The Terror

³⁷ IRVING

There were ten Esquimaux standing there: six men of indeterminate age, one very old man with no teeth, one boy, and two women. One woman was old, with a collapsed mouth and a face that was a mass of wrinkles, and one was very young. Perhaps, Irving thought, they are mother and daughter.

The men were uniformly short; the top of the tallest man’s head barely came up to the tall third lieutenant’s chin. Two had their hoods back, showing wild thatches of black hair and unlined faces, but the other men stared at him from the depths of their hoods, some with their faces shrouded and surrounded by a luxuriant white fur that Irving believed might be from the arctic fox. Other hood ruffs were darker and more bristly and Irving guessed that the fur might be from wolverines.

Every male except the boy carried a weapon, either a harpoon or short spear with a bone or stone point, but after Irving had approached and shown his empty hands, none of the spears were now raised or pointed at him. The Esquimaux men — hunters, Irving assumed — stood easily, legs apart, hands on their weapons, with their sled being held back by the oldest man, who kept the boy close. There were six dogs harnessed to the sled, a vehicle much shorter and lighter than even the smallest folding sledges on Terror. The dogs barked and snarled, showing vicious canines, until the old man beat them into silence with a carved stick he carried.

Even while trying to think of a way to communicate with these strange people, Irving continued to marvel at their dress. The men’s parkas were shorter and darker than Lady Silence’s or her deceased male companion’s, but just as furry. Irving thought that the dark hair or fur might be from caribou or foxes, but the knee-length white trousers were definitely from the white bears. Some of the long, hairy boots seemed to be from caribou skins, but others were more supple and pliable. Sealskin? Or some sort of caribou hide turned inside out?

The mittens were visibly sealskin and looked both warmer and more supple than Irving’s own.

The lieutenant had looked to the six younger men to see who was the leader, but it wasn’t clear. Other than the old man and the boy, only one of the males stood out, and that was one of the older bare-headed men who wore a complicated white caribou fur headband, a thin belt from which many odd things dangled, and some sort of pouch around his neck. It was not, however, a simple talisman such as Lady Silence’s white stone bear amulet.

Silence, how I wish you were here, thought John Irving.

“Greetings,” he said. He touched his chest with his mittened thumb. “Third Lieutenant John Irving of Her Majesty’s Ship Terror.”

The men mumbled among themselves. He heard words that sounded like kabloona and qavac and miagortok, but had no clue whatsoever as to what they might mean.

The older bareheaded man with the pouch and belt pointed at Irving and said, “Piifixaaq! ”

Some of the younger men shook their head at this. If it was a pejorative term, Irving hoped that the others were rejecting it.

“John Irving,” he said, touching his chest again.

“Sixam ieua?” said the man opposite him. “Suingne! ”

Irving could only nod at this. He touched his chest again. “Irving.” He pointed toward the other man’s chest in a questioning manner.

The man stared at Irving from between the fringes of his hood.

In desperation, the lieutenant pointed to the lead dog that was still barking and growling while being held back and beaten wildly by the old man next to the sled.

“Dog,” said Irving. “Dog.”

The Esquimaux man closest to Irving laughed. “Qimmiq,” he said clearly, also pointing to the dog. “Tunok.” The man shook his head and chuckled.

Although he was freezing, Irving felt a warm glow. He’d gotten somewhere. The Esquimaux word for the hairy dog they used was either qimmiq or tunok, or both. He pointed at their sled.

“Sled,” he stated firmly.

The ten Esquimaux stared at him. The young woman was holding her mittens in front of her face. The old woman’s jaw hung down and Irving could see that she had precisely one tooth in her mouth.

“Sled,” he said again.

The six men in front looked at one another. Finally, Irving’s interlouctor to this point said, “Kamatik? ”

Irving nodded happily even though he had no idea if they had really begun communicating. For all he knew, the man had just asked him if he wanted to be harpooned. Nonetheless, the junior lieutenant could not stop grinning. Most of the Esquimaux men — with the exception of the boy, the old man who was still beating the dog, and the bare-headed older man with the pouch and belt — were grinning back.

