Chapter 16 Chapter Sixteen Crozier

Seventy degrees five minutes north latitude, ninety-eight degrees twenty-three minutes west longitude November 10, 1847 Five bells rang, and at half past two in the morning, Captain Crozier, who had returned from the Nether, had checked the bodies of William Strong and Thomas Evans.The thing on the ice held them against the railing of the quarterdeck area aft and watched as they were carried into storage in the dead man's room below the cabin.Now Crozier sat in his cabin, lost in thought, looking at a bottle of new whiskey and a pistol on the table. Nearly half of Crozier's cabin was taken up by a berth built into the starboard hull.The sleeper looked like a child's bed, with raised, patterned sides, built-in cupboards underneath, and a bumpy horsehair mattress that sat almost as high as his chest.Crozier had never slept well in a real bed, and he often wished he could return to the rocking hammock he had slept in during his years as a junior officer, warrant officer, and ship's cadet.The berths fastened to the hull were arguably the coldest sleeping place on the ship, colder than the berths of the Master Chiefs because their cabins were in the middle of the stern area of ​​the main cabin.His berth was colder than the hammocks of the lucky crew in the bow.The hammock hung over the crew's mess, next to the glowing Fizzle patent stove where Mr Diggle cooked for twenty hours a day.

There were books on several shelves built into the raised and tumbled hull.As far as Crozier's couch is concerned, these books have played a more or less cold effect, although the effect is not great.Below the ceiling were more books tucked into bookshelves about five feet long and almost the width of the cabin that hung from the curved wooden beams, and three feet or so below were the flip-out desks between the berth and the walkway.The black round hole of Preston's patented skylight was directly above the cabin, and the convex opaque glass was stuffed in the deck covered with three feet of snow and canvas, which could not bring a ray of light into the cabin.Cold air kept streaming in through the skylight, like the icy exhalation of a long-dead creature struggling to breathe.

Opposite Crozier's desk was the narrow shelf holding the washbasin, which had no water because it would freeze, and Crozier's valet, Joe Parson, fetched him hot water from the stove every morning.Between the desk and the washbasin, there was only a little space left in the cabin for Crozier to stand up, or, as he was doing, to sit in front of the desk on a stool without a back that could be stowed under the washbasin when not in use. He continued to look at his pistol and whiskey. The captain of the HMS Terror often felt he knew nothing of the future, except that his ship and the Erebus would never again sail by sail or steam.But he reminded himself of one thing for sure: when he ran out of whiskey, Francis Roden Moiro Crozier would shoot himself in the head off.

The storerooms of the late Captain Sir John Franklin were filled with valuable china (all bearing Sir John's initials and family arms, of course) and finely cut crystal vessels, forty-eight ox tongues, also engraved with his arms Beautiful silver, barrels of smoked Westphalian ham, towers of heavy Gloucestershire cheese, bags of tea specially imported from the farm of relatives who lived in Darjeeling, and bottles of his favorite raspberry jam. Crozier also brought some special food for occasional banquets with officers, but most of his money and the captain's locker were dedicated to the three hundred and twenty-four bottles of whiskey.Not a premium Scotch, but good enough for him.Crozier knew that he had long been an alcoholic who valued weight over quality.Sometimes, like when summer is particularly busy, a bottle of wine can last him two weeks or more.Other times, like this past week, he could drink an entire bottle in one night.He hasn't counted empty bottles since crossing the 200-bottle threshold last summer, but he knows his whiskey stock is running low.After he drank the last drop of the last bottle and the waiter told him that there was no more wine (Crowtz knew it would be night), he planned to cock the iron of the pistol, bring the muzzle to the temple, and buckle. Pull the trigger.

He knew, a practical captain would remind himself, that there was a good deal of spirits in the spirits room, four thousand and five hundred gallons of concentrated West Indian rum, each bottle marked at 100 Between thirty and one hundred and forty.These rums are distributed to the crew in units of "ears" (Note: Gill, one ear is equal to a quarter of a pint.) per day, and the remaining diluted and undiluted rum on board Rum, enough to swim in.A drunken captain who was less critical and used to booze might have the ship's rum as his back-up, but Francis Crozier didn't like rum.Whiskey was his drink, without which he was pretty much finished.

Seeing young Tommy Evans with his body amputated at the waist, his legs in trousers look like a funny Y, and his boots are tightly tied by shoelaces.It brought Crozier back to the day he had been called to see the dilapidated bear-hunting shelter a quarter mile from the Erebus.He knew that in less than twenty-four hours it would be five months since the disaster of June eleventh.At first, Crozier and a few officers who ran to check couldn't figure out what happened to the shelter.The structure of the hideaway was torn to shreds, the iron rods used for the frame were bent and smashed, the benches were smashed to pieces, and among the debris lay the headless body of Sergeant Brian, the explorer. The highest ranking Marine Corps sergeant.His head—which was not found when Crozier arrived—was knocked off and rolled thirty yards across the ice before it came to rest next to the flayed body of the cub.

Lieutenant Visconti broke an arm, but not by the Ice Bear monster, but by himself falling on the ice. Private William Pikindon's left shoulder was broken by the Marine next door to him, Private Robert Harley. Puqui shot.With eight broken ribs, a shattered collarbone and a dislocated left arm, Happui later said he was struck obliquely and violently by the monster's claws.Both Ciri and Zed survived without serious injuries, but both were ashamed of running in panic, stumbling, screaming, and crawling on the ice sheet.Ride also lost three fingers when he fled. But it was Sir John Franklin's legs and feet, still in trousers and boots, that caught Francis Croze's attention.It was intact below the knees, but the two feet were separated, one was still in the hiding shed, and the other fell near the entrance of the burial pit.

What evil intelligence, he thought, drinking his whiskey, would amputate a man's foot at the knee, and take his prey alive into a hole in the ice, and throw him in, and wait a while. We'll deal with that later.Crozier tried not to think about what happened below the ice next, but some nights, after drinking a few drinks and trying to get himself to sleep, he could tell something terrible was going on there.He was also pretty sure that Lieutenant Graham Gore's funeral at this time last week was actually a special meal being prepared for the bear that had been waiting and peeping under the ice.

