The Broken Lands (37 page)

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Authors: Robert Edric

BOOK: The Broken Lands
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T
homas McConvey fell unconscious two days later, and the day after that he died.
Six days later a fissure appeared three hundred yards off their port bow, and the surface on either side of it rose and broke and crumbled. The last standing walls of the distant camp were shaken down, and the mound of timber under which the
Terror
lay buried slid from around her to reveal the unsettling skeletal remains beneath, the angle of her broken back and the collapsed hoops of her ribs.
Over the next few days there were further shocks and fractures in the ice. Some hopes were raised higher than others. Joseph Andrews, now bedridden, became convinced that they would soon be sailing in open water, surrounded by clean white bergs, negotiating the edge of the dispersing floe, and nosing into leads as these split and opened ahead of them. He began, like McConvey before him, to suffer from bouts of delirium, during which he called out orders as though they were already sailing in that open sea. He shouted in his drugged sleep, and then when he woke and his hysteria temporarily abated, he became confused about what was actually happening to them and what his feverish mind had so vividly and desperately imagined. Also like McConvey, he started to complain of periods of near-blindness, when he could make out men and objects in only the dimmest outline. Two days after his eyes were
bound, he started to bleed from the bowels, and blood dribbled from his mouth each time he spoke.
So that they might not be taken entirely by surprise by any slackening in the grip of the ice, Reid and Couch, along with the few others who were still fit enough to work, set about trimming their rigging. Their mizzen had been rendered useless and Reid ordered this to be removed at the cross-jack, throwing everything above overboard. To compensate for this loss they removed the fore-mast above its top-yard, and the same with the main. The result of all this was to halve the area of their sail and to make the
Erebus
appear unwieldy, but Reid knew that if they could rig their main- and foresails then the few of them still capable of the work might later add to these if the need arose.
The work was hard and slow, and quickly exhausted everyone who participated in it. Everything which they neither needed nor were able to operate was chopped free and abandoned, and the remnants of the shelters below were finally flattened by the weight of timber and rope thrown down on them.
As he worked one morning trimming their main rigging, Reid was surprised to hear Joseph Andrews on the deck below, calling out orders as though to several dozen men working all around him. He stumbled from one side of the deck to the other, his loose bandages a dirty scarf around his neck, frequently falling over the heaps of tangled rope and blocks which had been cut free and fallen loose. Reid hurried down to him, held him by the shoulders and tried to reason with him. Andrews pulled free and saluted, addressing him as though he were Crozier and then commenting on the sight of their full sails and the open water ahead of them. Reid sent Des Voeux to fetch Goodsir, playing along with Andrews until the two men returned. Hearing them approach him from behind, Andrews became suddenly suspicious, pulled away from Reid and then ran for a few feet before becoming entangled in a mound of discarded cable. All three men ran to restrain him. They coiled a rope around his arms to prevent him from striking out and looped another around his ankles. Andrews cursed and struggled for a moment and
then he fell silent and began to cry. His sightless eyes lay deep in their sockets, made even more prominent by the red mask where blood vessels had burst, causing him to weep thick bloody tears.
They helped him to his feet and led him, still weeping, back below, where they discovered the contents of his cabin smashed and scattered.
The following day, as work on the rigging neared its completion, the body of Edward Hoar was discovered on the ice. He had gone out with the two marines to check their traps, and had parted from them as they passed the
Terror,
saying that something had caught his eye and he wanted to investigate. Neither Bryant nor Hopcraft had been keen to accompany him into the ruin of the dead ship, and so he had gone alone, arranging to meet them on their return.
Later, there was no sign of Hoar and so they called for him, the only response to this being the appearance of several of the Eskimos close by the ruins of Tozer’s camp. The natives watched as the two men went closer to the
Terror,
calling into her open hull for Hoar to come out and join them. When he neither appeared nor answered, the marines assumed he had already left and returned to the
Erebus
ahead of them.
It was as they were picking their way back out through the debris that they saw his arm, the rest of him being hidden beneath a mound of clothing. A quick inspection told them he was dead and they searched his body for any indication of how he had died or been killed. They found nothing.
As they rose from their examination, Hopcraft pointed out the Eskimos, who were moving toward them, each man holding a spear or a club. Bryant told him to leave the body and to walk calmly back to the
Erebus
, but Hopcraft, upon seeing the natives quicken their pace, panicked and fired a shot high above them. This caused them to throw themselves to the ground, where they lay for several minutes as Bryant considered what to do next, and as Hopcraft reloaded and aimed his rifle. Bryant ordered him not to fire, but Hopcraft remained convinced that the Eskimos were about to attack, and that they had earlier killed Hoar, having come upon him picking
through what they now considered to be their own. Bryant thought all this unlikely, and was relieved when the Eskimos finally rose and ran back to their shelters.
Reassuring Hopcraft that they were beyond the reach of anything that might be thrown at their backs, the two men returned to the
Erebus.
 
