Once again, I awoke to the sound of water harassing our hull. I rose and wandered onto the deck, where the view before me was one of a wasteland. The ocean’s waves made a hassle of pushing back our advance as the stench of sea life burned my nostrils. The waves threw saltwater in my eyes as the black smoke wandered off behind us, trailing our last moves. Looking around, I observed my surroundings, filled with sweat-drenched ‘henchmen’ working tirelessly. One was on the deck’s floor, scrubbing the last of the waste, one was changing the sails, looking off into the distance for a sign of our destination while two or three were off in a corner doing whatever ‘henchmen’ of the sea do on a boat like the Roosevelt.
But then, suddenly, the sea thrust us to the side onto its awaiting companion of liquid. Once more the ship pushed back, yet to no avail. The cursed water splashed onto the deck, wetting everything and everyone around on it. The ancient floorboards creaked from the water sliding through them, and the old poles splintered from the salty attack as the men moaned, for they now had new tasks to accomplish. All in harmony, the crew once again counted the days on this wrenched boat till our arrival. Three, four, five, six weeks- our torture could prolong.
But we were not without a leader on this vessel. We were captained by the very soulless, rigid man himself, one whose name was enough to invoke respect from any honest captain of the sea. This was of course, the formidable Captain Peary of The Roosevelt, the man commissioned by the Pope and King alike to explore the freezing ends of the globe and report back to the civilisation of the King’s court.
As if my very thoughts had summoned him, Capitan Peary strutted out his cabin and onto the deck, standing proud at the top, surveying his lifeless crew. “Look alive, you all. According to Mr. Henson, we should be brushing the outskirts of the North Pole.”
“Not if the ship rots on the bottom of the ocean first!” shouted a voice from somewhere back.
The Capitan's look turned venomous as his eyes wandered to the back of the ship. I turned to look for the courageous buffoon who thought speaking out to the great Robert Peary would bring him any fortune. Because of the cluster out back, the comment’s owner was well hidden by his crew, so he was not easily spotted. Despite this, I assumed the clown to be the so-called Mr. Birkley, for he was sitting at the beak of the crowd. He was a white bearded little man, whose stench was always one of grog. His brown eyes always looked to be finding something interesting, his mouth always curling into a smirk. He was always quick to joke, and quicker to anger. He, along with another five men, were newcomers,joining our crew a mere week before departing. Comparing this to our two veteran years with our disquieting Capitan, they were rather new. I was sure that Mr. Birkley and the rest of the new men had little, if any, loyalty for Cap. Peary and their hostile attitude seemed to rub off on the rest of the young men. He had not been shy about expressing his disdain for the Capitan, and I suspected that Mr. Birkley had more planned for Cap. Peary than just spreading rumours of his subpar leadership.
“None of you must worry about that. This ship is the only one in the world that will get us to the North Pole. You can’t be on any better ship. You can count yourself as blessed to be on this magnificent vessel.” As he talked, he slowly descended step by step, redundantly towards us, stopping halfway down. Once he stopped, he gave Mr. Birkley a venomous look, one that communicated a clear message: if he decided to continue defaming the captain's leadership , he would pay a watery price.
He then looked at all of us, one by one, with a stare that betrayed not even one of the thousands of thoughts he would later confirm were running through his head. I looked away from his figure, which was halfway up the stairs. The crew had gotten back to work, wiping away the water into the drain, and drying whatever needed to be dried. I got to my daily chores, wiping the rail and making sure the sea boys were doing their work.
--
Then, when the clock cried noon, I walked towards Captain’s quarters, but stopped queer in my tracks. There was fighting inside. People shouting, floorboards creaking, metal clashing metal. This spiked my curiosity instantly. I slowly approached the closed door, got down onto my knees and lay my face on the painted oak. Despite the odour of seafood blocking my breathing, I pushed through and quieted down.
“You said a week!” cried a voice, which I strongly assumed to be Mr. Peary
“I said the estimate was a week. That’s different.” replied a voice with a tone colder than the water below. I assumed that was Mr. Matthew A. Henson, Mr. Peary’s companion and the man responsible for getting us to the end of this earth.
“I don’t care a jiffy about what you said, Matthew. I have 22 goddam men out there, and they are all expecting to reach the pole by the end of the week.” His southern accent was loud and even though the oak door was doing its best to conserve this secret conference, Mr. Peary’s voice was one that carried, and I ought to have listened for I had never seen him this exasperated. “I am done with your lies and shammings, Matthew. I have a crew on this ship, a crew of men who I am in charge of, men who have left their wives at home, men who want to get to the pole by December as you promised.”
