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Yesterday Lt. Hodgson found himself peeking into the entrance of the medical tent at Terror Camp, poised to apologize to Dr. Goodsir for being a part of the incidents that brought about the necessity of Lady Silence’s departure. His apology was not accepted, nor was he granted forgiveness.
Today, the occasion is no less stressful. Hodgson has been ordered to see the doctor for an initial medical visit after being discovered by Mr. HIckey's crew among the rocks of King William Land. Now, he must see to it.
Peeking surreptitiously through the opening made by the tent flap, Hodgson sees Dr. Goodsir appearing much as he did yesterday. The doctor’s posture is bent, his head bowed; a man defeated. His every movement is laboured; even the simple repositioning of a book on his table seems a drudgery. He steps away from his table, and now he’s pacing slowly from one side of the tent to the other, like a caged animal – until he stops, noticing Hodgson’s presence.
“Dr. Goodsir?”
Goodsir sighs – weariness? – and then follows up with a proper nod. “Lieutenant.” No, that’s not weariness, but annoyance, if his vocal tone is any indication. The man likely doesn’t want to see him and hopes to be rid of him as soon as possible.
“May I enter the tent, please?”
“You needn’t ask.”
But… is that a Yes? Considering the course of yesterday’s conversation, with Goodsir pummeling him with accusatory questions and becoming increasingly cold and sarcastic in the process – well, it could just as easily be a No, couldn’t it…
Goodsir has been staring at Hodgson far too long without saying anything, so Hodgson breaks the silence. “Mr. Hickey has ordered me here for-”
“Medical assessment. Of course. Come.”
Hodgson shuffles into the tent. Now that he’s here, it’s as good a time as any to reestablish a favorable rapport between them. “Dr. Goodsir, before anything else, I want to -”
“Lieutenant, I must ask-”
“There’s an issue that I… No, no, it can wait. Dr. Goodsir, please continue with what you were saying… ”
“No, I’m sorry to have interrupted. You had spoken first.”
“If you’re certain.”
“Yes, go on…”
“There’s an issue that’s been weighing heavily on-”
“But there’s no need,” Goodsir says, gently shaking his head
“Dr. Goodsir, if you would please allow me to-”
“What’s done is done,” Goodsir says softly. “Do not apologize to me again.”
“Very well. I’ll say no more about it.”
“Please hear me out. You apologized several times yesterday. Regrettably, I chose to turn a deaf ear.”
“Had I been in your position, I might have reacted in a similar manner.”
“No, you wouldn’t have. I doubt anyone would have. I’ve had much time since to reflect on yesterday’s events, including our discussion… and what I couldn’t do then, I am able to do now. I accept your apology, Lieutenant. I should have accepted it the first time you offered. ”
“Thank you.”
“I ask that you now consider accepting my apologies for how I treated you. I truly don’t recognize the person I was yesterday. I was beyond cruel, and I’m terribly sorry for it.”
“Accepted.”
“Look where we find ourselves now. I’ll admit that I still have difficulty in forgiving what you’ve done, but I know that for me to cling to anger would do neither of us any good.”
Hodgson lets it sink in. He feels the need to reply – but when he does, the words that first leave him, “I would agree,” sound harsh. He quickly corrects his error with what he knows is the better response. “I understand, and I appreciate your words.”
A great sigh leaves Goodsir’s lips. “Good. How have you been faring, then?”
"I beg your pardon?"
"The medical assessment. Your wounds."
“Oh. Yes. I stumbled and fell among the rocks several times since I saw you last. But this one,” he says, indicating his left cheek,” is an older wound that opened up again several days ago. Scurvy, I suppose.”
Goodsir nods. “Do you have old wounds opening up elsewhere?”
“No.”
“Any bruises on your hands? Your limbs?”
“No.”
“Are your joints aching? Do you suffer from memory loss?”
“Neither of those. However, I’ve recently begun bleeding from the sockets of my teeth.”
“Let me see.”
Vanity takes hold. “No, that won’t be necessary.”
“I am the doctor here,” Goodsir says gently. “Open your mouth and allow me to do my job.”
Hodgson acquiesces with a nod, then obeys.
The doctor steadies his hands against the lieutenant’s chin and cheek as he makes his inspection. “Oh dear,” he says, lowering his arms.
“Yes, but only one tooth lost. So far…”
“Hopefully, there will be no more. Have you slept since yesterday?”
Hodgson accidentally emits a dark chuckle at Goodsir’s question. Yesterday the doctor had insinuated that he might not sleep well; the remark based on his bitterness at Hodgson’s shooting two Eskimaux, one of them a child. “Yes. Well enough, considering,” he says.