“Do you speak English by any chance?” asked Irving, realizing that he was a bit tardy with the question.

The Esquimaux men stared and grinned and scowled and remained silent.

Irving repeated the query in his schoolboy French and atrocious German.

The Esquimaux continued to smile and scowl and stare.

Irving crouched and squatted and the six men closest to him squatted. They did not sit on the freezing gravel, even if a larger rock or boulder was near. After so many months up here in the cold, Irving understood. He still wanted to know someone’s name.

“Irving,” he said, touching his chest again. He pointed at the closest man.

“Inuk,” said the man, touching his chest. He tugged off his mitten with a flash of white teeth and held up his right hand. It was missing the two smaller fingers. “Tikerqat.” He grinned again.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Inuk,” said Irving. “Or Mr. Tikerqat. Very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

He decided that any real communication would have to be through sign language and pointed back the way he had come, toward the northwest. “I have many friends,” he said confidently, as if saying this would make him safer with these savage people. “Two large ships. Two… ships.”

Most of the Esquimaux looked the way Irving pointed. Mr. Inuk was frowning slightly. “Nanuq,” the man said softly, and then seemed to correct himself with a shake of his head. “Tôrnârssuk.” The others looked away or lowered their heads at this last word, almost, it seemed, as if in reverence or fear. But the lieutenant was sure that it was not at the thought of two ships or a group of white men.

Irving licked his bleeding lips. Better to begin trading with these people than to engage in a long conversation. Moving slowly, so as not to startle any of them, he reached into his leather shoulder valise to see if there was any food or bauble he could give them as a gift.

Nothing. He had eaten the only salted pork and old biscuit he’d brought for his day’s rations. Something shiny and interesting then…

There were only his ragged sweaters, two stinking extra socks, and a disposable rag he had brought along for his alfresco privy purposes. At that moment Irving bitterly regretted giving his prized Oriental silk handkerchief to Lady Silence — wherever the wench was. She had slipped away from Terror Camp their second day there and not been seen again since. He knew that these natives would have loved the red-and-green silk handkerchief.

Then his cold fingers touched the curved brass of his telescope.

Irving’s heart leapt and then wrenched itself with pain. The telescope was perhaps his most prized possession, the last thing his uncle had given him before that good man had died suddenly of heart trouble.

Smiling wanly at the waiting Esquimaux, he slowly pulled the instrument from his bag. He could see the brownfaced men tightening their grips on their spears and harpoons.

Ten minutes later Irving had the entire family or clan or tribe of Esquimaux close around him like schoolchildren grouped around an especially beloved teacher. Everyone, even the suspicious, squinty-eyed older man with the headband, pouch, and belt, had taken a turn looking through the glass. Even the two females had their turn — Irving allowed Mr. Inuk Tikerqat, his new fellow ambassador, to hand the brass instrument to the giggling young woman and the old woman. The ancient man who had been holding down the sled came over for a look and a shouted exclamation with the women chanting along:

The group enjoyed looking at one another through the glass, staggering back in shock and laughter when huge faces loomed. Then the men, quickly learning how to focus the glass, zoomed in on distant rocks, clouds, and ridgelines. When Irving showed them that they could reverse the glass and make things and each other tiny, the men’s laughs and exclamations echoed in the small valley.

He used his hands and body language — finally refusing to take the telescope back and pressing it into Mr. Inuk Tikerqat’s hands — to let them know that it was a present.

The laughter stopped and they stared at him with serious faces. For a minute Irving wondered if he had violated some taboo, offended them somehow, but then he had a strong hunch that he had presented them with a problem in protocol; he had given them a wonderful gift and they’d brought nothing in return.

