Albedo of Ocean
Stories similar to this that you might like too.
It is not that the sun shines more brightly than at any other time of the year, but only that it shows itself with such intensity.
The air is clear and cold, but the wind has died away to nothing; and on every side, one sees a vast expanse of water that seems almost transparent in this light; the sea-gulls are silent as they hover against this background, while the waves reflect all the sunlight like a mirror, and the ship’s sails appear as if painted on her sides.
A single cloud rises above the horizon from time to time, but even when it disappears again behind us, we cannot be certain that its place is not filled by another before our eyes. It is impossible to imagine a more beautiful sight, and yet it was a sight that I had never before experienced, and which now seemed strange after so long an absence from home.
As I said in my journal yesterday, there is no need for me to go back to London: it would be better if I stayed on board here, and went nowhere else. And why did we come out at all? For what purpose have we sailed so far into a wilderness without any port where ships can find shelter?
Is it to see the Aurora Borealis, or to take a look at the Southern Lights? If so, we are doing quite enough already, for I could easily spend months looking out over this endless ocean, and still not get bored of it.
But no matter how I try to persuade myself that I am satisfied with our journey thus far, my mind keeps returning to the same thought; I have been away from England too long. My life in Paris is pleasant enough, but it will always seem like something unreal to me now; a kind of dream that one day I must wake up from.
I am sure that if I were to return home at once I should never regret leaving France; and I do not say this because I fear that someone might be angry with me, on the contrary, I want nothing better than to go back to those who love me, but I think it is important for me to know what has happened whilst I have been away.
Perhaps nothing of any importance has taken place, but perhaps a great deal: my mother may have changed her mind about marrying Lord George, or something even more serious and unexpected might have occurred in my family’s affairs. No: I shall go home. I shall go home to London.
We have passed Iceland and seen the Northern Lights dancing overhead, but we could not make out their colors properly as there was no moon. They appeared to be moving rapidly across the sky, and they looked exactly as I had imagined them: they gave off a sort of red glow that spread slowly over the water until it reached our ship.
But although we saw these wonderful phenomena, I felt sad because our voyage was drawing to an end so soon: the days are getting shorter by the moment; it is not possible to tell whether the sun is rising higher or setting lower in the heavens, and already our food stores are becoming scarce.
The wind blew very hard last night, and it was so cold that even the sailors found themselves shivering, and when one of them came on deck he was obliged to keep rubbing his hands together to warm them. There was ice all along the rigging, and a few flakes fell to the deck.
It was a dreadful thing, for if they got wet the salt water froze instantly; the sailors’ feet turned blue in front of our eyes, and the decks were slippery with their blood. In fact, it was impossible to walk without treading on someone else’s foot, and if one of us had lost his footing then we could not have helped him, for we had no way of reaching out to each other.
The men tried to throw buckets of seawater over everyone to wash off the salt, but even though they threw hundreds of them overboard we could hardly make any headway.
I suppose some of you will think it is cruel to talk in this manner, for after all, I ought to be thankful for everything that has happened on this voyage, but I cannot help myself—it has become an obsession with me.
And besides, if one of you should happen to come to grief at this moment then there is no one to whom I can turn and cry “Help!” I am alone: it is just as if the world is divided into two parts, and I am in between.
It began snowing today, and it has continued steadily all through the afternoon. The captain announced that we would not be sailing again until tomorrow. He told us all to make ourselves comfortable and not worry about the weather; he wanted the whole crew to be happy, he said, and he hoped we would enjoy being able to spend such a lovely day in such a delightful place.
We all cheered him on, but it was very hard to feel anything but despair, and even if my heart wasn’t heavy I would have laughed scornfully at his words. This is not a holiday, it is death—and the sooner I go home to England the better.
The wind grew stronger last night. It tore at our sails and made the rigging creak ominously. We had all gone below, and when Captain Cook returned from the steering oar he told us that he had called on every sailor on deck.
He asked them whether they thought it safe to proceed against the prevailing winds and seas, and each man replied that he believed so. Some of them were obviously lying, and I knew that the captain was aware of this, but what choice did he have?
If he turned back now then it was certain that we would be frozen to death before we reached Greenland, and so he ordered the anchor to be weighed.
It was only then that I heard the sound which I feared most; I listened carefully and realized with horror that it was the noise of our own ship beginning to break up in the water. Our timbers were cracking with the strain of holding us steady, and the sea seemed determined to tear us apart piecemeal, and so I could see no reason for continuing to hope that we would reach our destination.
All those who wished to stay aboard could do so, for the ship would not sink until we ran aground somewhere in the Arctic Ocean. The rest of us were to go ashore: the men and their provisions were being left behind in the hope that they might still be found if we survived.
It took hours to find somewhere where we could land, for we were far too large to fit in among the rocks of the islands. When we finally arrived at this sheltered cove the captain stood before us and explained that our mission was now ended; we were not going to continue northwards, as we had planned, for if we did then our ship would surely be destroyed.