Crozier wasn't too upset by Lieutenant Graham Gower's death.Guoer is the kind of well-educated, well-educated, Anglican-born, private school-educated officer who was a war hero in the Royal Navy. He is born with leadership skills, gets along well with his superiors and subordinates, and is humble in everything. The classy Brit who was born to do great things and was good even to the Irish.For over forty years, Francis has seen too many fucking high-class idiots promoted above him. He took another sip of his drink. What kind of evil intelligence does that thing have, that it can kill its prey and not eat it in the winter when there are almost no prey, but instead send the upper body of First Class William Strong and the lower body of young Tom Evans? return?Evans was one of the "boys on board" who beat the drums in Goer's funeral team five months ago.What kind of creature would snatch the young man away from Crozier in the dark, leave the captain standing three yards away...and return half the body?

The crew knew the answer.Crozier also knew the crew had the answers.They knew it was some devil on the ice, not some really huge polar bear. Captain Francis Crozier did not disagree with the crew's view, although he had dismissed it as nonsense when he had a brandy drink with Lieutenant Colonel Fitzjian earlier in the evening.However, he also knew something the crew didn't know: the demons who wanted to kill them in this demon kingdom were not just the white furry monsters who wanted to kill and eat them one by one, but everything here: forever The non-stop cold, the constantly squeezing ice, the lightning blizzard, the strange phenomenon that seals, whales, birds, walruses and land animals are all extinct, the ice piles that are constantly approaching them, and the heroic progress on the frozen white sea. Icebergs (with less than a ship's length of unfrozen water behind them), ice ridges bursting like white earthquakes, dancing stars, canned food sloppily packaged and turned poisonous, summer lingering, Waterways that never thaw.everything.The monster on the ice was just an aspect of a demon that wanted to kill them all, and the demon wanted every one of them to be tortured.

Crozier took another sip of his drink. He knew the polar mentality better than he knew himself.He felt that the ancient Greeks were right.There are, they say, five climatic zones on the earth's disk, four of which are identical, opposite, and symmetrical (as are many Greek things), winding the world like girdles on the body of a serpent.The two are temperate zones, suitable for human habitation; the middle zone, the equatorial zone, is not suitable for any intelligent creatures.However, the Greeks misunderstood that no one could live there. Crozis believes that there are only uncivilized people. He has been to Africa and other equatorial regions and is sure that there will be nothing of value in those places. ; and as for the two polar regions, long before the explorers reached the wilds of the Arctic and Antarctic, the Greeks reasoned that they were in no way fit for man to travel through, let alone inhabit. It's been a while. Why then, thought Croze, a country like England, blessed by God, and placed by the Lord in the mildest, greenest, and most habitable zone of the two temperate zones, keeps throwing ships and men north and south On polar ice?Not even a savage in a shaggy coat would want to go to those places. Going back to the question just now, why does Francis Crozier return to these two dreadful places again and again to serve countries and officials who have never been sure of his ability and value?And he also knew that one day he would die in the cold and darkness of the polar regions. The captain remembered that he was a boy, and before he sailed at sea at the age of thirteen, he had kept his deep melancholy like a cold secret in his heart.Standing on the hill outside the village that winter night, he watched with pleasure as the lights faded and the melancholic nature slowly revealed itself.He would find a small place to hide, and claustrophobia was never a problem for Francis Crozier.Although he has a deep fear of the dark, and regards the darkness as the god of death who secretly took the lives of his mother and grandmother, but when other boys are playing in the sun, he stubbornly hides alone in the cellar looking for the god of death.Crozier still remembered that the cellar was as cold as a tomb, with a cold and musty smell, and the darkness and the force that was constantly pressing inward left him with only dark thoughts. He filled the shot