that I would have staked my Professional Reputation on the opinion that it could not grow any paler. But it did upon his hearing the News. Even his lips became as white as the ice-pack snow we have been staring at now for the better part of three years.
But however much I liked and respected Lieutenant Irving, I had to perform my Professional Duties and put all memories of Friendly Acquaintance aside.
I removed the remnants of Lieutenant Irving’s clothing – buttons had been ripped off all layers from his Waistcoat to his Long Underwear, and the Caked Blood had frozen the clumped Fabric into iron-hard wrinkled masses – and had my assistant, Henry Lloyd, help me in bathing Lieutenant Irving’s body. The water – from ice and snow Mr. Diggle’s mates melted using some of the Coal we brought over from the Ships – was precious, but it was necessary that we honour young Irving this way.
I did not, of course, have to make my usual inverted-Y incision from hip bones to umbilicus – the base of the upside-down Y running up to the sternum – since Lieutenant Irving’s Murderers had already done so.
I made my usual Notes and Sketches as I proceeded, my Fingers aching from the Cold. The Cause of Death holds no Mysteries. The Wound to Lieutenant Irving’s Neck had been caused by at least two savage slashes by a nonserrated blade, and he Bled to Death. I seriously doubt if there is a Pint of blood left in the hapless young Officer’s body.
The Trachea and Larynx have been severed and there are blade gouges on the exposed cervical vertebrae.
His abdominal cavity has been opened by repeated sawing of a Short Blade through skin, flesh, and connecting Tissue, and the majority of his Upper and Lower intestines have been cut out and removed. Lieutenant Irving’s spleen and kidneys have also been slashed and opened by a Sharp Object or Objects. His liver is missing.
The lieutenant’s penis has been amputated approximately one Inch above its Base and is missing. His Scrotum has been cut open along its Central Axis and the testes cut out. Repeated Applications of the Blade were required to cut through the scrotal sac, the epididymis, and the tunica vaginalis. It is possible that the Assailant’s Blade was growing Dull by this point.
While the testes are absent, remnants of the vas deferens and the urethra and major portions of connecting tissue from the base of the penis into the body cavity remain.
While there are signs of multiple Bruisings on Lieutenant Irving’s body – many of them Consistent with a diagnosis of growing Scurvy – there are no other Serious Wounds visible anywhere. It is interesting that there are no Defensive Cuts on his hands, forearms, or palms.
It seems apparent that Lieutenant Irving was taken completely by Surprise. His Assailant or Assailants cut his throat before he had the Least Opportunity to defend himself. They then took some time Disemboweling him and Removing his Private Parts through repeated Incisions and Sawing Motions.
In preparing the lieutenant’s body for burial later today, I sewed up his Neck and Throat as best I could and – after setting some Nonoriginal but decomposing fibrous substances (a folded sweater from the lieutenant’s own pack of personal belongings) in his Abdominal Cavity so that the aforementioned Cavity would not look so visibly vacant and shrunken under his uniform when viewed by the men – I prepared to sew the abdominal Cavity back up as best I could (there was much tissue destroyed or missing).
But first I hesitated and Decided to do something unusual.
I opened Lieutenant Irving’s stomach.
There was no real Postmortem Examinatory Reason to do this. There was no doubt of the Cause of the young lieutenant’s death. There was no reason to check for Disease or Chronic Conditions – we are all suffering from Scurvy to one extent or the other, and we are all slowly Starving to Death.
But I opened his Stomach anyway. It looked strangely Distended – more so than bacterial action and the resulting Decomposition would suggest in this extreme cold – and no postmortem examination would be complete without an Inspection of this Anomaly.
His stomach was full.
Very shortly before Lieutenant Irving’s death, he had ingested Large Quantities of Seal Meat, some Sealskin, and much Fatty Blubber. The Digestive Process had barely begun working on it.
The Esquimaux had Fed him before they Murdered Him.
Or perhaps Lieutenant Irving had Bartered his Telescope, valise, and few personal possessions in the Valise in exchange for this Seal Meat and Blubber.
But that is not possible, since Caulker’s Mate Hickey reported that he saw the Esquimaux Murder and Rob the Lieutenant.
Seal Meat and Fish were on the Esquimaux Sled that Mr. Farr brought back, using it to transport Lieutenant Irving’s body. Farr reported that they had thrown other objects off the Sled – baskets, Cooking Pots of some sort, things Lashed above the Seal Meat and Fish – so as to better situate the Lieutenant’s corpse on the light sled. We wanted to make Lieutenant Irving as comfortable as possible, was what Sergeant Tozer had said.
So the Esquimaux must have first offered him their food, allowed him time to Eat it – if not Digest it – and then repacked their sled before Falling Upon him with such Savagery.
To approach someone as a Friend and then to Murder and Mutilate him so – can we Believe that there is a Race so Treacherous and so Malevolent and so Barbarous?
