Fatal North by Bruce Henderson Page B

opinions that day. Granted, the situation had changed in those few weeks; they now had to consider Hall’s deteriorating health. If this change would help him regain his strength, then by all means he should make it. Far worse would befall the expedition should Hall not recover. Tyson dreaded to think of it.
    At times Hall seemed well on the way to recovery. When he was clearheaded, he talked eagerly to anyone who would listen about his plans for continued exploration of the Far North, and he worked diligently with a clerk to bring his journals up to date. A number of crewmen heard him in his cabin laughing and rejoicing at news that the Eskimo hunters had killed a five-hundred-pound seal, meaning fresh meat aplenty for weeks. Other times, he didn’t act like himself—he would begin a sentence and not finish it, or he would start to talk about one subject and go off onto something else. His “disease” had been pronounced by the doctor as apoplexy, which Tyson thought strange. He had known only one person dying of apoplexy in the north, the engineer on an earlier expedition, and he had died very suddenly after suffering a stroke. He’d gone to bedwell at 9:00 P.M. and was found dead in his cabin the next morning. Hall seemed to be afflicted with something more lingering, more chronic.
    Nevertheless, since he was beginning to feel better, he shelved his plans to resign command of the ship. Tyson learned this indirectly from the steward, who had witnessed Buddington and Hall arguing loudly. At one point Buddington seized Hall and began choking him because he wouldn’t sign some paper Buddington had put in front of him. Even in his weakened state, Hall had flung Buddington halfway across the cabin.
    On November 4, after much persuasion by the doctor, Hall agreed to let Bessels treat him again. He received another injection and ate a large quantity of cooked seal meat for dinner.
    For the next two nights Bessels dozed in a chair beside Hall’s bunk, with one end of a string attached to his arm and the other to Hall’s. If Hall needed anything, he could pull the string without awakening the other men in the cabin.
    On the 6th, Hall looked and felt well, and strong hopes circulated among the crew for his recovery. Although counseled to remain quiet by Bessels, Hall got up and dressed after the doctor gave him an injection of quinine that afternoon. He remained up nearly all day, and was to all appearances getting stronger. A portion of the day he spent getting in order the handwritten records of his sledge journey. He dictated for several hours to Joseph Mauch, the German seaman serving as his clerk, and began to show interest in the ordinary duties of the ship.
    Hall went to bed that night in apparent good spirits. Before turning in, he told his officers he would be joining him them in the morning for breakfast. He made a point of asking that Morton and Chester not sit up with him that night—he didn’t like others losing sleep on his account—but Chester insisted anyway.
    Around midnight, Chester noticed that Hall was having difficulty breathing.
    Alarmed, the first mate awakened Bessels, who was asleep in his berth at the opposite end of the cabin. He told the doctor about Hall’s troubling symptoms.
    Bessels dressed hurriedly, passed Hall with barely a glance, pronounced he would be all right, and to Chester’s amazement quickly departed for the Observatory.
    Chester returned to his commander’s bedside. Within a few minutes Hall rose in his berth and tried to say something, but it was incomprehensible. With horror Chester realized that Hall’s tongue was swollen. He ran out on deck, spotted a crewman out on the ice taking tidal observations, and ordered the man to go the Observatory and bring back the doctor without delay.
    On his way back to Hall’s cabin, Chester stopped and awakened Buddington in the lower cabin. Buddington quickly joined the first mate in