The Broken Lands (36 page)

Read The Broken Lands Online

Authors: Robert Edric

BOOK: The Broken Lands
2Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
They were joined by Gore and Reddington, the latter with his forehead and both arms heavily bandaged. This was a source of great interest to the Eskimos, but despite their curiosity they did not approach too close to him, repulsed by his growth of beard.
After an hour, the natives prepared to leave. They extinguished the fire and retrieved the sticks of their shelter, letting the unsupported ice collapse into the shallow depression beneath. When they made it clear that they were not about to accompany Fitzjames back to the
Erebus
, he protested to them and then tried to persuade them with promises of gifts. But his raised voice only alarmed them, and after a short conference one of the men answered by shouting something
unintelligible back at him. Fitzjames regretted the misunderstanding he had caused and tried to appease them before they left. He indicated the detritus all around and signaled for the Eskimos to take as much as they liked. The man who had shouted at him took a cup and saucer from beneath his jacket, showed it briefly to Des Voeux and then replaced it. Others followed his lead, proudly displaying what they too had already taken.
Reddington suggested going back to where the others were waiting midway between the two ships and returning to force the natives to accompany them to the
Erebus.
Reid shook his head and asked him what purpose he thought this would serve.
“We alarm them by more than our disgusting appearance,” he said. He gestured for the Eskimos to leave, but they remained motionless, watching him.
Angry at Reid’s criticism, Reddington asked him what he meant.
“Our size, our numbers, the ship that might have sailed down from the sun or the moon or the stars with such sorry-looking specimens as ourselves on board. They might even think we want to steal their meat and then butcher and eat
them
from the same pot. Perhaps—” Here, prompted by a glance from Fitzjames, Reid paused. “Perhaps we aren’t even human to them. Perhaps they look upon us as they look upon the spirits of the dead, their dead, turned white—” He stopped again, unwilling to continue his alarming speculations and all they implied for their own future.
There followed a minute of silence, during which the two parties stared at each other, the only noise coming from the distant men who were growing impatient with the encounter.
Finally unable to control his stomach, Fitzjames was sick on the ice at his feet, bringing up everything he had eaten. When he had finished and wiped the mess from his mouth and chin, he tried to apologize, but felt too nauseous to persist, finally frustrated and angered by the obdurate and ungiving nature of the men with whom he was trying to communicate.
Rather than allow any further suggestion of ingratitude or hostility
to mar the failed negotiations, he turned and left them, his teeth clenched and the mixed taste of oil and blood in his mouth.
 
Upon his return to the ship, Fitzjames went to inspect John Irving’s corpse. It had already been dressed as fully as possible, but this had proved difficult, and whoever had attempted the task had been unable to push Irving’s legs back into his trousers or his arms into his sleeves; instead they had pressed rolled blankets around the body and then cut his shirt, jacket and trousers up the back and moulded these over him until he once again looked as though he were properly clothed. Seeing the result, Fitzjames wished something similar could be done for the desecrated corpses aboard the
Terror.
Afterward, he examined the full extent of the internal damage to the
Erebus,
noting where the blossoming ice had made its dangerous gains since she had been left without heat three weeks earlier.
Upon leaving Irving’s body, Fitzjames called for Goodsir, and together they inspected the crates and casks mounded on the
Erebus
’ deck. Fitzjames was surprised by how much had already been collected, but Goodsir remained pessimistic, pointing out how little of this was of any value in fighting scurvy, and reminding Fitzjames of how many of their number—himself included—were scarcely able to keep down half of what they ate. Securing fresh meat, he insisted, was vital to their survival.
Almost as though prompted by this discussion, the two men were distracted by a distant gunshot out on the ice.
“Our hunters,” Goodsir said in the same unhappy tone. “Shooting at shadows and at skin and bone.”
“Have they killed nothing so far?”
