Ilatsiak - 31

Their tents seemed to rise so naturally out of the ground they were all but invisible against the muted reds and browns of the low vegetation and the similiar colours of the stoney ground viewed in the weakening sunlight of mid-August. Fall was returning to the arctic once again. Each day the sun seemed to set earlier and earlier. Ice would form a skim on the little ponds overnight. The summers seemed so short; a month at best. People had begun to find ice now forming on the bay each evening whenever the ocean waters were calm.
Perhaps it was the sudden movement of the children running towards their parents that revealed the presence of people at all. Lt. Fairholme could pride himself at last. He had been leading the men at the moment they had topped the slight rise and came once again into view of the sea. And now, here between them and the beach were four tents made of brownish coloured skins, arranged in a haphazard fashion near the water’s edge. Holding up his hand and indicating the others to remain behind, Fairholme began walking down the slope to the nearest tent.
To his amazement, Fairholme watched as a young man crawled out of the tent, stood up, turned and cried out “Lt. Fairholme, sir!”
“Mr Young? Is that truly you, Mr Young? My god, man... We took you for dead... along with Shanks.” Fairholme was obviously taken aback seeing David long haired, dishevelled looking, but very much alive after having been missing and presumed dead for nearly three months.
“Yes, sir. It’s me,” David turned to view his Inuit friends who now began to relax somewhat. “I was meaning to head back to the ship... soon, sir. Have you been able to move at all this summer? I was wondering because people here say the ice seldom melts on the west coast.”
“A few miles, that is all. However it is time you returned - returned to civilization you might say, Mr Young. I think this adventure of yours has gone far enough if we’re to get you back to England in one piece. Whatever are you doing here with these... ah... people? What’s going on? And whatever happened to Shanks? Is he here as well?”
“England, sir? When will that be, sir?” asked David already knowing the answer would not be anytime soon.
“In good time, Mr Young. In good time. In the meantime, there is much to discuss. Is Mr Shanks here with you?”
David froze. “Mr Shanks, sir? No sir, he... he’s dead. Back at the Terror’s supplies. Did you not find him?”
“No body was found, Mr Young. How did he die?” There seemed to be a twinge of guilt in Lt. Fairholme’s voice.
“He fell through the ice, sir. Must have got pneumonia or something. He caughed terribly for a few days. He couldn’t move and then he died.”
“It was our fault, Mr. Young. We were unable to return for several weeks... much longer than we planned. Finally the supplies were ferried out by ship’s launch last July, but we found neither you nor Shanks. I’m glad to have found you alive, at least. Thank God! Your disappearance has been a considerable worry to us all.”
“I suspect it has, sir. I’m sorry to have abandoned the supplies, but these people came and I more or less had to go with them at least to visit their camp and I wanted to learn their language - I can almost speak it now - and, well, it wasn’t easy to return with all the travelling we’ve been doing... I didn’t know the way...” David stopped. He had run out of words. To see Fairholme again was comforting, yet at the same time, a shock after all this time. Most likely he would be required to return with him to the Erebus and he didn’t really care for that eventuality, at least not so unexpectedly, not like this. He wanted to return and show off all that he had learned in the months since his absence. This would be different.
Fairholme set about getting ready to leave the camp immediately, but David managed to persuade him to remain and eat and sleep before they began the return trek to Cape Felix and thence to the Erebus. As it turned out Fairholme’s party was nearly out of supplies and while the Inuit food was somewhat distasteful to them, they admitted they needed the sustainance it gave them.
It was actually several days later, in fact, on a fine day, with blue skies, very little wind and just a few clouds, as near to autumn as it gets in this strange land, when David, the two officers and the five crew-men set out walking towards Cape Felix, northward along the east coast of King William island. Fairholme and the others had found David and Agayuq’s extended family just north of Cape Norton waiting to cross over to Boothia to begin the fall sealing season. Another few days and they would have missed them completely. Agayuq had already repaired his kayak’s skin cover where some loose dogs had managed to eat some holes. The fact that he had caught a few seals was all that kept the four families from moving further along the coast and over to the Matty Islands themselves to where they would wait to cross over to Boothia.
Fairholme and the others had welcomed the chance to feast on fish and caribou meat during their short stay with Agayuq’s family and the others, although, having run out of cooking fuel for their little spirit stove, they were obliged to eat it either sun-dried or raw which did little to give them much satisfaction. The hunting had been so poor prior to their finding David that Fairholme had determined they would only last one more day before they would be forced to retreat northwards again or face possible starvation. Finding David like this was a miracle, to be sure in more ways than one.