Inuk Tikerqat conferred with the other hunters and then turned to Irving and began making unmistakable pantomimes, lifting his hand to his mouth, then rubbing his belly.

For a terrible second Irving thought his interlocutor was asking for food — of which Irving had none — but when he tried to convey this fact, the Esquimaux shook his head and repeated the gestures. Irving suddenly realized that they were asking him if he was hungry.

Eyes filling with tears from a gust of wind or sheer relief, Irving repeated the gestures and nodded enthusiastically. Inuk Tikerqat grabbed him by his slop’s frozen shoulder and led him back to the sled. What had been their word for this? thought Irving. “Kamatik?” he said aloud, remembering it at last.

“Ee! ” cried Mr. Tikerqat approvingly. Kicking the growling dogs aside, he swept back a thick fur atop the sled. Stack upon stack of frozen and fresh meat and fish were piled atop the kamatik.

His host was pointing toward different delicacies. Pointing at the fish, Inuk Tikerqat said, “Eqaluk,” in the slow, patient tones an adult uses with a child. Toward slabs of seal meat and blubber, “Natsuk.” Toward larger and more solidly frozen slabs of a darker meat, “Oo ming-mite.”

Irving nodded. He was embarrassed that his mouth had suddenly filled with saliva. Not sure if he was just supposed to admire the cache of food or choose from it, he pointed diffidently at the seal meat.

“Ee! ” Mr. Tikerqat said again. He lifted a strip of soft meat and blubber, reached under his short parka, pulled a very sharp bone knife from his waistband, and cut a strip for Irving and another for himself. He handed the lieutenant his piece before cutting into his own.

The old woman standing nearby made a sort of wailing sound. “Kaaktunga! ” she cried. And when none of the men paid any attention to her, she shouted again, “Kaaktunga! ”

He made a face toward Irving, the kind one man makes to another when a woman demands something in their presence, and said, “Orssunguvoq! ” But he cut the old woman a strip of seal blubber and tossed it to her as one would to a dog.

The toothless old crone laughed and began gumming the blubber.

Immediately the group gathered around the sled, men with their knives out, and everyone began cutting and eating.

“Aipalingiagpoq,” said Mr. Tikerqat, pointing to the old woman and laughing. The other hunters, old man, and boy — everyone except the older man with the headband and pouch — joined in the laughter.

Irving smiled broadly, although he had no idea what the joke was.

The older man in the headband pointed to Irving and said, “Qavac… suingne! Kangunartuliorpoq! ”

The lieutenant did not need a translator to know that whatever the man had said, it had not been laudatory or kind. Mr. Tikerqat and several of the other hunters just shook their heads while eating.

Everyone, even the young woman, was using his or her knife the way Lady Silence had in her snowhouse more than two months earlier — cutting the skin, meat, and blubber toward their mouths so the sharp blades came within a hairs-breadth of their greasy lips and tongues.

Irving cut his the same way — as best he could — but his knife was duller and he made a clumsy mess of it. But he did not cut his nose as he had the first time with Silence. The group ate in a companionable silence interrupted only by polite belches and the occasional fart. The men occasionally drank from some sort of pouch or skin, but Irving had already taken out the bottle he kept close to his body so the water would not freeze.

“Kee-nah-oo-veet?” Inuk Tikerqat said suddenly. He pounded his chest. “Tikerqat.” Again the young man removed his mitten and showed his two remaining fingers.

“Irving,” said the lieutenant, again tapping his own chest.

“Eh-vunq,” repeated the Esquimaux.

Irving smiled over the blubber. He pointed at his new friend. “Inuk Tikerqat, ee? ”

The Esquimaux shook his head. “Ah-ka.” The man made a wide sweep with his arms and hands, encompassing all the other Esquimaux as well as himself. “Inuk,” he said firmly. Holding up his mutilated hand and waggling his two remaining fingers while hiding his thumb, he said again, “Tikerqat.”