“One fox, two gulls and—” Suddenly and without warning, Goodsir began to cough violently and uncontrollably, almost choking at the exertion. He bent double and then fell against the foremast to support himself. Fitzjames moved to help him, but Goodsir pushed him away until the seizure was over. Afterward, gulping to recover his breath, he wiped the sweat from his brow and spat heavily into his handkerchief.
A moment later he returned to their inventory as though nothing had happened, and before Fitzjames could comment on what he had seen.
Later in the day they found a further dozen places where the ice had breached their hull, in some instances pushing through into the quarters within and rendering these uninhabitable. Timbers had warped along her full length, and the
Erebus
was filled with the sound of creaking and scraping where the ice continued to assault her, probing and fingering as it came, searching out her weaknesses as meticulously and as relentlessly as it had sought out and then exploited those of the
Terror.
The extent of all this and the speed with which it had taken place during their short absence concerned Fitzjames, and it worried him even more when he thought of how this prolonged and strength-sapping war of attrition might one day be so suddenly and easily lost.
The two men parted at Stanley’s surgery, where Goodsir had taken up residence. He made it clear as he unlocked the door and then stepped quickly inside that he did not want Fitzjames to follow him.
The pain from Fitzjames’ foot had grown worse, and as he negotiated the narrow passageways and stairs back to his own cabin, he frequently found himself having to rest until it subsided.
He came first upon Thomas McConvey, asleep in his bunk. His bedclothes were dirty and strewn across the floor. His pillow was stained with vomit and blood, and both disfigured further his pockmarked face. His breathing came hoarsely and erratically, punctuated by painful grunts, and it was only as Fitzjames stood beside the sick man and looked down at him that he fully understood the burden that had been placed upon Goodsir over the previous week, and to which he had now begun to sacrifice his own failing health.
Leaving McConvey, he went into the adjoining room, in which the two boys had been quartered. Thomas Evans was awake and sitting in a chair which Fitzjames recognized as having come from Franklin’s cabin. In answer to his inquiry as to his health, the boy only pointed to the sleeping form of his sick companion.
Fitzjames had not seen Robert Golding buried beneath the blankets of the bed, and moving closer he pulled these back to look at his sleeping face, the features immediately reminding him of the dying monkey. The boy’s eyes fluttered as he slept, and a thin brown line ran from his nose to his chin and was dotted upon his pillow.
“Mr. Goodsir has been looking to him, sir,” Thomas Evans said.
Fitzjames looked around the bed for any more of the broken vials and then pulled one of the boy’s arms out from beneath its mound of blankets, feeling its weight and the rigidity with which it was held by the sleeping child.
“You shouldn’t be in here with him,” he said to the other, knowing that Golding was close to death.
Thomas Evans couldn’t answer him, his only response being to draw his knees closer to his chest, wrap his arms around them and then press his face into his thighs as though he believed he was about to be pulled from his chair and dragged from the room.
Fitzjames left him without saying anything more.
The next half a dozen cabins he inspected were all empty, their contents strewn around them, charts emptied from their cases and torn into fragments, pieces of glassware and crockery smashed in drifts where they had been thrown by men with no further use for them.
Coming repeatedly upon these small scenes of wanton destruction, he wondered if any of it had been caused by the scavenging Eskimos, and how much more they might yet attempt as those who had come back aboard gradually lost the strength and the will to resist them.
At the end of the short passageway he came upon the starved, bald bodies of a dozen rats nailed to the wall, the result of a hunt by the two marines bringing aboard the last of their stores. He wondered if they had been hung in display as trophies, or if they were waiting to be cooked and eaten. Regardless, he swung his stick at them and knocked half of the stiff and elongated corpses to the ground, where they rolled around him like bowling pins.
He entered John Irving’s cabin, sought out his chronometer and sextant, and packed the remains of his library into a case which he
then dragged into the passageway to collect later when he had the strength.
He came upon the rest of the men gathered together in the galley. The stove was alight and the room and those adjoining it were warm. A thin pall of sulfurous smoke hung across the ceiling, barely disturbed by the few draughts of fresher air which penetrated that far into the raw innards of the ship.
