The Terror

The long cabin was cold and no light came through the Preston Patent Illuminators overhead since the deck remained under three feet of snow and its winter canvas cover. The whale-oil lamps on the bulkheads flickered dutifully but did little to dispel the gloom.

The gathering at the table resembled a gloomier version of the summer war council Sir John Franklin had called almost eighteen months earlier on Erebus, but now instead of Sir John at the head of the table on the starboard side, Francis Crozier sat there. On the aft side of the table, to Crozier’s left, were the seven officers and warrant officers from Terror whom he had asked to be present. His executive officer, First Lieutenant Edward Little, was at Crozier’s immediate left. Next was Second Lieutenant George Hodgson, with Third Lieutenant John Irving to his left. Then the civilian engineer – given warrant officer status on the expedition but looking thinner, paler, and more cadaverous than ever – James Thompson. On Thompson’s left were Ice Master Thomas Blanky, who appeared to be stumping along very nicely on his wooden peg leg these days, and Captain of the Foretop Harry Peglar, the only petty officer Crozier had invited. Also present was Terror’s Sergeant Tozer – who had been out of both captains’ graces since the night of the Carnivale when his men had fired on survivors of the fire but who was still the highest-ranked survivor of his heavily thinned group of lobsterbacks – speaking for the Marines.

At the port end of the long table sat Captain Fitzjames. Crozier knew that Fitzjames had not bothered to shave for several weeks, growing a reddish beard surprisingly flecked with grey, but he had made the effort today – or had ordered Mr. Hoar, his steward, to shave him. The effect only made his face look thinner and more pale, and now it was covered with countless small scrapes and cuts. Even with multiple layers of clothes on, it was obvious that Fitzjames’s garments hung on a much frailer frame these days.

To Captain Fitzjames’s left, along the forward side of the long table, sat six Erebuses. Immediately to his left was his only other surviving Naval officer – Sir John Franklin, First Lieutenant Gore, and Lieutenant James Walter Fairholme had all been killed by the thing on the ice – Lieutenant H. T. D. Le Vesconte, the man’s gold tooth gleaming the few times he smiled. Next to Le Vesconte was Charles Frederick Des Voeux, who had taken over the duties of first mate from Robert Orme Sergeant, who had been killed by the thing while overseeing torch-cairn repair in December.

Next to Des Voeux sat the only surviving surgeon, Dr. Harry D. S. Goodsir. While technically the expedition’s and Crozier’s surgeon now, both the commanding officers and the surgeon had thought it appropriate for him to sit with his former Erebus crewmates.

To Goodsir’s left sat Ice Master James Reid, and to his left the only Erebus petty officer present, Captain of the Foretop Robert Sinclair. And sitting on the forward side of the table was Erebus’s engineer, John Gregory, looking much healthier than his Terror counterpart.

Tea and weevil-rich biscuits were being served by Mr. Gibson of Terror and Mr. Bridgens of Erebus since the captains’ stewards were both in sick bay with signs of scurvy.

“Let’s discuss things in order,” said Crozier. “First, can we stay in the ships until a possible summer thaw? And part of that answer has to be, can the ships sail in June or July or August if there is a thaw? Captain Fitzjames?”

Fitzjames’s voice was a hollow husk of its once-confident firmness. Men on both sides of the table leaned closer to hear him.

“I don’t think Erebus will last until summer, and it’s my opinion – and the opinion of Mr. Weekes and Mr. Watson, my carpenters, and Mr. Brown, my bosun’s mate, Mr. Rigden, my coxswain, and of Lieutenant Le Vesconte and First Mate Des Voeux here – that she will sink when the ice melts.”

The cold air in the Great Cabin seemed to grow colder and to press more heavily on everyone. No one spoke for half a minute.

“The pressure from the ice these past two winters has squeezed the oakum right out from between the hull boards,” continued Fitzjames in his small, hoarse voice. “The main shaft to the screw has been twisted beyond all repair – all of you know that it was designed to be retracted into an iron well all the way up to the orlop deck to be kept out of harm’s way, but it will no longer retract any higher than the hull bottom – and we have no more replacement shafts. The screw itself has been shattered by the ice, as has been our rudder. We can jury-rig another rudder, but the ice has torn our hull bottom to splinters all along the length of the keel. We’re missing almost half of our iron plating along the bow and sides.

“Worse,” said Fitzjames, “the ice has squeezed the hull until the iron crossbeams added for reinforcement and the cast-iron replacements for her knees have either snapped or punctured the hull in more than a dozen places. If she were to float, even if we patched every breach and managed somehow to repair the problem with the screw-shaft well leaking, she would have no internal bracing against the ice. Also, while the wooden channels added to her side for this expedition have largely succeeded in keeping the ice from climbing over the raised gunwales, the downward pressure on these channels resulting from her raised position in the encroaching ice has caused splitting of the hull timbers along every channel seam.”

Fitzjames seemed to notice their rapt attention for the first time. His unfocused stare went away and he looked down as if embarrassed. When he looked up again, his voice sounded almost apologetic. “Worst of all,” he said, “is that the twisting pressure of the ice has so cork-screwed the sternpost and started the heads and ends of planking that Erebus has been bent far out of true by the stress. The decks break upward now… the only thing holding them in place is the weight of the snow… and none of us believe that our pumps could equal the leaks should she be floated again. I will let Mr. Gregory speak to the condition of the boiler, coal supplies, and propulsion system.”

All eyes shifted to John Gregory.