Irving interpreted all this to mean that “Inuk” was not the man’s name but a description of all ten Esquimaux there — perhaps their tribal name or racial name or clan name. He guessed “Tikerqat” to be not a last name now but the entirety of his interlocutor’s name, and probably one meaning “Two Fingers.”

“Tikerqat,” said Irving, trying to pronounce it properly while still cutting and chewing blubber for himself. The fact that the meat and greasy fat were old, smelly, and raw meant almost nothing. It was as if his body craved this fat above all other things. “Tikerqat,” he said again.

There followed, in the midst of the squatting, cutting, and chewing, a general introduction. Tikerqat began both the introductions and the explanations by acting things out to explain the meaning of the name — if the names had a meaning — but then the other men picked up on it and acted out their own names. The moment had the feeling of a joyous child’s game.

“Taliriktug,” said Tikerqat slowly, pushing forward the barrel-chested young man next to him. Two Fingers grabbed his companion’s upper arm and squeezed it, making ah-yeh-I noises, then flexing his own muscle and comparing it to the other man’s thicker biceps.

“Taliriktug,” repeated Irving, wondering if it meant “Big Muscle” or “Strong Arm” or something similar.

The next man, a shorter one, was named Tuluqag. Tikerqat tugged the man’s parka hood back, pointed to his black hair, and made flapping noises with his hand, miming a bird flying.

“Tuluqag,” repeated Irving, nodding politely toward the man as he chewed. He wondered if the word meant “Raven.”

The fourth man thumped himself on the chest, grunted, “Amaruq,” and threw back his head and howled.

“Amaruq,” repeated Irving and nodded. “Wolf,” he said aloud.

The fifth hunter was named Mamarut and acted out some pantomime involving waving his arms and dancing. Irving repeated the name and nodded but had no idea what the name might mean.

The sixth hunter, a younger man of very serious demeanor, was introduced by Tikerqat as Ituksuk. This man stared at Irving with deep black eyes and said and acted out nothing. Irving nodded politely and chewed his blubber.

The older man with the headband and the pouch was introduced by Tikerqat as Asiajuk, but the man neither blinked nor showed recognition of the introduction. It was obvious he did not like or trust Third Lieutenant John Irving.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Asiajuk,” said Irving.

“Afatkuq,” Tikerqat said softly, nodding slightly in the direction of the unsmiling older man in the headband.

Some sort of medicine man? wondered Irving. As long as Asiajuk’s hostility remained only on the level of silent suspicion, the lieutenant thought that things would be all right.

The old man at the sled was introduced as Kringmuluardjuk to the young lieutenant. Tikerqat pointed to the still-snarling dogs, brought his hands together in some sort of diminutive gesture, and laughed.

Then Irving’s laughing interlocutor pointed to the shy boy, who appeared to be about ten or eleven years old, pointed to his own chest again, and said, “Irniq,” followed by “Qajorânguaq.”

Irving guessed that Irniq might mean “son” or “brother.” Probably the former, he thought. Or perhaps the boy’s name was Irniq and Qajorânguaq meant son or brother. The lieutenant nodded respectfully, just as he had with the older hunters.

Tikerqat shoved the old woman forward. Her name appeared to be Nauja, and Tikerqat again made a bird-flying motion. Irving repeated the name as best he could — there was a certain glottal sound that the Esquimaux made that he could not approximate — and nodded respectfully. He wondered if Nauja was an arctic tern, a seagull, or something more exotic.

The old woman giggled and stuffed more blubber in her mouth.

Tikerqat put his arm around the young woman, not much more than a girl really, and said, “Qaumaniq.” Then the hunter grinned broadly and said, “Amooq! ”

The girl wriggled in his grasp while smiling, and all the men except the possible medicine man laughed loudly.

“Amooq? ” said Irving, and the laughter rose in volume. Tuluqag and Amaruq spit out blubber they were laughing so hard.