Neither Fitzjames nor Goodsir accepted that the Eskimos had killed Edward Hoar, believing that his death had been accidental, that he had fallen, concussed himself and died as a result. They pointed to his physical debilitation and to the absence of any wounds or other marks on his body to support this view. Others were less certain, most notably Hopcraft, Weekes and Reddington, and to placate these, Fitzjames agreed to a daytime watch being kept aboard the
Erebus
to alert them all of any further approach by the Eskimos.
Reid confided his fears to Fitzjames that they were over-reacting to the presence of the natives, making them appear threatening when no threat existed, and depriving themselves of a possible source of assistance. Fitzjames agreed, but knew there was nothing they could do to convince the others of this.
Three days after the death of Hoar, the body of a freshly killed seal was found on the ice alongside the
Erebus,
a single bloodless spear wound in the back of its head. Goodsir responded enthusiastically to this gift and called for help to drag it aboard.
He butchered and cooked the carcass, slicing the greasy flesh into strips and boiling these on the galley stove. The others complained of the stink. Goodsir himself ate the meat raw, the amber oil running down his chin. He disguised his repugnance of the taste and forced himself to swallow each small piece. In an effort to help the others overcome their own distaste, he served it to them with freshly baked unleavened bread, into which much of the dissolving fat drained, and with honey, which he planed from a frozen cask, the shavings of which melted on the meat as the men attempted to swallow it without chewing. He then rendered as much oil as possible from the blubber and internal organs, taking over fourteen pints in all. Afterward he worked on ways of making this too more palatable,
mixing small quantities with sugar, then adding nutmeg and ground cloves until the liquid formed into a paste which could be moulded into pastilles and swallowed whole.
Only Reddington and Hopcraft refused to accept any part of the seal, interpreting its appearance as an admission of guilt on the part of the Eskimos.
Regardless of their protests, Fitzjames asked Reid to arrange for a package of gifts to be placed at the spot where the seal had been found. He hoped to encourage the natives to bring more fresh food for them. In this he was thwarted by Hopcraft, who, waiting until a party of Eskimos approached the package, again fired over their heads. The men took fright and fled back across the ice to the safety of their shelters.
Upon hearing the shots, those below were at first alarmed, having lived with rumors of an attack ever since the death of Hoar. Others believed the shots to be a signal, and Reid went to investigate.
Confronting Hopcraft, he understood immediately what had happened, and looked down over the ice at the abandoned gifts and the distant figures. Resisting the urge to strike the marine for what he had done, for the fragile and vital link he had so ignorantly severed, he returned below to report to Fitzjames, advising him against any further reprimand while feelings concerning the Eskimos remained so mixed.
That night, and for several nights following, fires were visible amid the wreckage surrounding the
Terror,
and on at least one occasion figures were seen around a blaze which had been lit upon what little remained of her deck.
 
On Thursday the 2nd of July an explosion of timber alerted them to the final moments of the
Terror.
This was followed by a succession of tremors across a wide area of ice, alerting everyone aboard the
Erebus
, and sending those who could walk up to the relative safety of her deck. Fitzjames was carried up by Gore and John Weekes, the two men sitting him at the starboard rail before returning below to help the others.
The noise and the violence of the tremors convinced them all that
they too were about to be struck and damaged, and their remaining boat was provisioned and manhandled to the rail ready to be lowered.
The sky was clear of cloud, and with the sun high it was warm, 36 degrees at eleven in the morning. Those who had not been on deck for some time were laid out on blankets, and Goodsir moved from man to man exhorting them all to breathe deeply in the invigorating air.
Fitzjames himself tried to come out into the open at least once a day when he felt able to walk, but he had not been down on the ice for over a fortnight. He had long since considered the possibility that his foot might need to be amputated, but had so far avoided suggesting this to Goodsir, knowing that if the need did arise then the surgeon would have to instruct someone else on how to perform the operation. Fitzjames’ already irregular routine of sleeping and waking had been disrupted even further by the medication he now took, and he frequently woke in the night sickened by the smell of his own decay.
Beside him on the deck sat Reddington and Thomas Evans, the man holding the boy, who now sat shivering in the sun, cocooned inside his blanket. A short distance away, Edward Couch held Joseph Andrews in the same way, describing to him what was happening out on the ice. Andrews, his eyes still bound, showed little sign of hearing what the mate said to him, let alone understanding any of it.
Coming clear of her debris, the
Terror
exposed her few upright spars against the glare beyond, her remaining timbers bulging with the weight of ice inside her, long since warped out of true and ready to spring loose from their fittings.
“Like a skull split by beans,” Goodsir said, inspecting both Reddington and Evans as he spoke.
“Like a what?” Fitzjames asked him.
Goodsir sat beside him, his thin bloodless face and dark eyes mapping out his own exhaustion and weight loss. Shreds of blistered skin hung from his beard and he plucked at these as he spoke.
“Phrenologists and anatomists. To split a skull they boil it in ammonia to first remove the flesh and sinews, and when they are left with only the clean white bone they pack it full of dried beans and then sink it into a pail of water. The beans swell, and gradually—” He cupped his hand to the side of his head and slowly opened his fingers.
Beside him, Thomas Evans began to cough and then to spit up bloody phlegm. Reddington rubbed his back and then wiped the viscous mess from his mouth.
Goodsir tried to light a pipe, but his shaking hand would not allow him to pack it with tobacco. Exasperated, he threw it down and then stamped on it, refusing all offers of help.
The sound of splintering timbers turned them all back to the
Terror,
and they watched as a dozen boards were sprung from her side and sent skidding over the ice, the farthest coming to rest a hundred feet away. All around her the level ice started to fracture and heave, transformed once again into a sea of frozen breakers.
David Bryant shouted that he thought he could see moving water running into a fissure beneath her stern, a dark and spreading patch following her buried contours.
“Then God help her,” Gore said.
A moment later the remains of the ship were broken in half by a block of ice which rose suddenly beneath her and snapped her fractured keel.
Even before some on the
Erebus
fully realized what was happening, the
Terror
began to disintegrate, sinking in pieces into the grinding ice as the surface churned all around her, until after less than five minutes nothing remained except a few boards and ropes which had been thrown clear. To Fitzjames it looked as though a whirlpool had formed in the ice, its relentless crushing lubricated by the water rising into it from below.

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