Finding John Rae

by Hamilton, Alice Jane;

  He shook his head. “Disasters such as the loss of the Franklin ships and men, our failure to reach the Orient by means of a northern route, and our terrible defeat in the Crimean War are placing a great strain on the people of Great Britain.

  “I do wonder if Britain can claim to have any heroes these days, John. I believe that because of his widow’s carefully crafted public campaign — and despite his many failures — Sir John Franklin will be posthumously recognized as Britain’s Arctic hero. Indeed, what qualities must such a figure possess in order to reach such an exalted status in the eyes of his countrymen? Well, for one thing, I believe he should be dead. Secondly, he must have perished under horrific circumstances whilst performing notable service to his Queen and country. As such, his name will always be associated with sacrifice and martyrdom. History will never forget him.”

  “Aye, you’ve made some good points, Gerald. I suppose one could also add the fact that in this case, there is a despondent widow who has sacrificed her own resources — not to mention the purses of many sympathizers who have been drawn to her plight — in a desperate effort to find him.”

  He nodded. “Lady Franklin has now suffered the further blow of knowing that her husband’s body will likely remain in the wastelands of the frozen north.” He wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “The myth is usually greater than the man himself, isn’t it?”

  “True enough. I suspect that the memory of Sir John Franklin will forever be associated with the Northwest Passage, Gerald, whether or not he ever came close to it. Wasn’t it Sir Francis Beaufort who recently declared ‘… let the name of the discoverer of the Northwest Passage be forever linked to that of Sir John Franklin’?”

  My companion relaxed his posture and mopped his forehead again with a handkerchief. There was really nothing more to say about the matter. We chatted on for a while longer, and then I went on my way. Tara Gott.

  Kensington, London

  [MAY 1860]

  Kate returned from an afternoon walk with her mother and sister. “The tulips at Hyde Park are exquisite! It all looks like a splendid drawing on a postcard. People are strolling with baby carriages and dogs, children are playing on the grass… and the Serpentine is lovely, with ducks splashing around and chasing after each other. The songbirds are in fine form — it’s all such a feast for the eyes and ears! I am so glad that Mama and Emily are here with us.” I appreciated their visit as well, partly because the time had come for me to get back to work, and also because Kate enjoyed their company so much.

  I had been approached by the governor of a newly formed private enterprise called the Atlantic Telegraph Company, and invited to participate in conducting the land portion of a telegraph cable survey between Britain and North America. The company’s offer of a generous contract certainly caught my attention. The notion of travelling in the northern wilderness across Scotland, the Shetland Islands, the Faeroes and Iceland appealed to me, as did the thought of driving a team of dogs across southern Greenland. Now that Kate’s favourite companions were nearby, I hoped she would encourage me to participate in something new and challenging.

  “John, the project sounds well suited for your experience and skills, but you would be travelling so much of the time. I don’t like to think about that part of it, because I’d miss you terribly. When would you go? For how long?”

  “If I accept the offer, we will leave in mid-July and return in late September. I don’t want to be separated from you for so long either, but it would be difficult to turn down the chance to participate in such an ambitious technological enterprise. It is quite an opportunity, Katie… and the thought of travelling in the northern wilderness again…”

  “Sometimes I wonder if you love the wilderness more than you love me!” she laughed.

  “Katie… how could you…”

  She took my hands. “I’m teasing you, dear. You know, some wives worry about their husbands taking up with other women, gambling, leading double lives. I never think about it, because I know that being in a cold and wild sort of place with all the elements raging around you is your other passion. Of course you should go on the expedition! But try not to leave me and our family-to-be for too long at a time.” She put her hand on my heart, and I covered it with my own.

  “I’m grateful to you, dearest Kate. You have my solemn promise that I will never be away for too long.”