“Good. I’ll clean your wounds in a moment, but first I’ll pour some mandragora for you. It will help to alleviate the pain from the loss of your tooth. One dose today to start, and if you need more, you come to me, and I’ll administer another dose. Once daily until it’s no longer warranted.” Goodsir opens his medical chest, then selects a bottle and a small vial. Moments later, he’s handing Hodgson the prepared vial. “Drink this.”
In an attempt to lighten the mood, Hodgson lifts it as if offering a toast. What day is it, though? He’s not sure, but he’ll hazard a guess and then make a go of it; a positive thought is needed in these dismal times. “Our men,” he says, making the traditional Tuesday toast. His gesture is met with Goodsir’s hard stare.
“And do you include Mr. Hickey in that sentiment?” he asks.
Hodgson avoids answering by quickly gulping down the medicine. Mr. Hickey, despicable as he is, did welcome him into his camp, and it’s far better than being lost in the landscape, suffering from dehydration, and starving to death. Hodgson casts his gaze to the ground while handing the vial back to Goodsir. Thankfully, Goodsir puts the supplies away without further comment.
Hodgson draws a deep breath and effects a cheery tone. “It’s good to see you again. I must say, I didn’t expect to see you with Mr. Hickey.” His sentence completed, he realizes too late that he’s made a potential error.
“I did not choose this,” Goodsir says slowly. “I was abducted. Mr. Diggle suffered the same fate. We were taken as prisoners, harnessed, and forced into pulling Mr. Hickey’s sledge out of the camp.”
“You misunderstand me,” Hodgson says. “I didn’t mean that you would have gone willingly… I-I only meant…” and again he hears his own words, and he knows they aren’t helping.
Goodsir’s face drops, as does his voice. “You knew of this?”
“Of course not! If I knew, then wouldn’t I have been there at the sledge with the others?”
“Unless you’d arranged to meet up with Mr. Hickey later on.”
“No! I ran and lost my bearings in the fog after the creature attacked, and I was unable to find my way back to Terror Camp. I wasn’t expecting to see any of you today. Dr. Goodsir, I had just eaten a portion of my own boot when I caught sight of your sledge party!”
“Do not call it my sledge party,” Goodsir says with considerable grit. “I wanted no part of this.”
“I-I understand that. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t know why this has happened, and Mr. Hickey has said nothing on the subject. But I suspect you know something.”
“Not specifically…” And oh, God, he’s said the wrong thing again. If he’d only said a simple No, then this branch of their conversation could be ended. Instead, he’s unwittingly invited Goodsir to ask more questions.
“Lieutenant, you said you weren’t expecting to see me here with Mr. Hickey. What did you mean by it?”
“Just words, nothing more. I didn’t mean anything in particular.”
”We no longer have the luxury of keeping secrets from one another,” Goodsir says. “What are you not telling me?”
From yesterday’s encounter with the doctor, Hodgson knows that the man will only keep prodding him until he breaks, so it’s best to surrender now and divulge everything. “Your instincts serve you well. There are things I… happen to know.”
“What? What do you know?”
“Dr. Goodsir, please keep your voice low, and let me speak.”
Goodsir nods.
“When I returned from supervising the burial of Mr. Morfin, Mr. Hickey approached me and asked that I accompany him to his tent.”
“Under what premise?”
“He simply said that he wished to converse, and that he had a proposal for me. I was curious, so I went with him.” Hodgson looks for a sign of encouragement from Goodsir: a nod, a spoken Go on, a rolling hand gesture signaling that he should continue; anything. Instead, he gets the man’s wide-eyed look of disbelief. There’s nothing for him to do but continue. “Mr. Hickey suggested that I might wish to take command of a smaller group. I declined, of course.”
“Mutiny. What was his reasoning?”
“He had some skepticism about the efficacy of hunting parties.”
“Why? The captain would see to it that all men receive equal shares.”
“Mr. Hickey said that if we were lucky enough to find game, there couldn’t be enough to sufficiently feed close to one hundred men.”
“But having even a small quantity would be a help in slowing scurvy.”
“He also voiced his concerns about our food supply.” He clears his throat. “Specifically, the tins.”
What little colour there was in Goodsir’s cheeks has drained. There’s a subtle shifting of his stance, as if he needs to keep his balance. “W-What of them?”
It’s a struggle, but Hodgson gets the words out. “Apparently he has some knowledge that something isn’t right about their contents.”
Goodsir shifts his weight again – from side to side, and back – only this time he seems more nervous. “That’s absurd. What could he possibly know?”
“I was told that an Erebite overheard you at Carnaval when you were speaking to Dr. Peddie and Dr. MacDonald. About the tins.”
Goodsir’s eyes clamp shut, his face going into a pained grimace. “My God, no…”
“Mr. Hickey didn’t elaborate on the specifics, and… please know that I’m extremely sorry to tell you this, but… he also mentioned that you and Captain Crozier were lying to the men about the tins.”