“Qaumaniq… amooq! ” said Tikerqat and made a two-handed, open-fingered grabbing gesture in front of his own chest that was universal. But to make sure he got the point across, the hunter grabbed his wriggling woman — Irving had to think she was his wife — and quickly lifted her short, dark parka top.

The girl was naked under the animal skin, and her breasts were, indeed, very large… very large indeed for a woman so young.

John Irving felt himself blush from his blond hairline down to his chest. He lowered his gaze to the blubber he was still chewing. At that moment he would have laid fifty quid that Amooq was the Esquimaux language equivalent of “Big Tits.”

The men around him howled with laughter. The Qimmiq — the wolflike sled dogs around the wooden kamatik — howled and leapt against their tethers. The old man behind the sled, Kringmuluardjuk, actually fell onto the snow and ice he was laughing so hard.

Suddenly Amaruq — Wolf? — who had been playing with the telescope, pointed to the bare ridge from which Irving had descended into the valley and snapped what sounded like “Takuvaa… kabloona qukiuttina! ”

The group fell silent immediately.

The wolfish dogs began barking wildly.

Irving stood from where he had been crouching and shielded his eyes from the sun. He did not want to ask for the telescope back. There was the quickest motion of a human form in greatcoat silhouetted against the top of the ridge.

Wonderful! thought Irving. All through the blubber feast and introductions, he’d been trying to decide how to get Tikerqat and the others to come back to Terror Camp with him. He’d been afraid that he would not be able to communicate well enough with just his hands and motions to persuade the eight Esquimaux males and two women and their dogs and sled to make the threehour trip back to the coast with him, so he’d been trying to think of a way to get just Tikerqat to come along with him.

It was certain that the lieutenant could not just let these natives hike back to wherever they had come from. Captain Crozier would be at the camp tomorrow, and Irving knew from several conversations with the captain that contact with the local peoples was precisely what the tired and beleaguered captain most hoped might happen. The northern tribes, what Ross called northern highland tribes, are rarely warlike, Crozier had told his third lieutenant one night. If we come across a village of theirs on our way south, they may feed us well enough to get us provisioned properly for the long upstream haul to Great Slave Lake. At the very least, they could show us how to live off the land.

And now Thomas Farr and the others had come looking for him, following his footprints through the snow to this valley. The figure on the ridgeline had gone back over the ridge and out of sight — out of shock at seeing ten strangers in the valley or concern that he might frighten them? — but Irving had caught a glimpse of the greatcoat blowing in silhouette and the Welsh wig and comforter and knew that one of his problems had been solved.

If he could not persuade Tikerqat and the others to come back with them — and old Asiajuk the shaman might be a problem convincing — Irving and a few of his party would stay with the Esquimaux here in the valley, convince them to stay there with conversation and other presents from some of the other men’s packs, while he sent the fastest seamen running back to the coast to bring Captain Fitzjames and many more men to this place.

I can’t let them get away. These Esquimaux could be the answer to our problems. They may be our salvation.

Irving felt his heart pounding against his ribs.

“It’s all right,” he said to Tikerqat and the others, speaking in the calmest and most confident tones he could summon. “It’s just my friends. A few friends. Good men. They won’t harm you. We only have one rifle with us, and we won’t bring that down here. It’s all right. Just friends of mine whom you will enjoy meeting.”

Irving knew that they couldn’t understand a word he was saying, but he kept talking, using the same soft, reassuring voice he would have used at his family’s stables in Bristol to calm a skittish colt.

Several of the hunters had pulled their spears or harpoons from the snow and were holding them casually, but Amaruq, Tulugaq, Taliriktug, Ituksuk, the boy Qajorânguaq, the old man Kringmuluardjuk, and even the scowling shaman Asiajuk were looking to Tikerqat for guidance. The two women quit chewing blubber and quietly found their place behind the line of men.

