The Travels of Mr. Greg Fields (Part 4)

or, a Journey to a remote and unforgiving Land

Dear readers,

After no small hiatus, and for that I apologise, I present to you here the fourth instalment of Mr. Greg Fields’ papers. You might remember where we left off. Mr. Fields had come across the Gracken in the waters between Alaska and Russia. He fought valiantly, wounding the beast with his Brood War manual. But the Gracken was not to be defeated easily. It smote Mr. Fields’ vessel asunder, casting our intrepid traveller into the ocean. The passage ended with Mr. Fields losing consciousness, his skiff in ruins about him, and the sea all afroth from the tremendous movements of the Gracken. Here are parts one, two, and three.

Before the resumption of Mr. Fields’ tale, I feel I must make brief excuse for my absence over the past few months. I made mention to you all of a patient of mine in the country, him from the hamlet of Nether Stowey. I cannot give you his name, but I can tell you that he has proven to be most disagreeable. He insists that I interrupted him in some deep reverie on the occasion I told you about. He claims that I laid waste to a particularly vivid dream of his, one in which a ‘profound’ and ‘altogether sublime’ vision was revealing itself. I have no doubts that the man’s brain was thoroughly muddled at the time, souped up on a pernicious cocktail of laudanum and spirits. I have told him as such.

His condition worsened from that day, and over the last few months he has been in my care; I have had little time for anything else. Thankfully, my labours have allowed his gradual recovery, and now he is back at home under the close supervision of an aunt. He has managed, under great stress, to put down on paper the fragments of his interrupted vision. I must admit to you that it seems perfect nonsense to me. Of course, I could never say as such to him; his condition is still quite delicate, and I fear that any small provocation might cause relapse. Anyhow, enough of him.

As always, Mr. Fields has supplied me with some daguerreotypes to compliment the text. I enclose them here. Also, this installment features some Korean language. According to Mr. Fields, these are his own translations, though he insisted that his knowledge of the language is 'still quite slipshod'.

Although, given my investments here, I cannot guarantee you any swift completion of Mr. Fields’ account, I can assure you that we will see finished this altogether fascinating story. As that unusually eloquent tortoise put it, slow and steady wins the race.

Kindly yours,

Grovel Oh-Sea

Part Four

Salvaged

In which the author recounts his coming to consciousness, his despair at his predicament, and the questionable fortune of meeting an unlikely host

There are certain times in a man’s life when he figures that all the world is against him, that every possible sorrow and misfortune has been visited upon his head. He assumes then the universe a great practical joke, as if all the rogues of God’s creation had conspired against his soul. In dim wit he perceives this a gross inequity, but fancies he can do little against it.

Such a time was now. I had regained consciousness and found myself adrift at sea. Strewn here and there were loose boards of timber, lengths of rope, a bloodied patch of sail; all in all a fine soup of destruction. The sun had come out again, lending a brilliant gloss to the water’s surface. Somehow I had managed to grab hold of a bit of flotsam, a broken barrel that bobbed playfully, ignorant of my defeat. There was neither sight nor sound of the Gracken, and I fancied that it had sunk again to the depths in order to soak its wounds in the mute darkness. And what a wound it must be! To my left I could see the sun slanting on a pond of crimson, the ichor of the ancient beast. My forearms were slick with its blood.

The storm had passed, and now the waters lay calm. A thin mist spread over the sea, rendering all things vague and a little muddled under the half-light. All was silent. I could remember only fragments of what passed before. How had I battled? How came the final blow? A picture of the Brood War manual came to me, hurtling through the air, reaching its target. Thereupon the Gracken fell? Was that it?

I passed a sorry few hours in this state. I could not think well of my situation. No chance did I have, or so it seemed; I was miles from any man, any chance of aid, any solid bit of land. The flat waters stretched away towards the horizon. Ay, there is no stillness on earth like that of a sea subdued.

---

Now the mist grew thicker, and the sun slipped behind the pale. My legs grew heavy and my arms numb from clinging to the barrel. The swell picked up again; the waves came rising before me, swamping both body and barrel before passing. It was all I could do to hold on amid the tremendous ebb and flow. Darker and darker the sky and ocean grew. Each passing minute seem to whip the waters into a greater frenzy. The sky obliged; a howling squall picked up, tearing through the undulating sea. Thicker clouds now scurried over the last bare patches of sky.

And now hark! What is it? Through the storm I heard a faint creaking, like ropes and bucklers dampened through the mist. Nearer and nearer it came, till the waves and fog were parted by a huge, shadowy form. I did my best to kick away from it, but it bore true, straight at me. I closed my eyes. Tumbling before it, I thought myself gone. And yet! I came up again, gulping for air. Now I could make it out. A ship! Barely had it missed me; close enough that I could reach out and touch its port side. Above the groaning timber I could apprehend men’s voices. I strained to hear them:

‘그곳에! 사람- 에 손-…’
‘내놔- 그의-...낮은, 낮은!'

Could it b...all at once something landed in the water to my right. Taking swift leave of my barrel, I lunged for the bright ring thrown from above.

---

They dragged me to the deck, and I lay shaking on the solid planks. All around I could vaguely see these men taking me in with solicitous though uneasy eyes. One, bolder than the rest, and likely commanding some position, approached me. I could see more clearly now. Raising my head, I beheld his features.

It was so! This man was a Korean! And so, all around me were men of that country! I sat astonished, taking in one face after another. The one attending me fell back, perturbed no doubt at my incredulity. Wide-eyed I was, in sheer disbelief of my fate. I hastened now to reassure them. Say something! No words came. Thank them, dumb fool!

