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[The Personal Diary of Dr. Clawbonny] May 16th 1860

From: Harry Hayfield <harryhayfield~at~googlemail.com>
Date: Mon, 28 Mar 2011 13:59:02 -0700 (PDT)
To: jvf~at~gilead.org.il

Today we saw two mirages of which one was real and the other was not.
This far north (we passed the 74th parallel about a week ago) due to the
lowness of the sun at certain times of the day and the fact that ice and
snow increase the natural sunlight at least fourteen times things can
take on a very strange occurrence. Take for example KZ's dog. Now if you
look at him in normal light you can say "Ah, that's a dog". Apply that
same dog to the environment and he becomes everything from a bear, the
Gevaudan beast and even a lion of the Apocalypse. I have to admit that I
did let myself get rather caught up in the excitement and believed to
see a antediluvian quadruped and so it was perhaps no surprise to hear
that both myself and Commander Shandon fired at the same time, but as
soon as we had I realised that it was a mirage and was a mirage of KZ's
dog!
However, later on in the day, when the Forward was trapped by the ice
(which to be honest I had expected sooner rather than later) we saw
something that to be honest had to be seen to be believed. When the
reports came back about how trapped we were, I will admit that perhaps
we could have reacted a little better. Shandon felt himself overcome, I
walked about in agitation and Johnson stoically folded his arms and said
nothing. Just then however, we received a command.
"Every man to his post and tack about!"
Johnson started, and, hardly knowing what he did, turned the wheel
rapidly. He was just in time, for the brig, launched at full speed, was
about to crush herself against her prison walls. But while Johnson was
instinctively obeying, Shandon, myself, the crew, and all down to the
stoker Warren, who had abandoned his fires, even black Strong, who had
left his cooking, were all mustered on deck, and saw emerge from that
cabin the only man who was in possession of the key and you'll never
guess who it was. Garry. Yes, that's right the sailor who joined us at
Liverpool. As you can imagine, Shandon was most incensed. "Garry — you —
by what right do you command here?". Garry answered this question by
whistling and KZ's dog came charging along and lay down at his feet. It
then suddenly dawned on me that we had all been tricked.
"Officers and sailors, like you, I am English, and my motto is that of
Nelson, 'England expects that every man will do his duty.' As an
Englishman I am resolved, we are resolved, that no bolder men shall go
further than we have been. As an Englishman I will not allow, we will
not allow, other people to have the glory of pushing further north
themselves. If ever human foot can step upon the land of the North Pole,
it shall be the foot of an Englishman. Here is our country's flag. I
have equipped this vessel, and consecrated my fortune to this
enterprise, and, if necessary, I shall consecrate to it my life and
yours; for I am determined that these colours shall float on the North
Pole. Take courage. From this day, for every degree we can gain
northwards the sum of a thousand pounds will be awarded to you. There
are ninety, for we are now in the seventy-second. Count them. Besides,
my name is enough. It means energy and patriotism. I am Captain
Hatteras!"
As soon as he said his real name everything made sense. The messages
from the middle of nowhere (he was on board the whole time and able to
deliver whenever he liked), the dog arriving before he did (so that he
could settle him in). I am now back in my cabin and have found the
following about our true Captain.
John Hatteras was the only son of a London brewer, who died in 1852
worth six millions of money. Still young, he embraced the maritime
career in spite of the splendid fortune awaiting him. Not that he felt
any vocation for commerce, but the instinct of geographical discoveries
was dear to him. He had always dreamt of placing his foot where no
mortal foot had yet soiled the ground. At the age of twenty he was
already in possession of the vigorous constitution of a thin and
sanguine man; an energetic face, with lines geometrically traced; a high
and perpendicular forehead; cold but handsome eyes; thin lips, which set
off a mouth from which words rarely issued; a middle stature;
solidly-jointed limbs, put in motion by iron muscles; the whole forming
a man endowed with a temperament fit for anything. When you saw him you
felt he was daring; when you heard him you knew he was coldly
determined; his was a character that never drew back, ready to stake the
lives of others as well as his own. It was well to think twice before
following him in his expeditions. John Hatteras was proud of being an
Englishman.
You know, I think I'm going to like our Captain!

--
Posted By Harry Hayfield to The Personal Diary of Dr. Clawbonny on
3/28/2011 09:33:00 PM

Received on Mon 28 Mar 2011 - 22:59:10 IST

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