  Southampton, England

  [JULY 19, 1860]

  The royal party’s yacht, HMY Fairy, steamed alongside the Fox at half past ten, and the lavishly attired Queen, Prince Albert, several of their children and a sizable entourage were escorted aboard. Captain Allen Young — a well-known veteran of previous searches for the missing Franklin party — and I, along with the other members of our survey expedition, bowed in greeting as we were introduced to them. The Prince Consort paused to admire our Royal Geographical Society medals for our Arctic accomplishments, forcing me to consider the irony of the situation.

  Just three years earlier, I had felt as though I was in some sort of race against Lady Franklin when she purchased the Fox and engaged Captain McClintock to search for the Erebus and Terror, while Rae Brothers & Company scrambled to finish building the Iceberg in Hamilton. I had been desperate to beat the Fox to the area where the Esquimaux had seen the Kabloonans, but fate intervened and I lost the race.

  Here I stood — aboard the Fox, of all vessels — exchanging mundane pleasantries with the head of the British Empire and her family about a telegraph expedition. They gave no indication of recognizing my name, nor did I expect anything other than their attitude of regal detachment when we spoke. It was a relief when they disembarked and we set about our various tasks for getting the ship underway.

  The North Atlantic

  [JULY–SEPTEMBER 1860]

  I missed Kate as we travelled from island to island aboard the Fox, alighting to explore the land on foot, horseback and later with dog teams, in search of suitable locations for the placement of telegraph lines, but she was right. It was stimulating to be braving rough conditions once again. The journey required a good deal of stamina and, despite feeling the odd twinge from aging knees, the exertions caused new energy to flow through my body and mind.

  London

  [OCTOBER 1860]

  I was saddened to learn that while I was away, Sir George Simpson, the former Governor-in-Chief of the Hudson’s Bay Company, my mentor, employer and friend since I first arrived on the shore of Hudson Bay in 1832, had died at his home in Lachine, near the Lower Canada city of Montreal. I had planned to take Kate with me on my next journey to North America, so she could meet the man who had seen potential and something of his own character in an eager and adventurous young doctor. I certainly hadn’t expected that my summer employment twenty-seven years earlier as ship’s surgeon aboard the Prince of Wales would turn into a long and adventurous career with the Company in the Arctic.

  Sir George and I had experienced our differences over the years, but for the most part I regarded him as a father figure and a man upon whom I could depend. It was unsettling to think that I would never see him or hear his boisterous laugh again, nor could I attend his funeral, because I had been at sea aboard the Fox when he died.

  London

  [NOVEMBER 1860]

  It was disheartening to learn a month after our return from the survey expedition that the newly formed Atlantic Telegraph Company had failed to secure the contract for building the cable system across the Atlantic. The company was soon disbanded. Yet another disappointment to add to the list, I thought. Why had my connection to northern enterprises been so fraught with losses ever since I submitted my report to the Admiralty in 1854? Even though I had not failed professionally on this latest endeavour, I personally felt as though my reputation was doomed to be forever tarnished by poor outcomes.

  Kensington, London

  [JANUARY 1861]

  “Darling! Come here at once!” Kate was standing in the hallway of our home, her head lowered, h
ands on her stomach. I dropped my book, leapt from my chair and ran to her. “What’s the matter, Katie? What’s wrong?”

  She took my hands and held them to her belly. “Do you feel that?” I shook my head. She raised her head and broke into a wide smile. “I felt something move in there. I did feel something move, I swear it!” She threw her arms around me. “I felt our child. I know I did! Oh, John…”

  I was smiling now. “Tell me about it, Katie. What did you feel?”

  “I… I don’t know. I can’t describe it exactly, but at that very instant, I just knew what it was! It’s the life inside me, John! Oh my goodness…” She looked up at me. “Do you know what a woman feels when she has been carrying a child for three months? Your patients must have told you…”

  “Aye, my love, but mothers-to-be feel movement at different times. Generally speaking — ”

  She was bursting with excitement. “What, John?”

  “Well, women sometimes describe it as a sort of fluttering feeling…”

  “Yes, that’s it! That is exactly what I felt. At first I thought it was butterflies, how your stomach feels when you’re nervous, but then I realized it was something more…”

  “I can assure you that there will be many more of those to come and, as the date of the child’s birth comes near, the movements will keep you awake at night!”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t mind that at all!”