At his approach, those who were able to stand did so, and of them all, only John Weekes and Edward Hoar showed little sign of the sickness which all too clearly burned inside the others.
Greeting them, Fitzjames made the effort to appear optimistic about their chances of recovery during the easier, recuperative summer months ahead, and in return none of the men gave voice to their own individual fears, preferring instead briefly to submerge these in this shared delusion of hope.
A small piece of cooked meat was taken from the oven and laid on the galley table. This was then cut into six smaller pieces, and each man spent longer looking at his share and juggling it from hand to hand than he did eating it, savoring the expectation rather than the taste.
Fitzjames returned to his cabin, surprised to find Goodsir there ahead of him. As he entered, Goodsir was withdrawing the needle of a syringe from his inner arm. He then sucked at the drop of blood which appeared before bending his arm double and acknowledging Fitzjames. A bottle of port and another of rum stood on the table beside him, both uncorked, their mixed scent adding an edge to the more usual fetid muskiness of the room.
Neither man spoke, and when Goodsir finally threw one of the bottles toward him, Fitzjames made no attempt to catch it, watching as its contents spilled onto his bed, whether rum or port he could not tell through the pain which blurred his vision, and a minute later he fell asleep to the sound of Goodsir’s laughter, neither knowing nor caring about what he found so amusing.
R
obert Golding died on the 21st of May. He was alone and barely conscious, unable to speak or respond, and with hardly the strength to keep his eyes open for the final few moments during which he came round from his drugged sleep.
Gore and Goodsir stripped and washed the small corpse, and afterward Goodsir inspected it to determine the severity and extent of the disease which had finally closed tight its grip on the boy. He scraped away the dried pus which had leaked from Golding’s swollen joints and washed him clean of the blood which had accumulated from the raw skin beneath his finger- and toe-nails. Gore, who had seen such ravages before, could hardly bring himself to look at them on the weightless shrunken body of the child.
Goodsir performed his work silently and clumsily, directing Gore in all the tasks he himself could not perform, and when they had finished the two of them dressed the boy in clean clothes, combed down what little remained of his hair and invited in those waiting to pay their last respects.
The body was taken out an hour later and placed alongside John Irving’s in the empty engine room, now ice-caulked and airless.
The boy’s death cast its desolate spell over them all, and alerted by the speed with which it had come, Fitzjames established a rota of daily medical inspections from which no one was exempt. Those confined to their bunks were visited twice daily, and last thing each night Goodsir reported to Fitzjames on the condition of them all.
With the few medical supplies at their disposal, treatment was largely confined to the washing and dressing of wounds.
Fitzjames’ own injuries were growing worse, and there were now days when he was barely able to stand, and when he too was confined to his bed.
Following his request to be informed by Goodsir on the condition of the others, he also secretly asked Reid to confide in him on the health of Goodsir himself, convinced that he was now taking larger and larger doses of his stimulants to enable him to carry out his duties.
In addition to his injured foot, Fitzjames felt his other limbs stiffening, and the skin of his joints turning ever more tender and sore as the flesh became swollen and hard and then split. Having regained most of his hair after losing it the previous year, it was once again becoming brittle and loose, and skin peeled from his scalp in small circles. He began to sleep for longer and longer each night, twelve and then fourteen or fifteen hours, but after waking from even these long periods he felt as though he had scarcely rested and remained in his bed until something required his attention.
The disappointing inventory of their stores was completed, and upon being told of what remained, Fitzjames cut their ration of lemon juice to an ounce and a half, and six days later to an ounce.
A candle was lit alongside the body of the boy as a mark of respect, but so cold was the engine room that this burned only down its center, leaving intact a tube of translucent wax inside which the flame was quickly extinguished.
 
A month after the meeting with the first party, a second group of Eskimos arrived alongside the
Erebus.