glass with wine and took another sip.The whine of the ice suddenly increased and the boat responded with a whimper as it tried to be in the frozen sea ### but with nowhere to go, it squeezed itself tighter and groaned.The metal frame of the bilge was compressed, and the sudden crack sounded like a pistol shot.The crew in the bow area chatted with the officers in the stern area. They had long been accustomed to the strange noises made by the ice trying to crush them at night.The officers on duty on the deck at night at minus seventy degrees have been stomping their feet to keep their blood flowing.Four loud stomps sounded to the captain like weary parents telling the ship to stop protesting. Crozier could hardly believe that Sophie Creek had been on this ship, and stood in this cabin, saying how neat, tidy, and comfortable it was; the rows of books showed how learned the owner of the cabin was, The natural light from the southern hemisphere pouring in through the skylight is so pleasant. That was already seven years ago. In the spring of the southern hemisphere in November 1840, it was almost this week. At that time, Crozier also visited the southern part of Australia on the way to the Antarctic on the way to the Antarctic. of Van Diemen Island.The commander-in-chief of that expedition was Crozier's friend, Captain James Ross, who had a higher social status than him.They stopped temporarily in Hobart City to load the last supplies on board before heading to Antarctic waters.Sir John Franklin, Governor of the Isle of Exile, insisted that the two young officers—Captain Ross and Lieutenant Colonel Crozier—reside at the Governor's House during their visit. It was a wonderful time, and for Croziers there was a fatal love spell. On the second day of their visit there, Franklin came to visit the two ships of the expedition.The ship was fairly clean and refurbished, and its provisions were almost complete, and the young crew hadn't grown beards or worn down by the next two Antarctic winters.When Captain Ross received Governor Sir John and Mrs. Jane Franklin on board as his host, Crozier found that he had become the guardian of the Governor's niece, a young Sophie Crickle with dark brown hair and bright eyes. .He fell in love that day, and carried it into the next two Antarctic winters with a love that blossomed into an obsessive love that haunted him. During the long dinners at the Governor's Mansion, which were fanned by servants, there was plenty of talk.Governor Franklin, in his mid-fifties, looked drained, discouraged by unrecognized accomplishments.In his third year in Van Diemen Land, the local media, landowners, bureaucrats and politicians turned against him, which made him even more depressed.But both he and his wife, Lady Jane, were reinvigorated by visits from the Royal Expedition's fellow countrymen (or, as Sir John liked to call them, his "fellow expeditions"). Sophie Creek showed no signs of being unhappy.She's bright, vivacious, vibrant, and sometimes surprising with her opinions or guts, even more so than her controversial aunt, Mrs. Jane.She was young and beautiful, and seemed interested in the opinions, life, and ideas of forty-four-year-old single lieutenant colonel Francis Crozier.In fact, Crozier is not used to socializing in this class, so he tried his best to behave in the most appropriate manner, and drank less alcohol than usual, and only drank wine.The jokes he hesitated to tell at first made her laugh out loud.Facing his probing quips, she would always respond with higher and higher levels of wit.For Crozier, it was like learning tennis against a much stronger opponent.By the eighth day, the last day of this long visit, Crozier already felt that he was as good as any true Englishman.He was a gentleman born in Ireland, yes, but he had come out of his own way, and had had an interesting and exciting life like no one's, and in Miss Creek's beautiful blue eyes he was better than most Came excellent. Crozier still referred to Sophie as "Miss Creek" when HMS Erebus and HMS Terror left Hobart's bay, but they didn't try to hide their secret bond: a secretive, friendlike relationship. Relative silence, shared jokes, and private relationships.Crozier knew that this was the first time in his life that he fell in love.In his original life, "romance" was equivalent to shipyard whores, private whores in back alleys, Aboriginal girls who did that for some cheap things and people, and a few times knocked up in London's high-end brothels. Second scam.But that's all in the past. Now Francis Crozier knows that the most glamorous