about a month after i watched the terror 2018 for the first time i wanted to explain my shiny new favorite character to a friend who'd never seen the terror and instead of just saying he's the hot butler i said imagine you’re a starving victorian orphan. you’re a boy but you’re the eldest daughter and you're raising yourself and your younger siblings in the london underbelly. your mom lost her hand to someone cutting corners to save a few quid and now she is rotting in her bed, addicted to the laudanum she was prescribed for the pain. she soils herself, she forgets to feed your baby brother, and the drug sends her into manic laughing fits that will haunt you for the rest of your life. you sign up for the royal navy because you don’t know how else you’ll put food on the table. you’re 22 and you’re the steward to an alcoholic captain who is a seasoned polar veteran whom no one will ever respect due to his inferior irish breeding. he has a chip on his shoulder and he is insufferable to be around. to him you’re maid, butler, bodyguard, nanny, punching bag. you strive to be good. turmoil on the inside needn’t show on the out, sir. but beneath your neat and tidy uniform you are a festering open wound and the one time you slip up your captain flogs you for drunkenness on duty. 36 lashes.
instead of resenting him for the cruelty and counting down the days until you can escape him you double down on trying to please him. you dedicate the rest of your life to his happiness and comfort. you’re the only person he hand-picks for his next expedition to the arctic. you’re ostracized from the rest of the crew because they think you’re a brown-noser, a class traitor, you’re too close to the officers, and to the officers you are invisible. just as you ought to be. you’re the perfect servant. you are always prim and proper, calm and composed, never a hair out of place. you fake a posh accent so no one is reminded of your unsavory poverty. you are more competent at your job than anyone else aboard. you like it like this. as long as you fall into line, as long as everyone falls into line, as long as there is order and you follow the rules and defer to your superiors, as long as you are perfect all the time then everything will be fine. as long as you keep your captain happy he won’t die.
you are psychosexually obsessed with your captain. your every waking moment revolves around him. every day you dress and undress him, you shave him, you launder his clothes and darn his socks, you manage his whiskey stores, you are his eyes and ears keeping tabs on your fellow underclass, to you he is god and to him you are useful. you are happy like this. he abuses everyone around him but he lights up when he sees you (bringing him another bottle). he is spiraling quickly towards the point of no return but you keep enabling his addiction because when you tried to get your mother off the laudanum you failed and she died. things are growing more and more dire and people are dying because of your negligent captain. he finally has a come to jesus moment and realizes he needs to quit the liquor for good. he is looking to you to make sure he doesn’t die during the withdrawal. you are terrified but you will not let him down. for the next few weeks you do not sleep. you clean up his vomit and diarrhea just like you did your mother. he is delirious. he begs you to shoot him. he abuses you. berates you. he is monstrous. for days on end you press a cool cloth to his feverish forehead and replace it when it grows warm. you won’t let him die. you won’t let him die.
he doesn’t die. he makes it. everyone leaves the ships to trek 800 odd miles to unlikely salvation. everyone is already dying. mutiny is only a question of when. you find the captain one morning in his tent and he’s shaving his own face. your hands clench and shake. that’s your job. that’s what you are for. why didn’t he wake you? why is he casting you aside? he asks how you feel about this and you say you are miserable. he doesn’t listen to your plea. he promotes you, a lowly steward, to the rank of lieutenant. he makes you an officer. it has never been done before. it is laughable, a joke. you hate this. he is pushing you away. your entire identity is as his steward but you accept because you do what he says. you are by far his best lieutenant. you are good with a gun because your childhood was full of violence. while the others falter in the face of all the danger and horror, you do what must be done. you bark orders. you save lives. you stand and fight. you burn the bodies.
you are getting sick. you are starving just as you did as a child. you body is deteriorating. your captain gave you the gift of punishment and now those 36 scars that lattice your back begin to dissolve. you are a festering open wound. you do not complain. an officer suggests leaving the sick behind and with anger in your teeth and fear in your bones you say that is a death sentence. you know you are one of the sick who would be left behind. you know your word doesn’t matter to these men because your promotion is a sham and you can never rise above your station. but your captain assures you that he will not leave you to die. you believe him. when you finally cannot be useful anymore, when you are laid up looking like death itself under a threadbare blanket, your captain comes to you. you are embarrassed that he has to see you like this, anything less than perfect for him. you ask what you can do to serve him. instead he serves you, lovingly wiping the dirt and blood and pus and now tears from your face and body. he tells you a story you’ve heard a million times. this is the happiest you have ever been. he won’t leave you. he will be there holding your tenderly when you die, you think as you drift to sleep.
you wake to the sound of people hauling sledges. you use every last bit of strength in you to crawl out of the tent and see what’s happening. they are leaving you behind. your captain is leaving you. he left you to die alone. you crawl your broken body over the sharp shale rock. your every movement feels like your bones are shattering into a million pieces. you blink and you can see your captain. he is beautiful, glowing, seated just ahead of you at the head of the banquet table you must have set for him. there is food fit for a king all around you but you push it away. all you need is your captain. you just want him to look at you. you call out to him but he cannot hear you. he is ignoring you, talking and laughing with his esteemed company. you are invisible, as you ought to be. you keep crawling towards him and calling out for him until your heart gives out. you do not make it to him. you die alone.
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