What could have Prompted this sudden and Violent change of attitude on the part of the Natives? Could the Lieutenant have said or done something that violated their Sacred Taboos? Or did they simply want to Rob him? Was the brass Telescope the reason for Lieutenant Irving’s terrible Death?
There is another possibility, but one so Heinous and so Unlikely that I hardly wish to Record it here.
The Esquimaux did not kill Lieutenant Irving.
But this makes no sense either. Caulker’s Mate Hickey clearly stated that he SAW six to eight of the Natives assailing the Lieutenant. He SAW them steal the Lieutenant’s valise, telescope, and other possessions – while strangely they did not find his Pistol or go through his other pockets. Caulker’s Mate Hickey told Captain Fitzjames today – I was present during the discussion – that he, Hickey, WATCHED from a distance as the Savages disemboweled our friend.
Hickey Hid and Watched as all this went on.
It is still pitch-dark and very Cold, but Captain Crozier is leaving in twenty Minutes to take a few men the Several Miles to the Site of the Murder and of today’s Deadly Skirmish with the Esquimaux. Presumably their bodies are still Lying in the Valley there.
I have just completed Stitching Lieutenant Irving. As tired as I am – I have not slept for more than 24 Hours – I will have Lloyd finish the dressing of the Lieutenant and make final preparations for his burial later Today. As Providence would have it, Irving brought his Dress Uniform in his bag of personal possessions from Terror. He will be dressed in that.
I am going now to ask Captain Crozier if I may accompany him, Lieutenant Little, Mr. Farr, and the others to the Murder Site.
Lat. 69° 37? 42? N., Long. 98° 40? 58? W. 25 April, 1848 When the fog shifted, something that looked like an oversized human brain seemed to be rising out of the frozen ground: grey, convoluted, coiled upon itself, glistening with ice.
Harry Peglar realized that he was looking at John Irving’s entrails.
“This is the spot,” Thomas Farr said needlessly.
Peglar had been somewhat surprised that the captain had ordered him to come along on this trip to the murder site. The captain of the foretop had not been in either party – Irving’s or Hodgson’s – involved in yesterday’s incidents. But then Peglar had looked at the other men chosen to go on this predawn investigatory expedition – First Lieutenant Edward Little, Tom Johnson (Crozier’s bosun’s mate and old crewman from the south polar expedition), Captain of the Maintop Farr who had been here yesterday, Dr. Goodsir, Lieutenant Le Vesconte from Erebus, First Mate Robert Thomas, and a guard of four Marines with weapons – Hopcraft, Healey, and Pilkington under the command of Corporal Pearson.
Harry Peglar hoped he was not flattering himself to think that, for whatever reason, Captain Crozier had chosen people he trusted for this outing. Malcontents and incompetents had been left behind at Terror Camp; the sea lawyer Hickey heading up a detail to dig Lieutenant Irving’s grave for this afternoon’s burial service.
Crozier’s party had left camp long before dawn, following the footprints from yesterday and the tracks of the Esquimaux sledge that had borne the body to the camp southeast by lantern light. When the tracks disappeared on the stony ridgelines, they were easily found in the snowy vales beyond. The temperature had risen at least fifty-five degrees during the night, bringing the air up to zero degrees or higher, and a thick fog had rolled in. Harry Peglar, a veteran of weather on most of the earth’s seas and oceans, had no idea how it could be so foggy when there was no unfrozen liquid water within hundreds and hundreds of miles. Perhaps these were low clouds skimming across the surface of the pack ice and colliding with this godforsaken island that rose only a few yards above sea level at its highest point. The sunrise, when it came, was no sunrise at all but only a vague yellow glow in the swirling fog-cloud around them, seeming to come from all directions.
The dozen men stood in silence at the murder site for a few minutes. There was little to see. John Irving’s cap had blown against a nearby boulder, and Farr retrieved it. There was frozen blood on the frozen stones, the heap of human guts next to that dark stain. A few tatters of ripped clothing.
“Lieutenant Hodgson, Mr. Farr,” said Crozier, “did you see any sign of the Esquimaux up here when Mr. Hickey led you to this scene?”
Hodgson seemed confused by the question. Farr said, “Other than their bloody handiwork, no, sir. We approached the ridgeline on our bellies and peered down into the valley using Mr. Hodgson’s glass, and there they were. Still fighting over John’s telescope and other spoils.”
“Did you see them fight amongst themselves?” snapped Crozier.
Peglar never remembered seeing his captain – or any captain he had ever served under – look so tired. Crozier’s eyes had visibly sunken in their sockets over the past days and weeks. Crozier’s voice, always a bass bark of command, was now little more than a croak. It looked as if his eyes were ready to bleed.
Peglar knew something about bleeding these days. He hadn’t told his friend John Bridgens yet, but he was feeling the scurvy badly. His once-proud muscles were