and sexy outfit a woman can wear is many layers of conservative clothing, just like Sophie Krickle wore to dinner at the Governor's Mansion, there are enough Silky fibers hide the curves of the body, allowing men to focus on her delightful wit. Next up: Nearly two years of ice, glimpses of Antarctica, enduring the stench of penguin colonies, naming two smoking volcanoes in the distance after two weary ships, darkness, spring, fear of freezing at sea, all sail power Find and trudge through the sea now known as James Ross, and finally cross the rough South Sea Passage, back to the island with eighteen thousand prisoners and a very unhappy governor, into Hobart city.This time they did not arrange to visit the Erebus and the Terror.Both ships reeked of oil, cooking, sweat, and labor.The boys who took part in the Antarctic trip were almost all sunken-eyed, bearded men by this time, and they didn't want to take part in any more expeditions of the Royal Corps of Exploration.Everyone except the HMS Terror's captain wanted to get back to England as soon as possible. Franklyn Croze just wanted to see Sophie Creek again. He took another sip of whiskey.Faintly through the deck and the snow and ice he heard the ship's clock above him strike six. It was three o'clock in the morning. The crew were devastated when Sir John was killed five months ago.Mostly because with the passing of the potbellied and bald old man, the ten pounds he promised everyone and a stipend equal to the signing bonus didn't count.After Franklin's death, though, little changed on the ship.Lieutenant Colonel Fitzjian is now the captain of the Erebus in a veritable name.Lieutenant Visconti, grinning with shiny gold teeth and arms still in bandages, took over the leadership of the expedition from Graham Gore.No one seems to have a problem with this.Captain Crozier took over as the commander-in-chief of the expedition, but now that the expedition was stuck on the ice, he couldn't do anything different from Franklin. However, Crozier did one thing at the moment: moved more than five tons of materials across the ice sheet to King William Land, and placed it not far from the Ross Monument.They were pretty sure it was an island now, because Crozier had sent a sled team to scout the area.Crozier also personally participated in five or six advance reconnaissance missions, opening up better paths for subsequent people in the ice ridges and iceberg obstacles along the coast.They brought extra winter clothing, tents, lumber for cabins, casks for dry food, hundreds of cans, lightning rods (even the copper bedposts from Sir John's cabin) lightning rods), and the necessities the crew might need in case they were forced to abandon both ships the following winter. Four more people were killed by the creature on the ice before winter came again.Two of them had been snatched from the tent by the thing during a reconnaissance mission that Crozier was also on.However, they have stopped transporting missions since mid-August, mainly due to the return of terrifying lightning and dense fog.For more than three weeks, the two ships were shrouded in dense fog and suffered from lightning attacks. They could only carry out activities on the ice where they could return to the ship in a short time. The team went out for repairs.It was the beginning of September when the eerie fog and lightning finally subsided, and the severe cold and snow returned. Although the weather was getting bad, Crozier sent the grain storage sleigh team to King William Land.Crozier, however, had "temporarily" suspended his journey to store supplies since his assistant mate, Gals Macbin, and a sailor were killed a few yards ahead of the team's three sledges.Because the wind and snow were blowing heavily, no one saw how they died, but their screams before they died could be heard very clearly in the ears of other crew members and the leading officer, Second Lieutenant Hudgson.It has been two months since that suspension.After November 1st no sane crew ever volunteered for an eight- or ten-day sleigh trip into the dark. The captain knew that he would have to store at least ten tons of supplies ashore, and only five tons had been delivered so far.The problem was that camping on the low, wind-beaten sandbanks, full of gravel and snow, would leave them defenseless.That night, on King William Land, the thing directly tore apart one of the tents next to the ship's rectangular tent, and sailors George Kinnard and John Bates hadn't escaped in time.As long as they can hold on, the hulls of the two ships and the decks jutting out of