The Midnight Circus, стр. 19

However,Amundsen’s note drained the spirits from the men. Even seaman Evans,from whose simple good humor I had drawn such strength along the way,seemed drastically affected.

Themen scarcely spoke to one another and took no joy inthe fact that they had made it that far, an accomplishment in itself.

Ifeared the mental oppression that was settling upon them might wellspell their doom. The way back was to be made even more difficult withno sense of honor and reward at the end of the journey. Only the utmostdetermination can overcome the pitiless savagery of the Antarcticwastes, and the crew had lost that determination by coming in farsecond to the Pole.

Iknew then that I would have to revise my plans. I could not—as I had sohoped—simply disappear into the vastness, sinking beneath the next fallof enveloping snow, my body frozen by the plunging temperatures of theAntarctic winter. I had to do all I could to lead these brave men tosafety. Only then would I be free to make my way alone back into theicy embrace of the Antarctic. If I could turn them over to your goodhands, Atkinson, I knew my work would be well done. Well done indeed.

Butas you are reading this, you know all too well that the return journeyproved even more of a trial than I had feared. The weather rapidly grewworse and we found our way blocked by yawning fissures and huge drifts.

Tragicallyit was Evans, that cheerful workhorse of our party, who was the firstto succumb. The physical ravages of frostbite that assailed him wereonly the beginning. It soon became clear to us all that his mind hadbecome affected. His fearful babblings did little good for the moraleof the others. As we made our laborious wayacross the glacier on dwindling supplies, Evan’s lucid periods becamefewer and fewer, until he was at last incapable of proceeding.

Tohaul him on one of the sledges would slow us to such an extent that theparty’s fate would inevitably be sealed. I knew that it was up to me toend his suffering and give the others a fighting chance for survival.

Sothat night, while the party slept, their snores punctuating thesentence I had passed on young Evans, I crept over to him and lay downby his side. I put my gloved hands on either side of his face andgently turned it from me for I could not bear to watch him while Idrank. He sighed once, like a child, as my teeth razored his neck buthe did not otherwise wake. Silently I drank my fill.

Asfar as the others were aware, Evans had simply passed away from theeffects of frostbite and the injuries he had sustained on the journey.But I could see in their faces that they could not help but be relievedthat they were no longer faced with the awful choice of leaving himbehind or dooming themselves by dragging him along. You must believeme, Atkinson, I did it for them, not for myself. The thirst was neverthe reason for his death, though I gained much strength thereby.

Wewere now four weeks out from the Pole and our progress had beendepressingly slow. We pushed on and on against driving snow, our gearsteadily more icy and difficult to manage. One by one we all becamevictims of the cruel cold and subject to bouts of snow-blindness.

WhileWilson and Bowers did all they could to keep up the spirits of theparty, Oates subsided into gloomy silence. His feet were swollen withfrostbite and his old war wounds flared up under the hardship. Such washis agony that he was too enfeebled to help with pulling the sledges;it was all he could do to keep himself moving. In the tent he satsullenly and stared at me. It was clear to him—as it was to the rest ofus—that he was not going to make it much farther.

Hedrew me outside on the pretext of examining a damaged runner on one ofthe sledges, but we had no sooner shut the flap behind us than he tookhold of my arm and yanked me well out of the hearing of Wilson andBowers, who were still inside the shelter.

“Iknow what you think,” he said in a voice that was as cold and thin asthe wind whipping around us. “You think I’m done for and that I’m goingto drag the rest of you down with me.”

Itried to give him some reassurance, but he paid no heed to my words.His eyes burned with a feverish emotion and his voice rose in pitch.

“Isaw what you did to Evans,” he said. “I was not sleeping as yousupposed. If not for the fact that the others have enough to contendwith already, I would expose you for the foul creature you are.”

Iwas so staggered both by this unexpected revelation and by thevehemence of his words that I was still gaping when he flung himselfupon me and began to rain blows upon my head. For a man who had hadtrouble moving before, he was remarkably able.

“Iwill not go down so meekly!” he cried, and as he continuedhis assault, he hurled all manner of abuse at me, which it would befruitless and distasteful to repeat.

Ihad no option but to defend myself, striking back at him with all mymight. The unthinking rage that had possessed me upon previousoccasions rose up now, and I beat him viciously, pounding at him untilthere was no further resistance. By the time the red haze had fadedfrom my eyes and I could think clearly again, he was dead.

I waspanting from the exertion as I realized that I could not tell Wilsonand Bowers the truth. Their morale was already at a low ebb. They wouldneed every ounce of courage they could muster if I were to lead themback to safety.

Idragged Oates’s body away, without even taking time to drink his blood,and buried him beneath the snow. Then, with my coat, I painstakinglybrushed aside all signs of our struggle.

WhenI returned to the tent I told them that Oates—painfully aware of hiscondition and the fact that he was