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Hat Flood Memory: Fury Beach
May. 11th, 2019 08:28 amHe was cold. He was hungry. He was angry. His anger almost made him forget about the cold and the hunger, but only almost. Sir John Ross sat outside Somerset House, talking to one of his officers. He wanted nothing more, in that moment, to seize the nearby boat axe and bury it in Ross's arrogant head.
A cold wind blew along the beach, cutting to his bones. The exertion of digging snow wasn't enough to warm him, though it was more than enough to tire him. The snow, they were told, would act as a windbreak as well as material for Somerset House. They'd been digging and shifting it for nearly three weeks, though, and the wind still swept over them, unbroken.
Not that there was enough around to really break the wind, rocks aside. It was a barren, rocky, desert of a place. Nothing grew there; there were no animals. It was a good thing the Fury cache was still there, otherwise they'd have starved days after they'd arrived. As it was, they were eating, if not eating well. They had no idea of how long they'd be on that beach. If the cache ran out before they were rescued, that would be it.
But what little fish they caught went straight to Ross and the officers. They were permitted that luxury, while the men squabbled over old biscuits and tins of preserved meat. Even here, at the arse end of the world, they always got the best. Even when the best was a few fish.
He returned to digging, shifting to one side as James hopped into the ditch he had formed. At least he didn't hold himself above working with everyone else. He knew that there was resentment growing among the men against Ross, more than just him, and it worried him.
A cold wind blew along the beach, cutting to his bones. The exertion of digging snow wasn't enough to warm him, though it was more than enough to tire him. The snow, they were told, would act as a windbreak as well as material for Somerset House. They'd been digging and shifting it for nearly three weeks, though, and the wind still swept over them, unbroken.
Not that there was enough around to really break the wind, rocks aside. It was a barren, rocky, desert of a place. Nothing grew there; there were no animals. It was a good thing the Fury cache was still there, otherwise they'd have starved days after they'd arrived. As it was, they were eating, if not eating well. They had no idea of how long they'd be on that beach. If the cache ran out before they were rescued, that would be it.
But what little fish they caught went straight to Ross and the officers. They were permitted that luxury, while the men squabbled over old biscuits and tins of preserved meat. Even here, at the arse end of the world, they always got the best. Even when the best was a few fish.
He returned to digging, shifting to one side as James hopped into the ditch he had formed. At least he didn't hold himself above working with everyone else. He knew that there was resentment growing among the men against Ross, more than just him, and it worried him.