the sea can be all kinds of walls, turning the ships into fortresses.In contrast, staying in a tent on the gravel ground, no matter how close they are to each other, must send at least twenty armed soldiers to guard day and night all around.Even so, the thing was able to hack in before the guards could react.Everyone who has ever traveled with a sled team to King William Land and camped on the ice there knows this.The nights also grew longer, and the fear of being unprotected in tents, like the fear of arctic cold, penetrated deeper and deeper into the crew. Crozier drank some more whiskey. In April 1843, early autumn in the southern hemisphere, while the days were still long and warm, Erebus and Terror returned to Van Diemen Land. Ross and Crozier were once again the guests at the governor's residence, but this time, both Governor Franklin and his wife were overshadowed.Crozier didn't want to pay special attention, and he was already very happy to be close to Sophie Creek again.However, during the exploration of the Nether and the Terror on the southern ice, Hobart's atmosphere, events, conspiracies, betrayals, revelations, and crises have also affected Sophie, who has always been unrestrained.In the first two days of living in the Governor's Mansion, he heard a bunch of news and was able to piece together the reasons for the Franklins' depression. It seems that the local forces - represented by the Colonial Secretary Captain John Montague, who was good at slandering people and betraying people behind his back - decided early on that Sir John was not good at doing things, and also looked down on his frankness. , Mrs. Jane, an unconventional wife.The only thing Crozier heard from Sir John was (in fact, when the three gentlemen drank brandy and smoked cigars in the mansion's well-stocked study, and a despondent Sir John could not help complaining to Captain Ross, Crozier Happened to hear.), the locals "lack of neighbourliness and, regrettably, a great lack of communal spirit". From Sophie, Crozier knew that Sir John had changed (at least in the eyes of the public) from "a man who eats his own shoes" to (to use his own adjectives) "a man who would not hurt a fly", and was very happy. Soon it became (as the popular adjective in Tasmania) "a man in a girl's petticoat".Sophie assured him that the reason for this last slander was partly because Sir John and his wife had always wanted to improve the living conditions of the local aborigines and prisoners working in inhumane conditions on the island, and partly because of the colonial People don't like Mrs. Jane. "You know, the previous governors would just rent out the prisoners to the local ranchers or the big business tycoons in the city, let them run crazy schemes, take commissions, and keep their mouths shut." The two of them As Sophie Krickle explained while walking in the shade of the Governor's Courtyard. "Uncle John doesn't play that game with them." "Crazy plan?" Crozier asked.He noticed that Sophie's hand was on his arm as they walked alone in the warm, dark evening, talking softly. "If the farmer wishes to open a new road on his land," said Sophie, "the Governor should lend him six hundred starving prisoners, or a thousand. These men will work from dawn to Sunset, with chains on their feet, handcuffs on their hands, enduring the tropical heat, without water or food. And, if they fell or faltered, they were whipped." "My God," Crozier said. Sophie nodded, her eyes still fixed on the white stone road in the courtyard. "Although no gold was found on the island, the Colonial Secretary Montagu told the prisoners to dig a pit, and the prisoners were sent to dig. They dug four hundred feet deep before the plan was scrapped because the water table was so shallow that the pit Water was constantly coming out of it, and it is said that two or three prisoners died for every foot dug in that hideous pit." Crozier swallowed the words before saying oh my god again, but that was all he had on his mind. "A year after you left," continued Sophie, "that weasel at Montague, that viper, concocted charges of dereliction of duty and persuaded Uncle John to fire some local doctor who got on well with the gentry here. John Uncle and Aunt Jane became the target of public criticism for this, although in fact Aunt Jane did not approve of the doctor's dismissal. You know, how much Uncle John hates gossip, let alone causing any pain, which is why he used to say that he Not even a fly will hurt..." "Yes," Crozier said, "I once watched him carefully remove a fly from the dining room and then release