The engineer cleared his throat and licked his chapped and bleeding lips. “There is no steam propulsion system left on HMS Erebus,” he said. “With the main shaft twisted and jammed in the retraction well, we’d need a Bristol dry dock to set her right. Nor do we have enough coal left for a day’s steaming. By the end of April, we’ll be out of coal to heat the ship, even at the rate of moving just forty-five minutes of hot water a day only to parts of the lower deck that we’re trying to keep habitable now.”

Crozier said, “Mr. Thompson. What is Terror’s status in terms of steam?”

The living skeleton looked at his captain for a long minute and said in a voice that was surprisingly strong, “We wouldn’t be able to steam for more than an hour or two, sir, if Terror was floated this afternoon. Our shaft was retracted all right a year and a half ago, and the screw is workable – and we have a replacement for that – but we’re almost out of coal. If we were to transfer what’s left of Erebus’s coal stores here and just heat the ship, we’d keep the boiler going and the hot water running two hours a day until… I’d venture… early May. But that wouldn’t leave any coal for steaming. With just Terror’s stores of fuel, we’ll have to stop heating by mid- or late April.”

“Thank you, Mr. Thompson,” said Crozier. The captain’s voice was soft and betrayed no emotion. “Lieutenant Little and Mr. Peglar, would both of you be so kind as to give your assessment of Terror’s seaworthiness?”

Little nodded and looked down the table before returning his gaze to his captain. “We’re not as knocked up as Erebus, but there’s been ice- pressure damage to the hull, knees, outer plating, rudder, and inner bracings. Some of you know that before Christmas, Lieutenant Irving discovered not only that we had lost most of our iron plating along the starboard side back from the bow, but that the ten inches of oak and elm in the bow area had actually sprung the timbers in the forward cable locker on the hull deck, and we’ve found since that the thirteen inches of solid oak along her bottom has been sprung or compromised in twenty or thirty places. The bow boards’ve been replaced and reinforced, but we can’t get to all her bottom because of the frozen slush down there.

“I think she’ll float and steer, Captain,” concluded Lieutenant Little, “but I can’t promise that the pumps will be able to keep up with the leaks. Especially after the ice has another four or five months to work at her. Mr. Peglar can speak to that better than I can.”

Harry Peglar cleared his throat. He obviously wasn’t used to speaking in front of so many officers.

“If she’ll float, sirs, then the foretop crew will get the masts reset and the rigging, shrouds, and canvas up within forty-eight hours of the time you give the word. I can’t guarantee that sailing will get us through the thick ice of the sort we saw coming south, but if we have open water under us and ahead of us, we’ll be a sailing ship again. And if you don’t mind me making a recommendation, sirs… I’d suggest we steep the masts sooner rather than later.”

“You’re not worried about ice building up and capsizing the ship?” asked Crozier. “Or ice falling on us when we’re working on deck? We have months of blizzards ahead of us still, Harry.”

“Aye, sir,” said Peglar. “And capsizing’s always a worry, even if we were just to tumble over onto the ice here, the ship being all cattywampus the way she is. But I still think it’d be better to have the topmasts up and the rigging in place in case there’s a sudden thaw. We might have to sail with ten minutes’ warning. And the topmen need the exercise and work, sir. As for the ice falling… well, it’ll just be another thing to keep us alert and on our toes out there. That and the beastie on the ice.”

Several men around the table chuckled. Little’s and Peglar’s mostly positive reports had helped ease some of the tension. The thought of even one of the two ships being able to float and sail raised morale. It felt to Crozier as if the temperature in the Great Cabin had actually risen – and perhaps it had, since many of the men seemed to be exhaling again.

“Thank you, Mr. Peglar,” said Crozier. “It looks like if we want to sail out of here, we’ll all have to do it – both crews – aboard Terror.”

None of the surviving officers present mentioned that this had been precisely what Crozier had suggested doing almost eighteen months earlier. Every officer present appeared to be thinking it.

“Let’s take a minute to talk about that thing on the ice,” said Crozier. “It hasn’t seemed to have made an appearance recently.”

“I’ve not had to treat anyone for wounds since the first of January,” said Dr. Goodsir. “And no one has died or disappeared since Carnivale.”

“But there have been sightings,” said Lieutenant Le Vesconte. “Something large moving among the seracs. And men on watch hear things in the dark.”

“Men on watch at sea have always heard things in the dark,” said Lieutenant Little. “Going back to the Greeks.”

“Perhaps it has gone away,” said Lieutenant Irving. “Migrated. Moved south. Or north.”

Everyone fell silent again at this thought.

“Perhaps it’s eaten enough of us to know we’re not very tasty,” said Ice Master Blanky.

Some of the men smiled at this. No one else could have said it and been excused the gallows humour, but Mr. Blanky, with his peg leg, had earned some prerogatives.

“My Marines have been searching, as per Captain Crozier’s and Captain Fitzjames’s orders,” said Sergeant Tozer. “We’ve shot at a few bears, but none of them seemed to be the big one… the thing.”

“I hope your men have been better shots than they were on the night of the Carnivale,” said Sinclair, Erebus’s foretop captain.

Tozer turned to his right and squinted down the table at him.

“There’ll be no more of that,” said Crozier. “For the time being, we’ll have to assume that the thing on the ice is still alive and will be back. Any activities we have to do off the ships will have to include some plan of defense against it. We don’t have enough Marines to accompany every possible sledge party – especially if they’re armed and not man-hauling – so perhaps the answer is to arm all ice parties and have the extra men, the ones not hauling, take turns serving as sentries and guards. Even if the ice doesn’t open again this summer, it will be easier to travel in the constant daylight.”

“You’ll pardon my phrasing it this bluntly, Captain,” said Dr. Goodsir, “but the real question is, can we afford to wait until summer before deciding whether to abandon