There were thirty of them this time and they came directly to the ship. They called up to the men on deck, signaling that they wished to trade with them. Des Voeux saw them arrive and went immediately to tell Fitzjames. In his opinion, the Eskimos had not expected to find anyone aboard the ship.
“Or alive,” Fitzjames said without thinking. He also considered it unlikely that the natives had approached with the sole intention
of trade when so many of their possessions already lay scattered all around them, and from which their earlier visitors had scavenged and stolen with obvious disregard for the men on the ship.
Philip Reddington and the two marines stood at the rail looking down at the men below, and both Bryant and Hopcraft held their rifles ready to fire, targeting individual figures as they moved amid the wreckage of the huts and bunkers and the discarded timber and rigging.
“I think they’ve come from the others, from Vesconte and Stanley,” Reddington told Fitzjames. “They keep pointing back in the direction of the land. And see—” He indicated the lengths of leather harness coiled around the shoulders of several of the men. Others held the small canvas satchels and pouches used to carry personal belongings ashore.
Reid volunteered to go down and communicate with them. He warned the marines not to fire while he was on the ice. Des Voeux and Reddington went with him.
At this approach, the Eskimos drew back, speaking among themselves and laying at their feet what they had already collected.
Fitzjames watched closely as Reid and Des Voeux approached them, and as they raised their arms in peaceful gestures, revealing that they were unarmed. Philip Reddington remained standing behind, his own hand raised as though he were about to signal to the marines. One of the Eskimos pulled back his hood, laid down the bundle of timber he was carrying and copied Reid’s gesture. He came forward, holding out the satchel he carried to Des Voeux, and having handed it over he turned and pointed to the east.
It suddenly occurred to Fitzjames, watching as Des Voeux fumbled with the buckles of the satchel, that the men might be acting as messengers, having come with papers from either Stanley or Vesconte, or perhaps even from Crozier himself, sent to inform them of their progress during the six weeks they had been separated. Realizing this, he made a rough calculation: even allowing for daily marches of only two or three miles hauling the boats, Crozier and his advance party might have easily covered the eighty or ninety miles south over King William Land to the mainland. And even
Vesconte, allowing for a stay of two or three weeks on the shore where they had landed, might now be moving more rapidly south with his own less heavily burdened party and closing the distance between them.
So involved was he with all these silent calculations that he did not at first see Des Voeux crouch down and then tip the contents of the satchel onto the ice, and it was only when Reid called up to him, and as he too knelt and then quickly rose, that his attention was drawn back to the men below. He knew immediately from the silence, and from Reid’s bowed head as he came back to the ship, that he had been wrong to have allowed his hopes to rise so sharply at the encounter, and he waited in silence as Reid and then Reddington climbed back aboard.
From his jacket, Reid pulled out a handful of the contents of the satchel. Cutlery, buttons, watch cases and cap bands fell to the deck. He took out scissors and shaving gear, the firing mechanism of a broken pistol, a compass, a clothes brush, several horn combs and a letter nip. Fitzjames and the marines looked on in silent disbelief as he let all this booty fall to the deck and scatter at their feet.
Out on the ice other Eskimos approached Des Voeux and handed over to him their own collections. One had brought only empty bottles, another a collection of gaming boards and clay pipes. Others took out pieces of folded clothing with which they were reluctant to part, especially the brightly colored handkerchiefs and scarves and the pieces of starched, brilliantly white table linen.