‘Tha..than..tha...’

I fell silent, unable to complete the word. They watched me cautiously, some of them turning back, heedful of their pressing duties amid the storm. A small group remained. One among them held me eye more solidly than the rest. Gesturing to another who held a coarse brush aloft against his shoulder, he uttered something unintelligible. The deck-hand left at once, rushing aft towards the quarterdeck. Coming forward now, the mate (I assumed it was he) took me under the arm and helped me up. I could barely stand; without his strong grip I would have crumpled to the deck. Almost no feeling did I have in my legs; they felt as jellied eels. Though not bothering to communicate with me directly, all the while the mate gave terse commands to his subordinates. They came and went; the ship swiftly resumed its ordered bustle.

With the support of another he led me towards the bow, offering a word now and then in a kindly tone. We entered the forecastle. The space was lit dimly by a single bobbing lantern. They helped me onto a hammock slung between two posts. After ensuring that I was reasonably at ease, the mate offered me a small flask. I drank greedily, the cool water cleansing the brine from my lips and throat. I sank back into the obliging canvas.

He had been watching me curiously throughout. Perhaps thinking that I would now be ready to satisfy his intrigue, he took to questioning me. I, of course, could comprehend nothing of what he said.

‘어디 출신이에요? 배는 무엇 이었습니까? 당신의 임무는 무엇 이었습니까?’

I gave him to understand that this was pure gibberish to me. Still, he persisted. I could sense his growing impatience; with each failed attempt at communication he grew a little redder around the temples, gesticulating restively now with both hands. Eventually he left off. He could perceive my struggle, that was clear; with every passing moment my sight grew cloudier; my limbs sank deeper into the hammock; my head now felt made of stone. He turned and left me, ushering out those few others whom had been idling there. I watched the door rattle to.

I slept.

---

I woke some time later. The ship now was at ease; no rocking to or fro; the storm had abated. I was now no longer alone in the forecastle. Nearby I could hear the low rumbling of several sailors at repose, snoring gently. Through several half-curtained portholes the sun came through. All in all a slow, indolent air prevailed.

I felt much better, though racked by a ravenous hunger. I ignored the rumblings of my stomach and gave thought to my current situation. How could it be that, of all ships and all peoples, I had been picked up by a Korean vessel? What strange serendipity. How oddly fate can twist diverging threads into concord!

My thoughts strayed. Motes of dust rose and fell before my gaze, illuminated by the yellow light. The forecastle door stood half open; through it I could spy a brilliant strip of blue, obscured now and then by the occasional gloss of white sail.

The door opened, and through it came the strangest party imaginable. First was the mate of the previous evening. More collected now than when he left me last, hastily he made obedient passage for those behind him. They came forward slowly, six of them in total, with one leading. Those behind seemed like dark phantoms in the wake of a giant. Noiseless they were, gliding above the timbers. But he in front commanded my full attention.

Monolithic, he stopped before me. The light came through the door behind; a shifting aureole was cast about his crown, his whole high, broad form adumbrated in gold. What little I could see of his head showed a tousle of grey hair, cut short and smoothed backwards. A thick beard made his face seem all the larger; it tapered neatly to a point above his chest where it was tied together by a thin black band. Across one cheek I could see a slender marking, luridly white. The knotted skin around this scar cast it into relief, giving it the look of some cicatrix carved into the trunk of a gnarled and ancient tree. But no pleasant bower did the shadow of his form provide.

The five behind him were even harder to make out. Uniform did they look in the shadow. Their fragile air was due, I could half see now, to their garb, cloaked as they were in diaphanous fabric which swirled and billowed around their thin frames. Though unable to discern a single face, I could feel the force of their unified scrutiny upon me. Their captain spoke:

‘당신은 아무것도 기억하니?’

Though not understanding a word, I felt I could not leave this query unanswered. Tentatively, I offered up some information:

‘My name is Greg Fields. I was sailing through the Bering Strait when a storm came upon me. I…,’ but now I paused. What good would it do to tell this man of my disaster with the Gracken? Even if he could comprehend my language, surely he would doubt its content; he would consider me cracked, a demented loon who had swallowed too much salty water! I fell silent.

He again, slowly:

‘이 바다에서 임무 무엇 이었습니까?’

I could give no response. But then, with deliberate effort, sounding out each word as if one might escape pre-emptively from his mouth, he spoke these words:

‘Who are you?’

Ah-ha! Now I could work with him. I repeated what I had said before, though more gradually this time. He looked at me, I cannot say blankly, for such was his gaze that it always seemed focused acutely on its subject, but I could perceive that he understood little of what I told him. He responded:

‘My name…is Jung. This is my ship. These are my crew’.

He gestured to those behind him, and more vaguely to the few who still slumbered in the forecastle. He continued.

‘We are going for Korea.’

With that he motioned to the mate, giving him a curt utterance. From the folds of his shirt the latter produced a yellowed bit of parchment, folded several ways. He gave this to the captain, then swiftly retreated to his place next to the doorway, a disquietude settling across his features. The captain unfolded the bit of parchment, revealing a map of the Okhotsk and Japanese seas. He held it up for me to see. Pointing now at the Korean peninsula, he repeated what he had said before.

'We are going for Korea.’ Then he added, ‘you are with us now.’

He refolded the map and tossed it back to the mate. He gave me a final perfunctory look before turning and exiting the quarters. His retinue followed, their light cloaks twisting in tow. The mate approached me, evidently with something to say, but he seemed to think better of it; he too turned and took his leave without a word.

The Travels of Mr. Greg Fields (Part 4)

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