“I doubt any of those men still consider themselves part of your crew.” Mr. Henson stung back. I knew nothing of what Mr. Peary's face betrayed at that moment, yet knowing him like I did, I presumed his face to turn into a snarl, and the sound of glass being smashed only confirmed my suspicions.
“And who do you hold responsible for telling ‘em I can’t handle the sea, Matthew? You don’t whisper as slyly as you think.” Mr Peary responded. In that moment, my brain flew off with thoughts of possibilities. Was Mr. Henson one of the traitors? He was in coos with Mr. Birkley? Was he to be trusted with such an important task as leading us to our undiscovered destination?
Due to my speculation, I didn’t mind the approaching steps, and when the door opened wide into the captain's cabin, I fell to my side and was left on the floor. Above me stood tall Mr. Henson, who must have been leaving the room after his exchange with Mr. Peary.
Quickly, I got up and pointed my right palm downwards while I stuck it to my forehead. Full of shame I let out a quick “Cap’n-.” while avoiding looking either superior in the eye.
Mr. Henson stared at my face, not moving even an inch forward. He towered over me, and his eyes looked down at the fool I had made of myself. His moustache stood so still, I thought if not these arctic winds could move it, then nothing could. The smell of his polar coat was strong, emitting a stench of sweat and our proximity allowed me to breathe it all in. I stayed in my upright position, military ready until my Captain was to excused me, yet neither man said a word.
“This is the control you have over your so-called crew?” uttered Mr. Henson over his shoulder. Without as much as a whisper he left and slammed the oak door in its frame.
“At ease, Arbuckle” declared Capitan Peary. I let my posture drop. “And get out.” The sentence was firm, so I did as I was told. I finished all my chores quickly and made sure the men did theirs. When came supper time, I took my seat far away from Cap. Peary, which drove me in the vicinity of Mr. Henson, but I kept my head down and stayed quieter than a church mouse. When the sun ran into the water, and the temperature dropped, I went back under the deck to my quarters.
Yet before I could lay bedding down on my billet, something hit the back of my head and set a ringing sound loose in my brain.
--
I awoke on the deck, with a cold liquid dripping down my neck, seemingly originating from a wound in my head. I attempted to lift my hand, but discovered it was actually bound to my other limbs at my back. I looked left, into the complete and utter darkness of the Arctic in December. The only thing I could spot were the ice caps, slowly drifting far away, watching the commission on the ship. Before I could continue my surveillance of my proximity, a hard voice spoke out to me.
“We are on the starboard, bound with the mooring lines. There is no point in your agitation, they have tied us sternly. Tell me, are you wounded in the head by any chance? They seemed to have injured me heavily in that regard.” due to my recent laceration, I couldn’t identify the owner of the voice, so I asked out into the night:
“Whom are you? Reveal yourself.” I said loudly, for I had no idea if I was even facing my incarcerated partner.
“Who do you think I am, Arbuckle? Two years, you have been in my service for two years, but you cannot recognise my voice you say. What a comforting thought, I’m facing a mutiny in the coldest place on the planet and my only loyal subordinate can’t even recognise me.” my head started spinning. Captain Peary? Tied with me on the starboard? But what was this talk of a mutiny? For I had believed this incident to be nothing but a farce before.
“My sincerest apologies, my good sir. I am wounded in the head and, therefore, slightly impaired. But what is this talk you mentioned of a mutiny, sir? You must be mistaken, you are the Great Robert Peary, with a crew more loyal than that of the 12 saints, there is simply no way you would be impeached on your very own Roosevelt.” I wished that to be the truth, but sitting there, with the icy wind slapping me awake, I had concluded. This was a mutiny.
And we were bound, with no chance of escape.
“Leave out the formalities, Arbuckle, I would like to die dignified, after all, not embellished with worthless compliments. But of course, this is a mutiny. However, I am not surprised. These men have not considered me their captain since my ship left the port in Plymouth. Since I left that cancer Birkley on this ship. He and Henson must be conspiring, for he is not capacitated enough to plan such a complex coup himself.” I had been proven correct. Henson was in coos with Peary, and we had been condemned to death under his leadership.
“That’s correct Robert.” spoke a voice from behind. A voice of a traitor, of a treacherous crew member, who had been nursed by my Captain into the man he is today, Henson,
“I identified the lack of trust and respect for your leadership and seized the opportunity, just like you taught me. I cannot bear living in the shadow you have trapped me in for so long. I am the captain, commanding the crew, driving, writing our bearings, reporting meticulously; yet Peary is the one paraded through the King’s court, to be knighted for his bravery. I cannot help but laugh, for you are undeserving of it all. For you are not the real leader of this vessel; I am. And I am deserving of all the lavishes that come with it.” revealed Henson. His underlying motive for betraying the man who nourished and raised him; his undying exigency for power and control, the deadliest ambition of mankind.
