The Terror

58 GOODSIR

From the personal diary of Dr. Harry D. S. Goodsir:

I have taken the Final Draught. It will be a Few Minutes before the Full Effect is Felt. Until it Is, I shall Catch Up on my diary.

These Last Few Days I have been recalling the Details of how young Hodgson confided in me and Whispered to me in the tent Weeks ago on that Last Night before Mr. Hickey shot him.

The Lieutenant whispered, I apologize for Disturbing you, Doctor, but I have to tell Someone I am Sorry.

I whispered back, You are not a Papist, Lieutenant Hodgson. And I am Not your Confessor. Go to Sleep and let me Sleep.

Hodgson Insisted, I apologize again, Doctor. But I have to tell someone how Sorry I am for Betraying the Captain — who was always Good to Me — and for Allowing Mr. Hickey to take you Captive like This. I sincerely Regret it and I am Dreadfully Sorry.

I Lay there Silently, Saying nothing, Giving the boy nothing.

Ever Since John was killed, persisted Hodgson. I mean, Lieutenant Irving, my Dear Friend from Gunnery School, I have been Convinced that Caulker’s Mate Hickey committed the Murder and I have been Terrified of Him.

Why would You Throw in Your Lot with Mr. Hickey if you thought him a Monster? I whispered in the Dark.

I was… Afraid. I wanted to be on His Side because he was so Terrible, whispered Hodgson. And then the Boy began to Weep.

I said, Shame on you.

But I put my Arm around the Boy and patted his Back while he Wept until he fell Asleep.

The Next Morning, Mr.Hickey assembled Everyone and had Magnus Manson force Lieutenant Hodgson to kneel before Him while the Caulker’s Mate brandished his Pistol and Announced how He — Mr. Hickey — would Brook no Shirking, explaining again How the Good Men Amongst Us would eat and live while the Shirkers would Die.

Then he set the long-barreled Weapon to the base of George Hodgson’s skull and Blew his Brains out onto the Gravel.

I have to say that the Boy was Brave at his end. He showed no Fear at all that Morning. His last words before the Pistol’s Explosive Discharge were, You can go to Hell.

I only wish that my End would be so Brave. But I know now for a Certainty that it Will Not.

Mr. Hickey’s Theatricals were not at an End with the Death of Lt. Hodgson, nor when Magnus Manson stripped the Boy Naked and left his Corpse Lying there in front of the Assembly.

The Sight made my Chest hurt. Speaking as a Man of Medicine, poor Hodgson was Thinner than I would have Thought Possible with any Recently Living Human Being. His Arms were mere Sheaths of Skin along Bones. His Ribs and Pelvis pressed Outward so Fiercely against the Skin that they threatened to Burst Through. And everywhere, the Boy’s flesh was Mottled with Bruises.

Nonetheless, Mr. Hickey called me Forward, handed me a Pair of Shears, and insisted that I Begin Dissecting the Lieutenant in front of the Assembled Men.

I demurred.

Mr. Hickey, his voice Pleasant, asked Again.

I demurred Again.

Mr. Hickey then commanded Mr. Manson to take the Shears from me and to Strip me as Naked as the Corpse at our Feet.

Once I was Without Clothing, Mr. Hickey paced back and forth in front of the men and Pointed to my Naked Features. Mr. Manson stood nearby holding the Shears.

There ain’t no Room for Shirkers in our Band of Brothers — said Mr. Hickey. And while we need this Surgeon — for I do Plan to Take care of your Dear Men’s health, every Man Jack of you — he must be Punished when he Refuses to Serve our Common Good. Twice he Has Refused this Morning. We shall Remove Two Unessential Appendages as a Sign of Our Displeasure.

And with that, Mr. Hickey Proceeded to prod at Different Parts of my Anatomy with the Pistol Barrel — my Fingers, my Nose, my Penis, my Testicles, my Ears.

Then he Raised my Hand.

A Surgeon needs ’is Fingers if he’s going to be any Use to us — he announced Theatrically and Laughed. We’ll save those for Last.

Most of the Men Laughed.

He don’t need his Pizzle nor Bollocks, though, said Mr. Hickey, prodding at the Aforementioned Parts with his Very Cold Pistol Barrel.

The Men Laughed again. The Anticipation, I think, was very high.

But today we is Merciful, said Mr. Hickey. He then ordered Mr. Manson to lop off Two of my Toes.

Which two, Cornelius? asked the large Idiot.

You choose, Magnus, said our Master of Ceremonies.

The Assembled Men laughed yet Again. I could Sense their Disappointment that something so Banal as Mere Toes were being Removed, yet I could also Tell that they enjoyed seeing Magnus Manson as the Master of My Phalangeal Fate. It was not their Fault. The Average Seaman Turned out Here had no Formal Education Whatsoever and Disliked anyone who did.

Mr. Manson Chose my Two Big Toes.

The Audience laughed and applauded.

The Shears were Applied quickly and Mr. Manson’s great Strength worked to my Advantage in the Procedure.

There was more Laughter — and great Interest — as my Medical Kit was brought and everyone watched as I Tied Off necessary Arteries, Stemmed the Bleeding as Best I could — all the while feeling rather Faint — and applied Preliminary Dressings to the Wounds.

Mr. Manson was directed to Carry me back to my Tent; his Ministrations were as Gentle as a Mother’s to a sick Child.