Goodsir falters back to his bed place and sinks to a seated position with his shoulders hunched and arms folded across his thighs. “Then I am to blame. For all of this…”
Hodgson has no idea what exactly is wrong with the tins, but as much as he’d like to ask, now is not the time; Mr. Hickey could be calling him out of the tent at any moment. He’s already taken a risk by daring to hold this conversation. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“This is all my doing,” Goodsir says. “I hadn’t planned on attending Carnaval, but because of certain events that occurred that day, I felt compelled to go. I should have been more careful.”
“Doctor Goodsir, don’t blame yourself.”
Goodsir captures Hodgson’s gaze and holds it firm. “I promise you; I spoke with the captain about the tins shortly after we abandoned the ships. I suggested that we begin hunting parties long before we built Terror Camp, but he insisted that there would be no available game for us to hunt. He told me we shared a burden in keeping our knowledge from the men, and that he’d commence with hunting parties once we were on King William Land.”
“Which we did, Lieutenant Irving and I. And when Lieutenant Irving proposed that we divide our party into smaller groups of three, I chose Mr. Armitage and Mr. Pocock to accompany me. I did not include Mr. Hickey, as I wanted to send him the message that I wanted no further association with him. I thought that would be the end of it.”
Goodsir’s facial expression hasn’t changed; on the contrary, it’s as if he hadn’t heard a word of what Hodgson has just said. “I should have pressed the captain further, but I knew it wasn’t my place to contest his decision.”
Hodgson slowly seats himself next to Goodsir, all the while ready to bolt back up if the man should protest. “You did what you could.”
“I could have done more.”
“Do remember that I am also at fault. I should have gone directly to the captain after my conversation with Mr. Hickey.”
“I’d wager your sense of judgment was altered because of the news you’d been given.”
“Perhaps. Even so, I should have been clear-minded enough to know that I had the ability to thwart Mr. Hickey’s plan to mutiny before it was too late. I could have prevented this entire situation.”
“One cannot always stop the Devil…”
“Don’t speak that way,” Hodgson says, daring to set a gentle hand on the doctor’s shoulder. “Do you not see that we are together in this?”
Goodsir’s eyebrows scrunch together, even as his gaze deepens to an incredulous stare. “We only share in this situation because we each made individual errors. We are not together in this.” He rises and goes to his worktable. “Come,” he says. “I haven’t cleaned your wounds yet.”
Each man is silent while Goodsir prepares the wash basin and cloth. Hodgson detects a slow and steady softening of the man’s gaze as he dabs gently and meticulously at his wounds, but then he realizes it’s more the caring concern of a doctor doing his job than that of a friend offering comfort.
When the job is completed, Hodgson thanks him in a whisper. Goodsir nods, then turns and wrings out his cloth, saying nothing in reply. Silence fills the tent again, with Hodgson gradually owning that fruitful conversation has come to a close.
Of his own accord, Hodgson heads for the exit without further formality. He could easily depart and leave things as they are, unresolved, and saying nothing more, but when he sets his hand on the tent flap… Damn, he finds he can’t do it easily. Not yet. No matter what Doctor Goodsir says or thinks, their shared situation requires a meeting of the minds at best; and at least, some semblance of positive resolution so that they may move forward from this moment. Together.
Hodgson releases the flap and turns. “Dr. Goodsir, I meant what I said earlier. It’s good to see you again.”
Goodsir’s armour cracks. “Thank you.”
“We will endure being in this camp, you and I. We still have our chance at survival. You must hold fast to that.”
“How can you be certain? Among Mr. Hickey's many crimes are sedition, abduction, murder, and taking advantage of others by having them believe his lies. Now, mutiny. We don’t know what else he may be capable of doing.“
“Then we must be vigilant. No matter how bleak this situation with Mr. Hickey may seem, I believe we will get through it and return safely to England. I won’t allow you to lose hope, do you hear?”
Finally, Goodsir offers a warm smile. “You sound very much like a captain.”
“Never of this crew.” Nor any other crew, Hodgson affirms in his mind. But he’ll not speak those words aloud. Why ruin the moment for the man by negating his well-intentioned comment?
“Lieutenant Hodgson! Come out!”
“Ah, our new ‘captain’ calls,” Goodsir says with a bitter wave of his hand. “You should do as he says.”
“Will you be coming with me?”
“I’ve never been more grateful to be in my profession than now, in this camp, for it permits me to remain here. If Mr. Hickey wants my report, he can come to me.”
“We’ll speak again,” Hodgson says firmly.
“More mandragora tomorrow, if you require.”
“Doctor Goodsir, I wasn’t talking about mandragora.”
“I know.” With an affable nod he adds, “Yes, let’s speak again.”
”Good.” Hodgson may never hear words of forgiveness from Goodsir, but to have the man’s trust and his camaraderie seems a perfectly acceptable counterbalance.
He leaves the tent on lighter feet, near to smiling for the first time since early yesterday morning.