But then I heard it. A murmur of voices. It was the rest of the crew, conversing on the open deck, in front of their disgraced superiors. I had known the youngest sea boy who lay in that crowd from when he used to hide behind his mother’s skirt. I had gotten him this fruitful job of working on a boat, vouching for him before the commissioner.
I had known another young man named Michel, from when he was but a young, squirmish boy; I had even consoled him when his mother died and hosted him in my home while he mourned her.
And John Peach, the friend who was like a brother to me, the friend who I had loaned money to so he could buy a small shack by the port, even when I couldn’t feed myself, the friend who I had spent my Christmas and my Easter with, singing alongside the rest of my family; the friend who undoubtedly now stood there, watching me imprisoned, but not moving a finger to aid me.
And William George, who suffered at his father’s hands for over a decade; who I had saved from his wrathful begetter by helping him escape his prison. They now all stood there, conversing before my humiliated self. These people, who I had only ever treated kindly and respectfully, who I had opened my soul for, would now throw me overboard for the mere chance to get to second the ship. To get the recognition they had decided they were owned.
“Henson.” Peary’s voice pulled me from the prison of my thoughts. He stood still, and spoke loudly and clearly, towards the tall man. “Have you ever wondered why mutinies never last? Why, by the end of the voyage, the crew is nothing more than a scattered pack of power-hungry monsters? I’ll tell you why.
When you seize control by violence, you set loose anarchy itself. You create a world where no man can trust another, where every soul aboard will trade their last shred of humanity for even the faintest hope of power. You are condemning every person in your revolution to this never-ending struggle."
He exhaled sharply, his tone cold. “You cannot trust traitors, Henson. Remember that.”
His words faded into silence, the mutter concluded. The wind halted. The boat ceased moving. Even the glaciers leaned in. Everyone and everything had heard and felt my Captain’s deadly warnings, his promises of the carnage that was to come. His threats for what havoc the crew had unleashed on themselves.
I heard shuffles between the crowd, as the crew shifted uneasily. Feet scraped against the deck, filled with distrust and edged away from anyone who might, at any moment, betray them. Every man now moved for himself, calculating his best chance at survival. Henson exhaled loudly. He edged closer to Peary and I, and started stated loudly:
“You speak so easily now, Robert, so philosophical and sure of yourself, but let us be honest; If you were truly as mighty as you pretend, as wise as you claim, you wouldn’t be trussed up like a pig for slaughter—exposed before your entire crew, with only a single, pitiful follower at your side, now would you?”
But his words did not ring in our ears as Peary’s had. They did not cut into our skin, leaving invisible wounds. No, they were a disguise, an attempt to mask the truth. The only two people on this ship who still trusted each other were tied together, bound and kneeling on the floor; and yet, somehow, their conscience remained untethered and their souls forever lighter than those who betrayed them.
“I have told you my truth Henson. Now that you share in this fate, I can die in peace.” declared Peary loudly, the wall of eyes watching him.
“Throw them over.” was the only response. Yet the crew still seemed hesitant, overflowing with distrust. “Throw them over or I will drown every last one of you in this glacier water until the only breathing person left on this ship is me!” roared Henson. And that was the moment that Henson's fears materialised , he lost control of his crew before he even gained them, by burdening them and himself with the most unorthodox action there is; the ultimate betrayal.
But the crew, ever-loyal servants, exploding with fear of the madman who now owned them, obeyed, inching towards The Captain and me and grabbing us thoroughly.
At that moment, the weight of my own death settled upon me, cold and absolute. As my limp body was dragged to the ship’s edge, I let out a prayer. I prayed to go back to my Mary at home, to her chestnut eyes, to her rosy cheeks, to her pure snowy skin. To her poetry about the daisies. To her songs for the trees, her dance for the spring. To her songs for the stars and her devotion to baking as if it were an art form. I laughed, a quiet, broken sound, at the last joke she had told me before I left. She said that whatever I may find at the North Pole, to vow to always return to her. Yet neither of us could predict my untimely demise next to the ship I held so dear to me.
But my prayers were worthless.
For suddenly, I was hurled into the Arctic air, suspended in a moment of weightless silence before gravity seized me.I had anticipated this moment would come, the moment I would part with The Roosevelt, but I had never expected it to be torn from me like a limb, the wound fresh and unrelenting. As my skin touched the water, I shuddered with the burning sensation that engulfed me, with the pain that latched onto my bones. I sank, ever so slowly, while my lungs filled with water, my very own feet weighed me down into the abyss, towards my grave. Slowly, I drifted away, into the unburdening release of life and eternal peace, into a promised land of equality and loyalty.
I died alone.
Kommentare