Ilatsiak - 33

David sat hunched down on the stony beach. If he faced just the right way the wind behind him would almost support him like the back of a chair. And he could watch the waves roll past the shore in endless succession as they had been doing now for the past few days. What a different place, where the wind could blow so hard for so long, yet the ice far out to sea just seemed to stay and stay, never moving. He was reminded of the expedition’s ships, the Terror and the Erebus. They too had remained beset in the ice where they had come to a stop in spite of ample wind and all because of the same unmoving ice. His mind turned next to the wretched Mr Shanks for some reason. Perhaps it was the constant wind and the thinking about the ice and chilly air.
How had he died so quickly? Was it the plunge into the cold sea that first day? Surely that wouldn’t be enough to kill a person. There must be some other reason for it. Was it his refusal to dry out hs clothes or do anything to help David try to get them dried? Certainly remaining in his damp bedding day after day had not helped his cough. It just kept getting worse and worse. Then it hit David again. The sight of Shanks curled up in the shelter when he returned from his walk southwards to look for the Eskimos. It was a scene that still woke David up from time to time. Somehow, he had died while David was away. Only a day’s walk, and Shanks had just died. There had been nothing about him that morning to suggest he was getting worse. It was so odd. Francis had been right. So many strange illnesses and deaths. Not that he liked Shanks much, he was a crude, simple man with few things about him that David found friendly. He talked only seldomly and more often than not it was to complain or rant aimlessly about their fate.
“I signed on to sail, not to lie freezing on this god-foresaken frozen beach.” he would shout at David. There was no answer to that, David knew. Since they had hastely set sail from Beechey Island where they’d spent their first winter, the expedition had managed just over a month of actual sailing and much of that had been spent tacking back and forth searching for a passage through the ice. Now another summer had passed and from what Fairholme and the others had said, the ships were stuck in the same place. The good news was that Lt Gore and Mr DesVoeux had made a trip southward along the west coast of King William Land in May and had found a cairn put up by Simpson and Dease. They discovered much better hunting further south which was good news given the growing number of people getting sick. As well, they had discovered there was a water route through to the Pacific if only the ice would melt! More and more of the ice would be leaving in the next days and weeks. David was sure it would and he was also certain the ships would be freed this year, even though the Inuit said they didn’t think it was possible.
David closed his eyes and let the warm sun beat on his upturned face, but he again saw Shanks. His mind once more went through what had happened at the depot that Spring. Pulling Shank’s body out of the shelter, rolling his blanket around him and then pulling him in the blanket down to the tide-line where he could lay him in an ice crack and cover him up with snow. He had tried to collect enough rocks or snow near the shelter to make a gravesite, but everything was too solidly frozen or in too small a quantity to cover up someone as large as Shanks. The ice crack seemed like the only place. At least there he was covered up. And it was only to be until the depot crew returned... He knew now that no one had come for them. Not until Fairholme organized the search party that found him in Agayuq’s camp.
David opened his eyes and stared once more across the miles and miles of pale brown landscape made of broken rocks. What had happened to everyone last winter? Certainly life on the ships was different from the early days that first winter. people had been slowly changing, he supposed. Too slowly to really notice, perhaps. He could see that now. Especially with his having been away from all of them for these many months. Something bad had been happening back on the ships. Was it just the fact that too many men had been alone for too long, trapped with nothing much to do. Certainly the past winter had not followed the same regimented routines in place at Beechey Island. There had been fewer trips out exploring. The rough ice prevented them from playing football and other games, and the shore was too far away to walk to even on pleasant days. Then there were the growing squabbles among the crew and officers. These thoughts were not pleasant ones. Why was he tormenting himself by letting all these questions come to the surface? Was it that he found Fairholme, Francis and the others moodier and crankier than he had remembered them only a few months previous? They seemed to be much weaker than he remembered, but maybe that was his imagination playing tricks. They had trouble when they were in Stormness and that was a long time ago. Why did these thoughts keep coming back to him? It was as though he knew the answers, but somehow couldn’t focus on them. Was it because he didn’t want to know? Was it because something deep inside him told him the ships were somehow doomed and he should avoid them? Or was it he feared what would happen now that Sir John was dead and meaner men were in change of his fate? Men he didn’t want to trust given what he’d just seen during the past few days?
In any event, it was time to move on. David knew he had to hurry southward or he might miss finding Agayuq, his new family.