it." "Uncle John, on Aunt Jane's advice, reinstated the doctor, making him Montagu's lifelong enemy. Private quarrels and accusations began to surface, and basically Montague began calling Uncle John For liars and cowards." "My God," Crozier said.What he was actually thinking was: If I were in the situation in Franklin, I would have called this fucking Montagu out to a duel, first put a bullet in each of his two balls, and then shot the last A bullet went into his head. "I want John to fire this guy." "Oh, that's exactly what he did," said Sophie, with a wry smile, "but that only made things worse. Montague sailed back to England last year, and Uncle John's letter announcing his dismissal arrived in the same boat. Sad. The strange thing is that Montague happens to be a good friend of Sir Stanley, Secretary of the Colonial Office." Wow, the governor is really screwed!Crozier thought.They had reached the stone bench at the far end of the courtyard. "How unfortunate!" he said. "Things were worse than Uncle John and Aunt Jane imagined," said Sophie. "There was a long article in the Cornwall Chronicle titled 'The Idiot Reign of Polar Heroes.' The Colonial Times even Blame it on Aunt Jane." "Why are you blaming her?" Sophie sneered. "Aunt Jane is very similar to me, unconventional. Have you seen her room in the Governor's Mansion? Last time you came, did Uncle John show you and Captain Ross?" "Oh, yes," Crozier said, "her collection is really good." Mrs. Jane's living room, which is the part they were allowed to visit, was filled with animal skeletons, meteorites, fossils, Aboriginal fighting clubs, primitive drums, carved wooden battle masks, ten-foot oars that seemed to propel the HMS Terror at fifteen knots, numerous stuffed birds, and at least one stuffed monkey Reach professional level.Crozier had never seen a collection like this in a museum or a zoo, let alone in a woman's bedroom.Of course, Francis Crozier had little chance of seeing other women's bedrooms. "Someone who has visited her bedroom wrote to a newspaper in Hobart, and I'll read it to you, Francis, 'Our Lady of the Governor's private rooms in the Governor's Mansion look more like a museum Or a zoo, not like a lady's living room.'” Crozier gurgled.He thought the same thing, feeling a little guilty.He said, "So, is this Montague still playing tricks?" "And worse! Sir Stanley, the viper behind the viper backed Montague, rehabilitated the wretch to the same rank as Uncle John had dismissed him, and sent Uncle John an admonition Ling. Aunt Jane told me privately that the content of the document is so unbearable that it is almost like being whipped with a horsewhip.” Crozier took a sip of whiskey and decided to lead the next sleigh ride himself.When there is no hope of rescue and there is no way to distribute an extra rum to the crew, warm food is the best way to boost morale.So the next few sledding trips involved dismantling the cooking stoves on four whaling ships.If the two real ships were left at sea, the four whalers would become sturdy boats for sailing.The Fizzler's patent stove on the Terror and sister ship Erebus was too heavy to move ashore, and Mr. Digger was still roasting biscuits on it until a minute before Crozier gave the order to abandon ship. Everyone eats, so it's better to use the stove in the boat. The four stoves were all iron and as heavy as Satan's hooves, plus the sled had to carry more utensils, food, and clothing to the shore for storage.But the stove would be safe ashore and light quickly, though the coal itself would have to be dragged twenty-five miles across ridged, hellish sea ice.There were no trees for firewood on the King William Landmass, nor was there any land within a few hundred miles to the south of it.Crozier decided to send the stove next, and he would follow.They would pull the sled through absolute darkness and unbelievable cold, letting the demons go last. In April, 1843, Crozier and Sophie Crickle rode out of town together the next morning, to the Platypus Pond. Crozier had expected them to ride out of town in a four-wheeler, as they had done when they entered Hobart to lodge, but Sophie had two saddled horses and a stock mule with a picnic.She rides like a man.Crozier discovered that the dark dress she was wearing was actually a pair of cropped pants, and that the white canvas blouse she wore to match them was feminine and a bit rough.She wore a wide-brimmed hat to keep the sun off her skin.Her high boots, polished and supple, looked as if they would cost Francis Croziers a year's captain's salary. They rode north, away from