Tikerqat looked at Irving. The Esquimaux’s eyes were suddenly very dark and very alien-looking to the young lieutenant. The man seemed to be waiting for some explanation. “Khatseet? ” he said softly.

Irving showed open palms in a calming gesture and smiled as easily as he could. “Just friends,” he said, matching the softness of Tikerqat’s tone. “A few friends.”

The lieutenant glanced up at the ridgeline. It was still empty against the blue sky. He was afraid that whoever had come looking for him had been alarmed by the congregation in the valley and might be headed back. Irving was not sure how long he could wait here… how long he could keep Tikerqat and his people calm before they took flight.

He took a deep breath and realized that he would have to go after the man up there, call him back, tell him what had happened and send him to bring back Farr and the others as quickly as possible. Irving couldn’t wait.

“Please stay here,” said Irving. He set his leather valise in the snow near Tikerqat in an attempt to show that he was coming right back. “Please wait. I shan’t be a moment. I won’t even get out of your sight. Please stay.” He realized that he was gesturing with his hands as if asking the Esquimaux to sit, the way he would talk to a dog.

Tikerqat did not sit, nor did he reply, but he remained where he was standing while Irving backed away slowly.

“I’ll be right back,” called the lieutenant. He turned and jogged quickly up the steep scree and ice, onto the dark gravel at the top of the ridgeline.

Barely able to breath with the tension, he turned back at the top and looked down.

The ten figures, barking dogs, and sled were exactly where he had left them.

Irving waved, made gestures to show that he would be right back, and hurried over the ridge, ready to shout at any retreating sailor.

Twenty feet down the northeast side of the ridge, Irving saw something that made him stop in his tracks.

A tiny man was dancing naked except for his boots around a tall heap of discarded clothing on a boulder.

Leprechaun, thought Irving, remembering some of Captain Crozier’s tales. The image made no sense to the third lieutenant. It had been a day of strange sightings.

He stepped closer and saw that it was no leprechaun dancing but rather the caulker’s mate. The man was humming some sailor’s ditty as he danced and pirouetted. Irving could not help noticing the grubwhite paleness of the little man’s skin, how his ribs pushed out so visibly, the goose bumps everywhere rising on his flesh, the fact that he was circumcised, and how absurd the pale white buttocks were when he pirouetted.

Walking up to him, shaking his head in disbelief, not in the mood to laugh but his heart still pounding with the excitement of finding Tikerqat and the others, Irving said, “Mr. Hickey. What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

The caulker’s mate quit pirouetting. He raised one bony finger to his lips as if to shush the lieutenant. Then he bowed and showed Irving his arse as he bent over his pile of coats and clothing on the boulder.

The man’s gone mad, thought Irving. I can’t let Tikerqat and the others see him like this. He wondered if he could slap some sense into the little man and still use him as a messenger to bring Farr and the others here quickly. Irving had a few sheets of paper and a stub of graphite with which he could write a note, but they were in his valise down in the valley.

“See here, Mr. Hickey…,” he began sternly.

The caulker’s mate swung up and around so quickly with his arm fully extended that for a second or two Irving thought he was resuming his dance.

But there had been a sharp boat knife in that extended hand.

Irving felt a sudden sharp pain in his throat. He started to speak again, found that he couldn’t, raised both hands to his throat, and looked down.

Blood was cascading over Irving’s hands and down onto his chest, dripping onto his boots.

Hickey swung the blade again in a wide, vicious arc.

This blow severed the lieutenant’s windpipe. He fell to his knees and raised his right arm, pointing at Hickey through vision that had suddenly been narrowed by a dark tunnel. John Irving was too surprised even to feel anger.

Hickey took a step closer, still naked, all sharp knees and thin thighs and tendons, crouching now like some pale, bony gnome. But Irving had fallen to his side on the cold gravel, vomited an impossible amount of blood, and was dead before Cornelius Hickey ripped away the lieutenant’s clothing and began wielding the knife in earnest.