Couch smiled sadly. “Lad, do you really think that anyone who needs actual surgery from this point on in our travels is likely to survive, no matter what?”
Des Voeux did not answer.
“And what if Hickey and his men ain’t goin’ nowhere?” asked Andrews. “And never planned to? He come back to kill the captain, grab Goodsir, and take poor John Lane and Bill Goddard and carve ’em up like animals. He sees all of us as livestock. What if he’s just waiting out there beyond the next rise, waiting to attack the whole camp?”
“You’re turning the caulker’s mate into a bogeyman,” said Des Voeux.
“He done that to his self already,” said Andrews. “But not a bogeyman, the Devil. The actual Devil. Him and his tame monster, Magnus Manson. They sold their souls — God-damn them — and received some dark power for it. Mark my words.”
“You’d think that one real monster would be enough for any arctic expedition,” said Robert Thomas.
No one laughed.
“It’s all one real monster,” Edward Couch said at last. “And not a new one to our race.”
“So what are you all suggesting?” Des Voeux asked after another spell of silence. “That we run from a five-foot-tall demon caulker’s mate and just head south with the boats tomorrow?”
“Me, I’m saying we leave today,” said Joseph Andrews. “As soon as we load the boats with the few things we’re takin’. Man-haul through the night. With luck, there’ll be enough moonlight to guide by when she rises. If not, we use some of the lantern fuel we kept back. You said yourself, Charles, that the wands is still out there markin” the way. They won’t be after the first real storm blows through.”
Couch shook his head. “Des Voeux’s men are tired. Our people are totally demoralized. Let’s have a feast tonight — eat every one of those eight seals you brought in, Charles — then leave tomorrow morning. We’ll all have more of a sense of hope after a big meal, some cooking and light using the seal oil, and a good night’s sleep.”
“But with men on watch tonight,” said Andrews.
“Oh, aye,” said Couch. “I’ll stand watch myself. I’m not that hungry anyway.”
“There’s the question of command,” said Thomas Farr, looking from face to face in the dim light filtering through the canvas.
Several of the men sighed.
“Charles is in overall command,” said First Mate Robert Thomas. “Sir John himself promoted him as first mate of the flagship when Graham Gore got killed, so he’s senior officer.”
“But you were first mate on Terror, Robert,” Farr said to Thomas. “You have seniority.”
Thomas shook his head adamantly. “Erebus was the command ship. When Gore was alive, it was understood that he had overall expedition command above mine. Charles’s got Gore’s job now. He’s in charge. I don’t mind. Mr. Des Voeux is a better leader than me, and we’re going to need leadership.”
“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.”
55
GOODSIR
From the private diary of Dr. Harry D. S. Goodsir:
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.