretched Westward along the Coast.

Hickey’s Depraved Crew unsledged, Rigged, loaded, and Launched the pinnace almost at once, and we have been Sailing and Rowing quickly along to the West ever since.

You Might Ask, How can 17 Men fit into a 28-foot Open Boat meant to carry only 8 to a Dozen men comfortably?

The Answer is that we crowd upon each other Terribly and – even though we haul only Tents, weapons, cartridges, water casks, ourselves, and our Terrible Food supply – we are so Heavily Laden that the Sea rises almost to the Gunwales on either side, especially when the width of the Leads allows us to Tack into the wind without the Use of Oars.

I Heard Hickey and Aylmore whispering after we landed to pitch Tents this Evening – they made Little Effort to lower their Voices.

Someone will have to go.

The Water is Open ahead, the Way is Free – perhaps all the way back to Terror Camp, or even to Terror herself – just as the Prophet Cornelius Hickey insisted during the confrontation with Crozier at the unnamed bay in July, where mutiny was avoided only by the shout of Open Water – and it may well Occur that Hickey and those who Remain with Him will be back at Terror Camp and the ship in three days of Easy Sailing rather than the Three and a Half Months of Brutal Man-hauling it took us to come the Same Distance in the Opposite Direction .

But now that they do not need Man-haulers, which Men will be Sacrificed to the Food stores so that the boat can be Lightened for tomorrow’s Sailing?