the governor's mansion and the capital, along a narrow road through farms, past the prison for convicts, through a rainforest, and into higher open country. "I thought the platypus was only found in Australia," Crozier said.He couldn't find a comfortable riding position in the saddle.He never had much opportunity or reason to ride a horse.As the saddle jerked and bounced, his voice trembled, which was embarrassing to him.Sophie looked calm in the saddle, and her movements with the horse were completely one. "Oh, no, dear," said Sophie, "those queer little creatures only appear in certain parts of the northern continent. But on the Van Diemen landmass, they can be found everywhere. But they are very shy, It's no longer possible to see them in Hobart." Hearing the voice of "Honey", Crozier felt a warmth on his cheeks. "Are they dangerous?" he asked. Sophie smiled easily. "Males do have a bit of a danger during courtship season. They have a secret stinger on their hind legs that becomes more venomous during the breeding season." "Can it kill an adult?" Crozier had only seen this funny little creature in pictures, and he half-jokingly expressed concern about its danger. "Unless he's very petite," Sophie said. "However, people who have survived the duckbill stinger report that the pain is so bad that they would rather die." Crozier looks to the right at the young woman.Sometimes it was hard for him to tell when Sophie was joking and when she was serious.As it stood, he assumed she was telling the truth. "Is it breeding season?" he asked. She smiled again. "No, dear Francis, the breeding season is August to October, and we should be safe now, barring a demon." "Which demon?" "No, dear, a demon. You may have heard of the Tasmanian Devil." "I've heard of it," Crozier said. "It's said that they are terrifying creatures. Their upper and lower jaws can open as wide as the hatch of a ship's bilge. They are known for their viciousness and are insatiable predators. Could swallow a horse or a Tasmanian tiger whole." Sophie nodded, her expression serious. "It's all true. These demons are furry, have a large chest, have a good appetite, and are quite ferocious. If you've ever heard them—we shouldn't call that a bark, a roar, or a snarl ，听起来还比较像是精神病院失火时会听到的一团不知所云的胡言乱语与叫骂声――我跟你保证，即使是像阁下法兰西斯·克罗兹这么有勇气的探险者，也不敢再在夜里一个人走进这里的森林或原野。” “你听过它们的声音？”克罗兹问。他再次注视着她那张认真的脸，想知道她是不是在跟他说着玩。 “喔，有的。那声音无法形容，恐怖之极。那声音会让猎物僵住，让恶魔有充足时间张开它无比庞大的牙床，把受害者整个吃掉。这声音可怕的程度只有它猎物的尖叫声能比拟。我听过一整群羊惊慌地咩咩尖叫，因为一只恶魔正要把它们整群吃掉，一次吃一只，连半只蹄都没留下。” “你在开玩笑吧！”克罗兹说，两眼仍然盯着她，想知道她是不是说真的。 “我从来不会拿恶魔开玩笑，法兰西斯。”她说。他们正骑入另一片黑暗森林。 “你说的那些恶魔会吃鸭嘴兽吗？”克罗兹问。他是认真的，这问题听起来很蠢，他很高兴詹姆士·罗斯或他的任何一位船员没听见他发问。 “塔斯马尼亚恶魔真的什么都吃。”苏菲说，“不过你运气还不错，法兰西斯。恶魔只会在夜里出来狩猎，除非完全迷路，我们应该可以在夜晚来临前就看到鸭嘴兽池以及鸭嘴兽，吃完我们的午餐，然后回到总督官邸。如果天黑时我们还待在森林里，就要靠上帝来救了。” “因为有恶魔？”克罗兹问。他故意问得很轻松，但是他感觉得到藏在语调里的紧张。 苏菲拉扯缰绳让她的母马停下来，她对着克罗兹微笑，真诚、灿烂、完全绽放的笑容。克罗兹也让他那匹前行的马停下来，动作却很笨拙。 “不是的，亲爱的。”年轻女人轻声说。“不是因为恶魔。是因为我的名誉。” 克罗兹还来不及想出回答，苏菲却大笑起来，用马刺踢马向前冲去。 酒瓶里的威士忌已经不够盛满两杯了。克罗兹把其中一大半倒出来，把酒杯举在他与隔间墙上那盏闪烁的油灯之间，看着火光在琥珀色的液体里舞动。他慢慢喝下这杯酒。 他们没有看到鸭嘴兽。苏菲跟他保证，在这距离森林里的路有四分之一英里远、直径不到五十码的圆形小池塘里，总是看得到鸭嘴兽，而且它的巢穴入口通常就隐藏在从岸边伸入池里纠缠盘结的树根背后。但是他就是没看到。 然而，他看到了全身赤裸的苏菲·克瑞寇。 他们在鸭嘴兽池畔树阴多的一面享受了一顿美好午餐，一条昂贵的棉质桌巾铺在草地上，桌巾上有野餐篮、杯子、食物容器及他们两人。苏菲叫仆人准备了几包烤牛肉，用布包起来并做好防水处理，然后放进算是这里最昂贵、但在克罗兹先前待的地方却是最便宜的“冰”里，以防牛肉在早晨骑马途中坏掉。他们也带了煮熟的马铃薯和几小碗美味沙拉。她还带了一瓶上好的勃艮地葡萄酒和几个约翰爵士收藏的刻徽水晶杯。她喝得比这位船长还多。 用完餐后，他们斜躺下来，两人相距不到几英尺，东拉西扯地谈了一小时，眼睛一直盯着池塘的深色水面。 “我们是在等鸭嘴兽吗，克瑞寇小姐？”克罗兹趁着谈论极地危险及美景的小空档问她。 “不是，如果它真想让我们看到，我想我们应该早就看到了。”苏菲说，“我刚刚只是饭后休息。现在我们可以下水游泳了。” 克罗兹疑惑地看着她。他当然没想到要带泳裤。他也没有泳裤。他知道她一定又是在嘲弄他，不过她说话时又是一副正经样，让他无法百分之百确定。这使得她略带淘气的幽默感，对他更有吸引力。 她继续开很有挑逗性的玩笑，她站起来，拍掉暗色七分裤上的几片枯叶，然后环顾四周。“我想我就到灌木后面把衣服脱掉，然后从长着草的岸边进到水里。当然，我也邀你一起到水里游泳，法兰西斯，或者你也可以依照自己对绅士风范的认知，选择要不要下水。” 他用微笑让她知道他是个有教养的绅士，不过他的微笑有点漂移不定。 她直接走到浓密的灌木丛后面，没有再回头看。克罗兹还是待在桌巾上，斜着身体半躺着，刮得很干净的脸上神情愉快。他看到她白晰的手臂突然将身上那件白罩衫向上提起，然后披挂在高大的灌木上时，他的表情冻僵了。不过他的###并没有冻住。在他的灯芯绒长裤和过短的背心下面，克罗兹的私密在两秒钟内就从“稍息”直接变成“登上后桅顶端”。 苏菲的暗色七分裤，以及一些白色镶着花边、不知如何称呼的内层衣物，在几秒钟后也和浓密灌木上方的罩衫摆放在一起。 克罗兹只能瞪着眼前的景象。他方才轻松的笑容已经变成死人般的瞠目结舌。他确信他的眼睛快要从头部蹦出来了，但是他无法转过身去，也无法把他的视线移开。 苏菲·克瑞寇走进阳光里。 她一丝不挂，双臂轻松垂在身体两侧，手指略为弯曲。她的乳房不大，但是很高，很白，尖端两颗大乳头呈粉红色，不像克罗兹之前见过的所有女人（妓院妓女、缺牙的娼妓、原住民女孩）一样是褐色的。 他曾经看过真正全身赤裸的女人吗？一个白种女人？在此刻，他觉得没有。即使他曾经看过，他知道现在那一点也不重要了。 阳光反射在年轻苏菲令人眩目的白肌肤上。她并没有把自己的身体遮起来。克罗兹还僵在原先的呆滞状态及无神表情中，只是他的###有了反应，变得更肿胀与疼痛。克罗兹真正吃惊的是：他心中的女神、英格兰女性的完美典型、他早就在心理上与情感上认定为他的妻子及他未来儿女母亲的女人，竟然会有这么浓密、华美的阴毛，看来就像急于挣脱倒三角形里的黑色V字规范。不受规范是他目前近乎空洞的心灵所能想到的唯一形容词。她已经把她的长发解开，任之垂到肩膀上。 “你也要下水吗，法兰西斯？”她站在草地上轻声唤他。她的语调平和，就像在问他想不想再多喝一点茶。“或者，你只是想继续睁着眼睛看？” 她没再多说，以一个优美弧线跃入水中，苍白的手掌与白晰的手臂最先穿破镜面般的水面，身体其他部分接着也进入水中。 这个时候克罗兹开口，准备说话，但是他显然说不出话来。一会儿之后他就把嘴巴闭了起来。 苏菲轻松地游来游去。在她强壮、雪白的背部后方，可以看到她白色的臀部不断向上翘起。她的湿头发在背上分叉开来，仿佛有人用最黑的印第安墨水在她背上划了三笔。 