Ilatsiak - 43

His thoughts returned to Goodsir. Where had he been going? To the Back’s Fish River? Why, was food running low? But how could it be? There had been so much... Had there been food at the camp? He couldn’t recall seeing any of the famous red tins. Where had any of them been going? Where were the ships? Perhaps the story of the Terror sinking was true. That would help to explain some things. But the Terror had survived even the Antarctic ice fields which he heard were much heavier and more distructive than anything found in the Arctic. How could the Terror have sunk? These must be the remains of the men who, someone said, had been seen dragging a boat near Washington Bay. People had waited for these men a few days later, but they had not come and so the people had left thinking the white people had returned to their ships. David realised he had not believed that story, but maybe that story was true after all. These sailors must have been in trouble too. They certainly seemed very scary to those who had seen them. Maybe they had just taken too long to arrive and the people had left too soon. But how were they to know? And where were all the others people from the ships?
David knew that during their first winter beset in the ice Crozier and the other officers on the Terror had argued for hunting parties to visit the Fish River during the coming spring. Shanks had even volunteered to go with them. He considered himself a good hunter and had bragged to Fairholme that had he a gun, he could feed the whole party easily on their trip along the coast. Suddenly, that seemed so long ago.
David’s dogs pulled silently on. The runners hissed over the cold snow now that the sun had moved down close to the western horizon, only scraping the underlying stones now and then as he took short-cuts overland on his journey eastwards. The horror inside him began to subside somewhat when he saw a seal bob it head through a tide rip ahead to the left of the sled. Leaving the dogs anchored by the overturned sled, David crawled slowly to the edge of the ice and waited. He began to scratch on the ice with his knife, a old trick that Agayuk had taught him to attract a naturally curious seal. When the seal cautiously lifted his head out of the water, David was ready. He lay still, almost a seal himself. The animal swam closer to inspect the noise. David’s arm made a sudden movement. The harpoon found its mark and David swung around to the jerk on the line. The seal was his. He pulled it from the water and dragged it towards the sled. The dogs were straining on their traces now. They had the seal’s scent and their hunger returned in stength. Cutting the animal into chunks, he spread the pieces out in the snow, taking only a portion of the liver and the two shoulder blades for himself. He then let the dogs at the food. In moments, there was little remaining on the ice. Just the circle of blood stained snow and countless paw tracks.