Andrea Barrett - Voyage of the Narwhal

“Let me have just a dozen,” Zeke begged.

“Impossible,” Oonali said.

FOR ANOTHER DAY Zeke wrestled with himself, writing and writing in his black book, talking and talking to Erasmus and Dr. Boerhaave, as he tried to figure out a way to explore more territory and find clearer signs of the lost expedition. The following morning he rose, stared at his coffee, and then said into the dim cabin, “He who does not see the hand of God in all this is blind.”

Captain Tyler and Mr. Tagliabeau exchanged a glance, as did Dr. Boerhaave and Erasmus. Zeke turned and faced into his bunk, his arms spread above his head and his hands grasping the supports. As he spoke he swayed slightly, leaning into the bunk and then back out, against the air, while a white figure barked at him from a tub of ice in the corner: the little white fox Ned had trapped, which Zeke had appropriated as a pet to replace his lost Wissy. She ate from Zeke’s plate; he had named her Sabine.

“I read the dogs’ death as a bad omen,” he said. “Or even an act of sabotage. Especially Wissy’s. But it was not, it was an illness pure and simple. That we could not penetrate Peel Sound, and that Bellot Strait was closed to us, also seemed to signal the failure of our expedition. Fletcher Lamb’s death, for which no one would have wished, delayed us when we might have departed. Yet in fact all these events have conspired to place us exactly here, at exactly this time, where we could meet precisely this group of Esquimaux. We are the favored ones. We’ve uncovered much more than did Dr. Rae. That we can’t pursue this further is a sign that what we’ve found is sufficient. More than sufficient.

Through patience and persistence we’ve twice seen past the Esquimaux deceitfulness and uncovered the true story. I was tempted to winter here — but those men are dead, and we know where they died. We’ll leave as soon as we can ready the ship.”

The men cheered when Zeke announced his decision. Erasmus, listening to them bustle about as they prepared the Narwhal for the last leg of her voyage, considered their accomplishments. While they hadn’t seen either bodies or ships, their evidence was much more direct than Dr. Rae’s. They’d dined with people who’d seen bodies and carved up one of Franklin’s boats. They’d eaten soup with Franklin’s silver spoons and lost only a single member of their own crew. He looked forward to arriving home in triumph, bearing his neatly written journal in its green silk dress. After dusting the grease spots with salt, he wrote:

I try to set my feelings aside; I try to record here simply what I saw, what I heard, what has happened. But I admit I’ve found these days exciting. These are very different Esquimaux from the civilized tribes of southern Greenland. And it was thrilling to delve below their superficial deceit and uncover the crucial story about the boat. I feel as though my small role — peeping Zeke steady and providing a sympathetic ear, while maintaining all the scientific observations — has contributed much to our success. Is it ridiculous to hope I may return home as a sort of hero: the steady, older naturalist who has been of inestimable aid to the commander, and made all the important observations? Lavinia will be so proud of Zeke. Of us.

Although there was no possibility of sending letters for some weeks, Dr. Boerhaave wrote to his English friend Thomas Cholmondelay:

Do you remember the story I told you, about Mr. Thoreau’s pilgrimage to Fire Island and his attempt to gather up the relics of Margaret Fuller’s drowning? It sticks in my mind: how he found that shift with her initials embroidered on it; her husband’s coat, from which he took a button; her infant’s petticoat. The relics we’ve uncovered here — I append a list that will sadden your heart — put me in mind of that other shipwreck. There is something so terribly personal about these small objects.

We’ve had a death on our own ship as well: a pleasant young man named Fletcher Lamb, who succumbed to lockjaw after cutting himself with a razor. The smallest of accidents; it too meaningless in itself. Yet by that act our tiny crew is reduced by one. I kept him as comfortable as possible but could do nothing to avert the end. He died quietly, after having said his prayers and dictating a brief note of farewell to his mother and sisters. I’ve lost patients before, of course. But this death, so needless, hurt more than most. And it is disturbing that our commander reads into the delay caused by that death a form of divine intervention, which allowed us to make our discoveries. Are you well?

THEY SET SAIL on August 9. From the shrouds hung seven caribou, which, along with the clusters of birds suspended in the rigging, gave the Narwhal the appearance of a butcher shop under sail. Sabine, chained to her tub of ice beneath the dead wildlife, watched the bustle curiously.

“Don’t you think I’m doing well with her?” Zeke asked Erasmus. He slipped Sabine a morsel of bread, while Captain Tyler called out the sequence of orders that would set them moving again. “She was so shy when Ned brought her in, but I think she’s becoming quite civilized.”

She was half grown or perhaps a bit more, four pounds of energy with a coat resembling that of a fancy cat. As they began to move she stood and howled to her relatives back on shore.

Ihave no fancies about equality on board ship. It is a thing out of the question, and certainly, in the present state of mankind, not to be desired. I never knew a sailor who found fault with the orders and ranks of the service; and if I expected to pass the rest of my life before the mast, I would not wish to have the power of the captain diminished an iota. It is absolutely necessary that there should be one head and one voice, to control everything, and be responsible for everything. There are emergencies which require the instant exercise of extreme power. These emergencies do not allow of consultation; and they who would be the captain’s constituted advisers might be the very men over whom he would be called upon to exert his authority. It has been found necessary to vest in every government, even the most democratic, some extraordinary and, at first sight, alarming powers; trusting in public opinion, and subsequent accountability to modify the exercise of them. These are provided to meet exigencies, which all hope may never occur, but which yet by possibility may occur, and if they should, and there were no power to meet them instantly, there would be an end put to the government at once. So it is with the authority of the shipmaster.

— RICHARD DANA, Two Years Before the Mast (1840)

A t first the voyage home was much like the voyage out, except for the intensity of the deep, enveloping light. The light was like silver, like crystal, like oil — but not, really, like anything else; Erasmus could find no comparison, he gave up. The light was like itself. Under it, in Lancaster Sound, he could imagine the promise of Baffin’s Bay: ships and mail and company and, a few weeks beyond that, home. At first the weather was calm, and so were the men.

Erasmus’s only sleep came in little catnaps but he slept deeply during those stretches and woke refreshed. In between he spent hours with Dr. Boerhaave over their specimens. He made lists and schedules, crossing off each item accomplished: these bird skins dried and packed and labeled, these plants identified. All immensely satisfying. One day he woke in the grip of an unfamiliar feeling — a compound of anticipation and physical well-being, all he’d accomplished in the previous days balanced with all he was eager to do that day. This was happiness, he thought with surprise. The sky hung above him like a gigantic glowing bowl.