That was also the Day when Mr. Hickey thought to Relieve me of My more Efficacious Medicinal Bottles. But before that Morning, I had Already Poured the Majority of the Morphine, Opium, Laudanum, Dover’s Powders, poisonous mercury Calomel, and Mandragora into a single Opaque and Innocent-Looking Bottle marked Sugar of Lead and hidden that somewhere Other than my Medical Kit. I had then used water to bring the Visible Levels of Morphine, Opium, and Laudanum up to previous Heights.

The Irony here is that each time I Dose Mr. Manson for his “Tummy Aches,” he is receiving more than Eight Parts water to Two Small Parts morphine. The Giant does not seem to notice the Loss of Efficacy, however, which once again reminds me of the Importance of Belief in the entire Medical process.

Since that Day of Lt. Hodgson’s Demise, I have Demurred again to the Sum of Eight more Toes, One Ear, and my Foreskin.

The Last Operation created so much Mirth among the Assembled Men, despite the fresh Corpses lying in front of them, that one would have Thought that the Circus had come to Perform for them.

I know why Mr. Hickey has never made Good on his repeated Threats to relieve me of my Male Member or Testicles. The Caulker’s Mate has seen enough Shipboard injuries to know that Bleeding from such Wounds often cannot be Stopped — especially when the Surgeon is the one bleeding and Quite Apt to be unconscious or suffering from Shock when the Operation must Necessarily be Performed — and Mr. Hickey does not want me dead.

Walking has been very Difficult since my Seventh through Tenth toes have been Removed. I had never truly Understood how Essential our Digits are for Balance. And the Pain, of course, over the past Month, has not been Insignificant.

I think I would be Committing the Sin of Pride — not to mention that of Lying — if I said Here that I had not considered Drinking from my hidden bottle of Morphine, Opium, and Laudanum (and other materia medica) all mixed into the hidden bottle I have Thought of for so many Weeks as my Final Draught.

But I never took the Bottle out of hiding.

Not until this Hour.

I Confess I had thought the Effect would be more Rapid than it is Proving.

I can no Longer feel my Feet — which is a Blessing — and my Legs have just gone Numb up to the Patella. But at this Rate, it will be another Ten Minutes or More before the Potion reaches and Stills my Heart and other Vital Organs.

I have just Drunk more of the Final Draught. I suspect I was a Coward for not Drinking it all down At Once to begin with.

I confess here — for Purely Scientific Purposes should someone someday discover this Diary — that the Mixture is not only Quite Potent but Quite Intoxicating. If anyone else here were alive this dark, stormy Afternoon — except for Mr.Hickey and possibly Mr. Manson up in their Throne Pinnace

— they should see my Last Moments spent with Bobbing Head and Drunkard’s Grin. But I do not Recommend that this Experiment be Repeated for anything

but the most Dire of Medicinal Purposes.

And this leads to a true Confession.

For the First and Only Time in my Medical Career and Life, I have not Served a Patient to the Utmost of my Ability.

I speak, of course, in regards to poor Mr. Magnus Manson.

My Initial Diagnosis of the twin Gunshot Wounds was a Lie. The Bullets were small of caliber, it is True, but the Tiny Pistol must have packed a Great Charge of Powder, for both Projectiles had — it was Obvious from my first Inspection — penetrated the Idiot Giant’s skin, flesh, muscle layer, and stomach lining.

From my first Consultation, I had known that the Bullets were in Mr. Manson’s Belly, Spleen, Liver, or some other Vital Organ, and that his Survival Depended upon Exploratory and then Removal Surgery.

I Lied.

If there is a Hell — in which I no longer Believe, since this Earth and some of the People in it are Hell enough for any Universe — I would be and should be Cast Down to the Worst Bolgia of the Lowest Circle.

I Don’t Care.

I should say here — my Chest is now Cold and my Figners… fInGErS are also growing Cold.

When the Storm STRk about one Monf ago, I thank’d Gd.

It seemd at the Tim that we wer Actully going to Gt to Terrorr Camp. It Seemed that Mr. Hickey had won.We were — I believ — less than Twenty MIls frm thatt Camp and Pogrssing 3 or 4 miiles a Day in narPerfect wether

when the Fist of The Enlesss Storms Hit.

If there is a Godd… I… thank you, Deaare God.

Snowe. DAarknss. Terrrible winds Day and Nigt.

Even the Men who could Wlk cld not Pulll. The Harneesess were Abandoned. The Tents blew dwno, then bleww away. The tempretre Droppped 50 degres.

Winter hd Strukc like Gd’s Hammmer, and Mr. Hickey cuoold do Nothing but set Tarps aside his Thronepinacce and Shoot Half the Men to Feed the Other Half.

Some Men ran away into the Bolizzardds and Died.

Some Men stayed and were Shot.

Sme M Froze to Deth.

Sm Men Ate theother mn and Died Anwwyay.

Mr. Hickey and Mr. Masnsonn sit up There in Ther Boat in the Wind. I thinge, but donnot Know, that Mrr. Mansin is No Lngr Livvng.

OI killed him.

I kelled the Men I lff behing at Rescue Camp.

I am so Sorry.

I am so Sorry.

All my lfe, my Brother knows I wish my brther werehere now, Thmoshe knws, al my lifI hve lved Plato and the Dialogues of Sokrates.

Like the grete Sokates, but not rf not grete I, the Poisoin, mcuh Deservd, movs up throu my Torso and Deadeens my Limbs and Turns my Fingrs — Surgeons fingers — to Unfeellling Sticks and

So glad

Wrote the note nw pined to my Cheset befre this

TheMen at Re cm

Thomnas, if they Find this Upon my and Ret

I am So Sorry.

I did My Best But never is en

Mr.Msnsns Wonds I AM NOT S

Gd wac ov Th MEn