Read Online Inukshuk by Gregory Spatz - Free Book Online Page A

pack; and back farther than that, up Peel Sound, past Beechey Island again and back out into the open bay until we’re on board Erebus again, sailing. Again Hoar’s hands work the flint, and this time there’s the pleasing crackle of lit, smoldering coal as flames glow and jump to life. (Thomas’s note to himself here in the margins: Check this. Boiler? Coal grate in commander’s cabin? ) The same happy expression on his face as he turns and rises, dusting his hands on his knees.

    â€œThere you are, sir. Fire’s all fine now. Would you be wanting anything else, then, sir?”
    Franklin, in the little ring of light thrown from his oil lamp, pauses from his writing, lays aside his pen, and calls Hoar closer. “Edmund Hoar,” he says. “In your opinion, Master Hoar”—here he purses his lips and pauses to draw a breath—“would you say the punishment of twelve lashes and no rum in their rations the next fortnight was good and appropriate action considering the fisticuffs on board earlier today?”
    â€œBegging your forgiveness, sir, and bein’ a mere steward . . .”
    â€œYes, yes, but I asked your opinion, so you may give it. You are free to an opinion, Master Hoar. We are each of us free and fallen, every single one of us to a man, and made in God’s image. Now then.”
    â€œYes, sir. Bein’ as it’s only my opinion and all, still I’d say, sir, it was really Private Braine as instigated the whole thing. They’re always after the sailors, them Royal Navy, always passing off their work if they can do, and sometimes stealing rations to sell back if no one’s looking, especially their share of cook’s prerogative, and . . . now as I see it, they made it so poor Thomas, there was nothin’ he could do but fight back or suffer a beating, or else fight back and suffer a beating but at least save his dignity some. I’d say it was fair, sir, absolutely, the disciplining actions, only it mighta been more fair had it been Braine got all of it.”
    Pause and close-up of Franklin’s face as he considers this. “ In your humble opinion, that is, Master Hoar.”
    â€œIn my opinion, sir. Yes. I said that, sir. In my own opinion.”
    â€œAnd in your own opinion, would you say the outcome of said disciplining will be of an overall positive and ameliorative effect? That is, are you more convinced of man’s inherent decency and tendency toward goodness and godliness, as am I, or of his essential lack of empathy toward his fellow man and knack for finding trouble, always trouble, any sort of trouble, wherever it may lie, regardless the size of the rod and number of lashes awaiting? This is a very serious question, so please think a moment before answering.”
    â€œBeg pardon, sir?”

    â€œOn the question of discipline, Hoar. We’re talking about discipline. Do you believe in a man’s tendency toward goodness and godliness, or his eternal need for strictest disciplining?”
    â€œWith all respect, sir, I’d say, in my opinion, it’s entirely depending on the man in question. Some’s not as good as others, to be sure. And that Thomas Work, now there’s a fellow’d never hurt a fly, but . . . you shoulda seen him in there with the Royal Navy one. Meaning no disrespect to the Royal Navy, but some of us was even bettin’ on him to—”
    â€œThat’s all right now, Mr. Hoar. That’s enough. You may go. I thank you for your considered opinion .”
    â€œWould you be wanting your tea, then?”
    â€œAt teatime, thank you, and not a minute sooner. Now go.”
    Close-up as Hoar exits: Franklin’s journal. My Dearest Jane, it begins—another letter: his spare, angular gentleman’s scrawl, India ink, each word tilting exactly, artfully one to the next; the grooved and brown-black ink-stained calluses on his right thumb and middle