Des Voeux looked down at all this piling up around his feet, and it was several minutes before he could bring himself to attempt to communicate with the Eskimos. He guessed from the confident, almost beseeching manner in which they displayed their booty that it had not been taken by force from the men on the land, and that if this was the case then it had either been discarded by those men to lighten their unbearable loads, or it had been taken from their bodies and their packs where they had finally fallen and died. Having guessed this much, he searched among the objects at his feet for some indication of their owners, hoping to determine whether they
had come from Crozier’s party or the men on the shore. He found a backgammon board he knew to belong to George Hodgson, and a shaving kit, each piece of which was engraved with the initials of Alexander Macdonald, and looking beneath a mound of clothing, he came upon a copy of Moore’s
Garden Almanac
for 1845 inscribed with Thomas Blanky’s name, a gift from his wife given to him only days before their departure. All three men had set off with Crozier on his march to the south. Picking this up, Des Voeux indicated to the man who had brought it that he wished to keep it. He tried to ascertain if the man could remember where it had come from, if it had been found discarded or still in the possession of its owner, and whether that man had been dead or alive, but none of his questions brought forth an answer. He knew that Eskimos seldom spoke of the dead, especially those who had died in unnatural or painful circumstances, preferring instead either to pretend not to know the person in question or to point to the horizon and say that he had gone away on a long journey. He guessed too that they might be unwilling to admit to having plundered corpses, although this was hardly how they themselves would look upon their finds.
Indicating for them to wait where they stood, Des Voeux returned to the
Erebus
and told Fitzjames and Reid what he thought had happened, adding that he believed the Eskimos thought they had something to gain by returning all these objects to the ship. Fitzjames could not accept this, and in his anger he called down, cursing the men below. They did not understand him, and other than pause briefly as they gathered up their loot, they took little notice of him.
Des Voeux gave Reid Blanky’s
Almanac
, and seeing its inscription stung him to tears. Fitzjames fell silent. He apologized to Reid and Des Voeux for his outburst and then ordered the marines to put down their weapons.
“Do they intend to stay, do you think?” he asked Reid as the men below dispersed to search further among the spreading waste all around them.
“A short while perhaps. They’ll want whatever they can get while it’s still there for the taking.”
“Give it to them. Barter for whatever else they’ve brought. And make it clear that if they intend returning to the land I want a message taken for whoever they might come across.”
The hour upon the deck and the shock of the revelation had weakened Fitzjames considerably. He spotted several books amid the clothing below and asked Reddington to retrieve these for him, hoping there might be a journal or log among them. But in this too he was disappointed.
At first many could not bring themselves to believe what the encounter suggested, but others received the news philosophically, too weak to argue whether the men on the shore were dead or alive when the Eskimos had come across them and started picking through their loads.
“They only tell us what they think we want to hear,” Reid remarked later, sitting beside Fitzjames’ bed.
A wind had blown up and it was colder than usual. Out on the ice the Eskimos had erected their shelters amid the derelict dwellings.
Fitzjames had fallen on his way back to the cabin, unable to push himself up until Gore came to help him.
Later, Joseph Andrews arrived with the alarming news that the Eskimos had been heard in their abandoned forward hold and the adjacent quarters. An armed party was sent to evict them, but no one was found. Some said they had never been aboard at all, except as a figment of someone’s dream; others believed that the Eskimos had acquired their booty by attacking those on the land and that they were now preparing to do the same to them.
Goodsir arrived, having slept through the whole encounter, and listened without speaking to everything that had happened. He took Alexander Macdonald’s shaving kit and examined it for signs of recent use. Then he unbandaged Fitzjames’ foot and drained the liquid from his swollen ankle. Afterward, he gave Fitzjames a potion to help him sleep.
He had just come from visiting Thomas McConvey, who was now suffering from bouts of delirium in addition to his physical pains. He complained of being unable to see, and Goodsir had swabbed
the dried blood from his eyelids, both of which were torn. To reassure him that he was not about to go permanently blind, Goodsir had doused these with a weak solution of spirit and then bound them. He was concerned that his increasing medication appeared to be having little effect on the seaman, and when Fitzjames asked him how long he expected McConvey to live, he thought for a moment and held up five fingers, then reduced these to four and then three, before finally abandoning his guessing entirely.

Other books

It's Better This Way by Travis Hill
Be My Prince by Julianne MacLean
44 Book Five by Jools Sinclair
A Spy Like Me by Laura Pauling
Hawkmistress! by Marion Zimmer Bradley
Scholar of Decay by Tanya Huff