她的头冒出水面，双脚轻松地踩着水，让自己停在池塘远处，靠近她刚到时就指给克罗兹看的那棵大树。“鸭嘴兽的巢穴就在这些树根后面。”她大声说。“我不觉得它今天想出来玩。它太害羞了。你可别跟它一样啊，法兰西斯，拜托。” 像是在做梦一般，克罗兹发现自己站起来，朝苏菲对面岸边一处最浓密的灌木丛走去。当他着手解开钮扣时，手指抖得非常厉害。他发现自己把脱下来的衣服都叠成一个个密实、整齐的小方块，再把这些方块放在他脚旁草地上一个大一点的方形上。他相信他花了很长的时间，但他剧烈的勃起一直不消退。 克罗兹站在树丛后面，听着苏菲游泳溅起的水花声，却还是下不定决心。他知道，他再犹豫一下，苏菲就会从池塘里爬上来，回到她的树丛帘幕后面等身体变干，而在他今后一生，他会一直咒骂自己是笨蛋、没种。 克罗兹透过灌木丛的树枝缝隙窥视苏菲，等到女士转身背对他，朝远处岸边游去时，他才赶紧把自己丢入池塘里。其实他的动作比较像跌进水里，而不是跳进去，不过因为他现在一心只想在克瑞寇小姐转身面对他之前，把那根###弄进水里，不被她看见，所以也就顾不得形象了。 等到他从水里浮上来嘶嘶喘着气，她正在二十英尺外的水里踩水，对他微笑。 “我很高兴你决定下来和我一起游泳，法兰西斯。现在如果公鸭嘴兽带着它的毒刺出现，你就可以保护我。我们要检查巢穴的入口吗？”她优雅地转了身，朝悬垂到水面上的大树游去。 克罗兹发誓在水中要和她保持十英尺――不，十五英尺――的距离，然后，他跟在她后面像狗一样划水，有如一艘快沉没的船无法抗拒背风岸的魅力。 这池塘比他意料中还深许多。他在离她十二英尺处停下来，笨拙地踩着水，好让头能保持在水面上。克罗兹发现，即使在岸边，就是大树树根顺着高约五英尺的陡峭堤岸向下伸入水里、岸上垂下的长草投射出黄昏阴影的地方，他不断摆动的脚和不断探试的脚趾，还是无法一下子就踩到池底。 突然，苏菲朝他游了过来。 她一定是注意到他眼神中的惊慌，他不知道要奋力向后划，或者只是警告她，他现在正在###嚣张的状态下。她停下来用蛙式划水，他可以看见她的白色乳房在水面下晃动，接着她向左侧点了点头，然后轻松地朝树根方向游去。克罗兹也跟着游去。 他们攀附在树根上，彼此距离只有四英尺左右，还好他们胸部以下的水颜色很深。苏菲用手指着树根纠结的池堤上一个可能是鸭嘴兽巢穴入口，也可能只是泥巴凹陷的地方。 “这只是个野营巢穴，或者叫单身巢穴，而不是孵育巢穴。”苏菲说。她的肩膀和锁骨都相当美。 “什么？”克罗兹问。他很高兴，而且有些讶异他说话的能力已经恢复了，但是并不满意自己发音古怪、放不开，而且牙齿还在打战。这里的水不冷。 苏菲微笑着。她的一缕褐发就贴在她尖锐的脸颊上。“鸭嘴兽会挖两种巢穴，”她轻声说，“有些自然学者称这一种叫野营巢穴，不管是公的或母的鸭嘴兽，在繁殖季外都是住在这种巢穴。单身鸭嘴兽住在这里。孵育巢穴则是母鸭嘴兽为了繁殖后代而挖的，在做完那件事后，会再挖一个小房间做育儿室。” “哦。”克罗兹说。他紧紧抓附在树根上，就像从前在飓风中、在两百英尺高的索具上紧紧抓住船的缆索。 “母鸭嘴兽会下蛋，你知道吗？”苏菲说，“就像爬虫类一样，但又会像哺乳类一样分泌乳汁。” 在水面下，克罗兹可以看见她胸部两颗白球正中央的两颗黑褐色圆圈。 “真的啊？”他说。 “珍恩舅妈可以算是一个自然学者，她认为在公鸭嘴兽后腿上的那根毒刺不仅可以用来和其他公鸭嘴兽打架，也可以让它在和母鸭嘴兽一起游泳及交配时勾住对方。或许，当它紧靠在交配伴侣身上时，那根刺不会分泌毒液。” “是吗？”克罗兹回答。不过他在想自己是不是该说：不是吗？他根本不知道他们在谈论什么。 苏菲抓着纠结的树根，让自己更靠近克罗兹，直到她的胸部几乎碰到他。她把冰冷的手――有点大得超乎寻常――平放在他的胸部。 “克瑞寇小姐……”他说。 “嘘。”苏菲说，“不要出声。” 她把左手从树根上移开，放到他的肩膀上，整个人勾挂在他身上，就像她先前勾挂在树根上。她的右手向下滑移，横过他的肚子，去触摸他的右臀，接着又将手收回到他身体正中央，然后再次向下伸。 “喔，天啊。”她在他的耳边轻声说。她的脸颊靠着他的脸颊，湿头发贴在他的眼睛上。“我现在是不是摸到一根毒刺啊？” “克瑞寇小……”他说。 她的手用力挤压那根。她优雅地漂浮起来，霎时之间，她两只有力的腿已经靠在他左腿两侧了，接着她让她的重量及温暖摩擦着他的身体，向下滑移。他把那条腿稍微抬高些，将她推高，让她的脸能浮在水面上。她的眼睛闭着。她的臀部坐在他腿上，双乳平贴在他的胸膛上，右手开始抚摸他全身。 克罗兹发出呻吟声，但只是一种期待的呻吟，而不是松弛的呻吟。苏菲靠在他的脖子上，也发出轻柔的呻吟声。她的下体紧贴着他那只抬起的大腿。他可以感觉到她下体的热气和湿润。怎么可能有东西比水还湿？他很纳闷。 接着她热切地发出呻吟，而克罗兹也把眼睛闭起来。他有点遗憾这样就不能再看见她，但是他别无选择。她的身体再次用力压在他身上，一次、两次，然后第三次，而且她的抚摸变得快速、急促、熟练、清楚、渴求。 当他在水中剧烈地悸动与抽搐时，脸就埋在她的湿头发里。克罗兹在想，这一阵又一阵的射精也许永远不会停下来，而且如果可以的话，他一定会马上向她道歉。不过，他又再次呻吟，而且几乎已经抓不住树根。他们晃动着，脸颊沉到水面下。 这时最让法兰西斯·克罗兹感到困惑的是――此时宇宙中每一件事都令他困惑，但是没有任何一件事打扰他――这位小姐正压着他，大腿紧紧夹住他，脸颊用力靠着他的脸颊，但双眼紧紧闭着，还有她也在呻吟。女人真的不会有男人那种强烈的感觉？有些妓女也会呻吟，当然是因为她们知道男人喜欢听这种声音。很显然，她们根本没有任何感觉。 but…… 苏菲抽身回来，注视着他的眼睛，轻松地笑着，嘴唇整个吻到他的嘴唇上，把腿抬起来成为大折叠刀的形状，用力一踢，让自己离开树根，然后朝着放置她的衣物、此时正略微晃动的灌木丛游去。 接下来的一切让人难以置信。他们穿好衣服，捡起野餐用品，把东西装载在骡子上，登上马鞍，然后两人骑回总督官邸，一路上没说半句话。 接下来的一切同样让人难以置信。当天晚上吃晚餐时，苏菲·克瑞寇开心地笑着，并且和她的舅妈、约翰爵士、甚至是当天特别多话的詹姆士·克拉克·罗斯船长聊天，而克罗兹却大半时间都保持沉默，只是一直看着桌子。他只能佩服她的……那些法国人怎么说的？sangfroid（泰然自若），而克罗兹的心思和灵魂还沉浸在身体在鸭嘴兽池经历的高潮里几乎停不下来，身体里的原子被散射到宇宙各角落。 苏菲轻笑出声，并且摇了摇头。她的眼睛快速朝四周看了一下，确定没有人看到或听到他们，连囚犯也没有。“请不要在乎昨天的事，克罗兹中校。我们过了很棒的一天。在池塘的那段……插曲……对我们两个人来说都很愉快。那只是我……本能……的反应，或者说是，在那些时刻里，我们一时感觉彼此特别亲近而有的后果。但是，请你不要误以为，我亲爱的法兰西斯，只因为我们曾经有过片刻的轻率举动，你就要对我负有任何责任或义务。” He looks at her. 她还是微笑着，但是并没有他习惯的温暖。她异常轻柔地说，声音穿过热空气，强似一声坚定的耳语，“这并不表示你已经玷污我的名誉，中校。” “克瑞寇小姐……”克罗兹又想说话，但随即停下来。如果现在是他的船被推挤撞向岸边、水泵失去作用、底舱积了四英尺深的水而且水位还在升高、索具纠结、船帆破裂，他知道要下什么命令，包括接下来要说什么。但此时，他完全一筹莫展。在他心里只有节节升高的疼痛及震惊，让他受伤最深的是，他认出某种非常古老、他非常了解的东西。 “如果我要结婚，”苏菲继续说，再次打开她的阳伞，在她头上转了转，“对象也会是我们耀眼的罗斯船长。虽然我命中注定不会只是个船长夫人而已，法兰西斯。他得被册封为爵士……不过我相信他很快会被册封了。” 克罗兹注视着她的眼睛，想在里面看到一些开玩笑的迹象。“罗斯船长已经订婚了。”他最后终于说，声音听起来像是一个已经受困多天、没水可喝的人发出的嘶哑声。“他们计划在詹姆士回到英格兰后就马上结婚。” “哦，呸！”苏菲站起来，把阳伞转得更快。“今年夏天我自己会搭乘快速邮船回英格兰，甚至是在约翰舅舅被召回之前。詹姆士·克拉克·罗斯还没有完全认识我。” 她低头看着还在原处的他，他仍然荒谬地单膝跪在白色砂砾地上。“还有，”她愉快地说，“即使罗斯船长娶了那个痴痴等他、伪装有皇室血统的年轻女子，婚姻也不能阻止任何事。他和我常常谈到她，我可以跟你保证她是个没头脑的人。婚姻不是死亡，也不是《哈姆雷特》里从来没人能回来的'未知国度'。我们已经知道有男人从婚姻里出来，然后找到真正适合他们的女人。记住我的话，法兰西斯。” 他终于站了起来。他站着，把粘在他最好的礼裤膝盖上的白色砂砾拍掉。 “我得走了。”苏菲说，“珍恩舅妈、罗斯船长和我今天早上要到侯巴特城，去看几匹范迪门公司刚刚进口来配种的新种马。如果你想跟我们一起去，请不用客气，法兰西斯，不过，在去之前拜托你先去换套衣服，也顺便换一副表情。” 她轻轻碰了一下他的前臂，然后走进总督官邸，沿路转着她的阳伞。 克罗兹听到甲板的钟敲了八响。现在是清晨四点。如果船在海上，通常再过半个小时，船员们就会从吊床上被挖起来，开始磨甲板及清洗东西。但是现在，在黑暗中、在冰上，而且是在风中，克罗兹听得见风还在索具之间咆哮，这意味着很可能又有一场暴风雪，而现在才不过是他们第三个冬天的十一月十日，船员们可以睡晚一点，一直闲散到晨班的四钟响，也就是早上六点。那时冰冷的船会活跃起来，船舱会充满大副及二副的吼叫声以及船员们穿着毛皮鞋的脚踩在舱板的声音，接着就是大副、二副扬言要把吊床割断，让它和包在里面的船员一起落到舱板的威胁声。 与平常的海上任务比起来，这里真是个慵懒天堂。船员们不仅睡得晚，还可以在八钟响时在主舱吃早餐，然后才去执行早上的勤务。 克罗兹看着威士忌的瓶子与杯子。两者都是空的。他举起那把沉重的手枪――在装填好火药及子弹后更加笨重。他的手还分辨得出轻重。 接着他把手枪放进船长外套的口袋里，把外套取出来挂在钩子上。克罗兹用乔帕森每天晚上特地为他准备的干净布，把威士忌酒杯擦干净，然后放回抽屉。再来他很小心地把威士忌空瓶放进盖着的藤篮里，这篮子是乔帕森专门为此而放在滑门旁边的。克罗兹在黑暗中尽了一天的职责，回到舱房时，藤篮里又会有一瓶新的威士忌。 他一度考虑穿多一点，把他的毛皮鞋换成真正的皮靴，套上保暖巾、帽子及全副御寒衣，然后上到甲板去，走出船外走进黑夜及暴风雪中，等待船员们起床，然后再下到船舱去和军官们一起吃早餐，接着一整天都不睡觉。 有好几个早晨他都是这样。 但是，今天早上不能。他太虚弱了，而且天气冷到让只穿着四层羊毛衣与棉衣的他连站在这里一分钟都受不了。清晨四点，克罗兹知道，正是夜晚最寒冷的时刻，也是大多数生病或受伤船员放手让灵魂离开，让自己被死神带走，进入真正未知国度的时刻。 克罗兹爬到毯子下面，把脸沉进冰冷的马毛床垫里。大概还需要十五分钟或更长的时间，身体的热度才会开始让这摇篮般的空间变温暖。运气好的话，他可以在那之前睡着。运气好的话，在另一个黑暗寒冷日子到来之前，他还可以像醉鬼一样睡上两小时。运气好的话，在快昏睡过去时他想，他永远都不会再醒来。