The men looked angry, and many shouted angrily at the captain, but he ignored them, saying only that we must put the future aside until we were rescued. “If God wills it,” he said quietly, “we shall live to see Greenland again.”
He then went over to the ship’s logbook and wrote one final entry: “Here we part company with His Majesty’s ships Adventure and Resolution,” he said.
“I’m sorry for you,” said the captain when he had finished writing. “You will have to return to England on your own, for we are leaving our ship here.”
The men were silent. One or two of them had already been talking amongst themselves, and I saw them exchange knowing glances. They knew that if we did not continue on our voyage then they would be condemned by the admiralty court; they would never sail again as long as they lived.
But they could not say anything, for there was nothing either they or the captain could do to prevent this disaster. There was no need to tell the men what the fate awaiting them would be; they all knew it as well as I did, and so they remained silent, waiting for the captain’s orders.
He nodded slowly and turned his head towards the shore, looking out at the endless whiteness beyond.
“You will leave us tonight,” he said finally, “and I hope you will remember what I said about the weather. It is very cold here. The temperature drops rapidly after sundown, and the further north you travel the more intense the polar night becomes.
The days are short, and the nights are long; I think you would rather not be caught out in this kind of weather without any clothing at all. You may take your personal possessions with you, but please leave the ship and its contents here. Take only what you can carry.”
There were no cheers this time. The men simply looked away, embarrassed to be the focus of the captain’s attention. I knew how they felt, though, because I had once been in their position.
“We cannot give you a proper farewell,” said the captain. “I am sorry about that, and wish I could do more for you, but this is my duty. I pray that God will guide you in the coming days. Farewell!”
He strode down the gangway, accompanied by Lieutenant Davis and the midshipman, Mr. Wills. I followed them to the side of the ship, watching as the other officers climbed into the boats which were waiting to carry them ashore.
Then, as the boat containing Captain Cook slid into the sea and disappeared beneath the waves, I walked over to where the ship’s carpenter stood waiting patiently for us to disembark. He held onto the rails of the ship with both hands as the swell rolled over the decking and washed across him. When he noticed me standing beside him he smiled politely and offered his hand.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, sir,” he said cheerfully. “My name is Joseph Bancroft, but everybody calls me ‘Joe’.”
I shook his hand firmly. “Thank you,” I said. “I understand from Captain Cook that we are to set off inland?”
“That’s right,” he replied. “As soon as you’re ready, sir.”
I turned and looked back at the ship. She was already beginning to break up. It seemed incredible that she should still be afloat while the rest of us were forced to leave her; she was clearly far too big and heavy to make it through these waters.
And yet even though I knew how unlikely it was that we would ever see her again, I could not help feeling sorrowful as I gazed at our home for almost four years. For me, this ship had become like a wife, a mother, and a sister. Although I knew we had to leave her behind, I could not bear to watch the ship sink under the waves.
My heart ached with regret, and I wanted desperately to remain onboard forever, clinging to life in the same way that I clung to the rails of the ship as it rolled helplessly over the white water. It was as if the ship and I were one being, bound together, and I could not separate myself from either of us.
We were a team, and I wanted desperately to remain with her until the bitter end. But I knew this was impossible, and so I turned away from the ship and began climbing down the gangway.
When I reached the bottom of the steps I turned left and headed toward the shore. To my surprise, I found that Joe was still there. He was carrying a large wooden case filled with spare tools and equipment for us to use as we trekked inland. As I watched him, he opened the lid and took something out.
“Here,” he said. “This is yours. If you want to keep it as a memento of your travels then I think that would be nice.”
With trembling fingers, I lifted the object out of his hand. It was a small box made of wood and covered with intricate designs of carved flowers. On top of the lid was an engraving, showing what appeared to be the ship itself: the bow, stern, and stem, all carved with precision. There were other inscriptions underneath:
“To Mr. William Bligh
A gift from His Excellency John Hunter
The Captain
From The People Of New South Wales
With warmest wishes & good luck
For Your Most Excellent Majesty King George III
Of Great Britain & Ireland
& All Our Allies
In The Many Wars
Of Which We Are So Bravely
Fighting On Our Side”
I stared at the words for several minutes, wondering if anyone would ever read them.
Would anyone ever find the box? Perhaps it would wash up on some distant beach somewhere and someone might pick it up – a child perhaps, or an old sailor who had been a young boy when the ship sank, and whose mind had remained fixed on the tragedy of that day all these long years afterward. Would the box still exist after so many years? Or would the wood rot away and the letters disappear like sand through a clenched fist?
The thought made me shiver. I did not know how I could return to England now. Not only would I have to tell my father and brothers that I had failed, but also I was afraid that people in London would regard me as a failure.
It was true that my career had suffered, but it was equally true that I had lost a great deal more than merely my position as a commander – I had lost a ship too. In a strange way, I felt as if my ship were my wife; in that sense, my loss was much greater than the loss of my own life.
But I would not lose her completely. No matter what happened in the future, I would never forget about my ship or those who died on board her. For as long as I lived she would always remain close to my heart.
The End