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After some twenty years in the Navy, Henry had stopped being surprised by what he saw about a decade ago. Not that he didn’t enjoy new sights, far from it; he was always delighted to discover parts of the world, but after three crossings of the Atlantic and then some, he was able to keep his breath and remain grounded upon seeing something that had other sailors frozen in wonder.
A decade, until now. They had just passed the tip of Greenland and Henry, while on a very unfortunate Middle Watch on the main deck, witnessed something that did steal his breath.
The ink of the sky suddenly came alive with what looked like clouds, though much longer, less opaque, and almost like they were dragged up, leaving a trail of light—and the colour! They were mostly green, but Henry could see some purple and blue mixed in as well, shifting and changing with their slow movements in the dark. He could not take his eyes away.
The name of this phenomenon was on the tip of his tongue. He had read about it, he was sure. Some Arctic explorer’s memoir, read in preparation for this trip, but he could not recall. Oh, how easy it would have been to simply turn to John and ask him. It was strange, to be so far apart yet so close, just a mile or so of water between them—impossible to cross without a good reason for it, for non-commissioned officers like himself, at least.
Maybe that was his ticket across. Sir John Franklin invited Captain Crozier to dinner on Erebus so often that they had to come up with a flag signal instead of constantly sending some boys, who always ended up completely drenched, to and from each ship to carry invitations and replies. But they still needed rowers for the Captain and Lieutenants. If he could volunteer to take Captain Crozier across, he’d get to spend the evening on Erebus. Maybe he’d be able to catch John between two courses. He didn’t need to talk to him for very long—they couldn’t, of course, but just enough to ask him about what he had seen in the sky. Yes. That was his plan. Henry tilted his head back and kept staring at the swirls of colour, a small smile on his lips, until they disappeared in the rising light of the early morning—the end of his watch.
What are the lights called? What are they called? John would know.
Much like the Erebus bearers of invitations, Henry ended up drenched and burning-armed. Though neither of these things was able to put a damper on his enthusiasm at the possibility of talking to John—no matter how busy he could be during dinner. Henry found a seat in the mess hall which allowed him to keep an eye on the great cabin. When he saw John emerge from it, empty-handed, meaning the officers had been served and would be eating for some time, Henry excused himself from his table.
Henry was surprised again to experience something that hadn’t occurred in a long time, not unlike his wonder at his sighting of the green dancing lights—he felt a kind of worry, a nervousness, while approaching John. It would be the first time they saw each other since their departure from Greenhithe last May—not the longest time they’d been apart, but Henry put his nervousness on account of having to make sure to keep their interactions inconspicuous while they served together on the expedition. The last time that happened was some nine years ago, on Beagle, and even then, that was before becoming more than simply friends. But Henry took a breath, and kept going forward.
“John!” he called.
John, who currently had his eyes closed and his back against the wall next to the great cabin door, immediately perked up at the sound of Henry’s voice. The smile he gave him was enough to melt all nerves away. John took the few remaining steps between them, though kept a reasonable distance.
“Henry, what a wonderful surprise to see you aboard,” John greeted. “I must ask, how did you manage such a feat?”
Henry shrugged, but his smile quickly turned to a grin. “Captain Crozier and his officers have dinner with Sir John often enough, I figured one of the usual rowers wouldn’t mind getting a break. I just had to volunteer.”
“Rowing! How are your arms?” John gently set a gloved hand on Henry’s bicep.
“Not too bad.” Henry rolled his shoulders a few times. “Better than when I started working up in the rigging. D’you remember that?”
John let out a low laugh. “Quite. Had I known you less at the time, I would have thought you were trying to get out of your writing lessons the way you complained about sore arms and not being able to hold a pen.”
Henry almost reached forward to sink his head on John’s shoulder and join in with his laughter, but held back. He let his smile widen instead, relishing in the simple contact of John’s hand on his arm. John scanned the area around him to make sure he was not needed right this moment.
“Though I doubt you came all this way to reminisce about the past,” John said, tilting his head to the side inquisitively.
“Other than for the pleasure of your company?” Henry noticed the blush spreading on John’s cheeks, and felt the way the hand on his arm tightened just a bit. “There was something I wanted to ask you, in fact.”
“Oh?”
“I was on Middle Watch—”
“Middle Watch? Christ, that’s dreadful.”
Henry snorted. “Yes, it tends to be quite awful, but I saw something in the sky—I was very much transfixed, but couldn’t remember how what I witnessed was called. I figured I’d come and ask you.”
In the low light of the deck, John’s eyes sparkled as he widened them. Henry knew that as a steward, John did not have much opportunity to go on the main deck, especially not between midnight and four in the morning. “What did you see?”
Henry pressed his left hand over his heart, and fiddled with the buttons of his sleeve with his right.
“Lights! Trails of lights all over the sky—green, blue, and purple. They didn’t look like clouds, they were translucent, almost. And they moved in such a fascinating manner! Does it sound like anything you know?”
“I believe it was an aurora borealis,” John replied, his smile warm. “It seems we’re up north enough for us to be able to see them.”
Aurora borealis. Henry sounded out the two words in his head, then visualized printing each letter down on paper. He’d have to make sure to take note of it in his diary. The hand he had placed on his chest moved to the side just a bit—to briefly touch the fabric of the glove John was wearing.
“You really know everything.” Henry looped his fingers around John’s index. “Th—”
“Bridgens!” Hoar exited the great cabin, having stayed behind while John was out to keep the officers’ glasses full. John and Henry instinctively broke apart at the sound of his voice. “We’re about to start on the next course, better get in here.”
“Of course, Mr. Hoar.”
John gave Henry an apologetic smile before turning away from him and following Hoar down the mess hall to the kitchen. Henry watched him, before returning to his previous seat, where John Hartnell, his brother Tom, and William Orren were discussing with passion whether or not their tinned food was any good. Henry joined in—At least we have tins; when I was on the Marquis Camden in ’28, we were lucky to have anything other than ship’s biscuits!
Just as they were set to depart, dinner wrapping up in the great cabin, John passed by Henry’s table and set a book down next to him. Henry looked at it, at John’s hand, still gloved, then up to John’s face.
“Oh—I wouldn’t want to risk damaging it, John.”
“Hush, you,” John reassured. “Books are meant to be read and worn down. And they’re mine; I do with them as I please. Will you take it?”
With a great smile—which John returned—, Henry nodded enthusiastically. John patted his shoulder and walked down the mess hall, leaving the first volume of Herodotus’ Histories on the table. Already, Henry could tell John had left him a note in-between the pages.
When he was dressing to get back on the small ship, he tucked the book in his breeches, under his guernsey, waistcoat, coat and slops to give it the best protection he could. Rowing back to Terror, the sun having set some hours ago, the sky was alight with auroras. A book pressed against his stomach, a breathtaking sight above him, and the memory of John’s hand on his arm, of having seen John at all—Henry could hardly complain.