Dan Simmons - The Terror

Franklin, almost unable to hide his shock and horror, stood where he was, still looking down at the corpse of Lieutenant Gore. Private Pilkington and Seaman Morfin were unlashing the lines holding Gore in place on the sledge. “For God’s sake,” said Franklin, “cover his face.”

“Aye, sir,” said Morfin. The sailor pulled up the Hudson ’s Bay Company blanket that had slipped away from the lieutenant’s face during their rough day and a half on the ice and pressure ridges.

Sir John could still see the concavity of his handsome lieutenant’s gaping mouth through the dry sag of the red blanket. “Mr. Des Voeux,” snapped Franklin.

“Yes, sir.” Second Mate Des Voeux, who had been overseeing the unlashing of the lieutenant’s body, shuffled over and knuckled his forehead. Franklin could see that the whisker-stubbled man, his face sunburned a raw red and sandblasted by the wind, was so exhausted that he could only just raise his arm to salute.

“See to it that Lieutenant Gore’s body is brought to his quarters, where you and Mr. Sergeant will see that the body is prepared for burial under the supervision of Lieutenant Fairholme here.”

“Aye, sir,” said Des Voeux and Fairholme in unison.

Ferrier and Pilkington, exhausted as they were, shook off efforts at assistance and lifted the body of their dead lieutenant. The corpse seemed as stiff as a piece of firewood. One of Gore’s arms was bent and his bare hand, turned black from the sun or decomposition, was raised in a sort of frozen clawing gesture.

“Wait,” said Franklin. He realized that if he sent Mr. Des Voeux off on this errand, it would be hours before he could receive an official report from the man who had been second in command on this party. Even the confounded surgeon was out of sight, taking the two Esquimaux with him. “Mr. Des Voeux,” said Franklin, “after you’ve seen to Lieutenant Gore’s initial preparation, report to me in my cabin.”

“Aye, Captain,” the mate said tiredly.

“In the meantime, who was with Lieutenant Gore at the end?”

“We all were, sir,” said Des Voeux. “But Seaman Best was there with him – just the two of them – for most of the last two days we were on and near King William Land. Charlie saw everything there that Lieutenant Gore did.”

“Very well,” said Sir John. “Go on about your duties, Mr. Des Voeux. I will hear your report soon. Best, come with me and Commander Fitzjames now.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” said the sailor, cutting away the last of his leather harness because he was too exhausted to untie the knots. He did not have the strength to raise his arm in a salute.

The three Preston Patent Illuminators were milky overhead with the never-setting sunlight as Seaman Charles Best stood to make his report to a seated Sir John Franklin, Commander Fitzjames, and Captain Crozier – the captain of HMS Terror had arrived for a visit by convenient accident just minutes after the sledge party had come aboard. Edmund Hoar, Sir John’s steward and sometime secretary, sat behind the officers, taking notes. Best stood, of course, but Crozier had suggested that the exhausted man could do with some medicinal brandy, and while Sir John’s expression showed his disapproval, he had agreed to ask Commander Fitzjames to provide some out of his private stock. The liquor seemed to have revived Best somewhat.

The three officers interrupted from time to time with questions while the teetering Best made his report. When his description of the team’s laborious sledge trip to King William Land threatened to stretch on too long, Sir John hurried the man to the events of the last two days.

“Yes, sir. Well, after that first night of lightning and thunder at the cairn and then finding them… tracks, marks… in the snow, we tried to sleep a couple of hours but didn’t really succeed, and then Lieutenant Gore and I set off to the south with light rations while Mr. Des Voeux took the sledge and what was left of the tent and poor Hartnell, who was still out cold then, and we said our ‘until tomorrows’ and the lieutenant and I headed south and Mr. Des Voeux and his people headed out to the sea ice again.”

“You were armed,” said Sir John.

“Aye, Sir John,” said Best. “Lieutenant Gore had a pistol. I had one of the two shotguns. Mr. Des Voeux kept the other shotgun with his party and Private Pilkington carried the musket.”

“Tell us why Lieutenant Gore divided the party,” commanded Sir John.

Best seemed confused by the question for a moment but then brightened. “Oh, he told us he was following your orders, sir. With the food at the cairn camp destroyed by lightning and the tent damaged, most of the party needed to get back to sea camp. Lieutenant Gore and me went on to cache that second message container somewhere south along the coast and to see if there was any open water. There wasn’t any, sir. Open water, I mean. Not a hint. Not a fu-… not a single reflection of dark sky to suggest water.”

“How far did the two of you go, Best?” asked Fitzjames.

“Lieutenant Gore figured we’d traveled about four miles south across that snow and frozen gravel when we reached a big inlet, sir… rather like the bay at Beechey where we wintered a year ago. But you know what four miles is like in the fog and wind and with ice, sirs, even on land around here. We probably hiked ten miles at least to cover the four. The inlet was frozen solid. Solid as the pack ice here. Not even that usual bit of open water you get between shore and ice in any inlet during the summer up here. So we crossed the mouth of her, sirs, and then went another quarter of a mile or so out along a promontory there where Lieutenant Gore and me built another cairn – not as tall or fancy as Captain Ross’s, I’m sure, but solid, and high enough that anyone would see it right away. That land is so flat that a man is always the tallest thing on it. So we piled the rocks about eye-high and set in that second message, same as the first the lieutenant told me, in its fancy brass cylinder.”

“Did you turn back then?” asked Captain Crozier.

“No, sir,” said Best. “I admit I was worn out. So was Lieutenant Gore. The walking had been hard all that day, even the sastrugi were hard to kick our way through, but it’d been foggy so we only got glimpses of the coast along there from time to time when the fog lifted, so even though it was already afternoon by the time we finished building the cairn and leaving the message, Lieutenant Gore, he had us walk about six or seven more miles south along the coast. Sometimes we could see, most of the time we couldn’t. But we could hear .”

“Hear what, man?” asked Franklin.

“Something following us, Sir John. Something big. And breathing. Sometimes woofin’ a bit… you know, sirs, like them white bears do, like they’re coughing?”

“You identified it as a bear?” asked Fitzjames. “You said that you were the largest things visible on land. Certainly if a bear was following you, you could see it when the fog lifted.”

“Aye, sir,” said Best, frowning so deeply that it appeared he might start crying. “I mean, no, sir. We couldn’t identify it as no bear, sir. We could have, normal like. We should have. But we didn’t and couldn’t. Sometimes we’d hear it coughin’ right behind us – fifteen feet away in the fog – and I’d level the shotgun and Lieutenant Gore would prime his pistol, and we’d wait, sort of holding our breath, but when the fog lifted we could see a hundred feet and nothing was there.”

“It must have been an aural phenomenon,” said Sir John.

“Aye, sir,” agreed Best, his tone suggesting that he did not understand Sir John’s comment.

“The shore ice making noise,” said Sir John. “Perhaps the wind.”