  We stood in the hallway, holding each other for a long while. After we extinguished the bedside lamp that night, we talked about how we would raise our child: with books and games, outings in the park, playmates and most importantly of all, with love.

  Kensington, London

  [JULY 1861]

  To our horror, the child’s heart stopped beating just prior to its birth. In our initial state of shock and mutual grief, we could barely meet each other’s eyes. I held Kate while she wept, whispering into her hair, trying to be strong and stop the tears from rolling down my own cheeks. Poor, poor Kate. Nature could be so cruel. The love of my life had been robbed of the new life growing inside her. How could God have allowed such tragedy to befall her, to hurt us so badly?

  The child was a son we would never know. I thought back to the time when I was four years old, and my baby brother was lost soon after his birth at the Hall of Clestrain. I shivered as I recalled catching a glimpse of my mother’s grief-stricken face. Now, I was holding my wife as she sobbed. If it was a boy, we had decided to name him Thomas Glen Thompson Rae; we chose the name Emma Glen Thompson Rae for a girl. I had dreamed of taking young Tom or Emma for long walks in the park, to church, to Orkney and beyond. The thought of teaching Tom how to fish, shoot and sail, just as my father and older brothers had taught me, was never far from my mind while Kate was with child. Telling him stories about my adventures in the Arctic. Helping Emma with her schoolwork, letting her play with my violin, patching our children up when they skinned a knee.

  Kate clad our lost son Tom in a silk bonnet and beautiful white gown she had sewn for his christening. We laid his tiny body in a velvet-lined, polished mahogany box and buried him in the yard of the church where we attended Sunday services. With this agonizing task completed, we held each other and vowed to try again.

  Kensington, London

  [FEBRUARY 1864]

  On a chilly Tuesday afternoon, I opened the door to our home, hung up my hat and coat, and rushed into the kitchen, where Kate was supervising the preparation of the evening meal.

  “Good heavens!” she cried. “Something has got you all in a fluster. Is everything all right, dear?”

  I could hardly contain my enthusiasm. “Yes, of course. All is well, but I do have something exciting to discuss with you.”

  She gestured for me to meet her in the parlour, where she joined me with two cups of tea. “Well, you’ve certainly got my attention. Your face looks flushed. Your news must be very interesting.”

  “Aye, it is! As you know, I was called to a conference at the offices of the Hudson’s Bay Company today. It turned out that the purpose of the meeting was to discuss a new expedition requiring someone with my surveying skills and wilderness experience!”

  Kate raised her eyebrows. “Another long journey?”

  “Aye, but listen to this: the Company is joining a newly formed private venture called the American Western Telegraph Company to explore the viability of setting up an intercontinental telegraph line through Siberia, the Bering Strait, Alaska…” Kate’s hand flew to her mouth. “Siberia? Alaska? So far away this time!” she cried.

  “Oh no, don’t worry, Kate. I wouldn’t consider being involved in all of it. My part of the journey would comprise a portion of the survey in Rupert’s Land.” I pulled a map from my pocket, and drew a finger across it from Fort Garry — the Hudson’s Bay Company trading post positioned at the confluence of the Red and Assiniboine Rivers — to the mouth of the Fraser River in western British Columbia. “I’ve been asked to conduct a survey from the fort, to identify and chart the locations of suitable trees to be fitted as poles for carrying the telegraph wires to the Pacific Coast. And if the new company wins the contract, we might consider making a modest investment…”

  A shadow of concern crossed Kate’s lovely face. “When would you go, and for how long?”

  “This spring. And, my dearest Katie, I hope you’ll agree to travel with me as far as Fort Garry. We can make a wonderful holiday out of it — sail to New York together, visit with family and friends in Hamilton…”

  Kate jumped up, surprised. “Oh, John. D’you mean it? Oh my goodness! I don’t know what to say!” Now, her face was flushed with excitement. Throughout the remainder of the evening, she peppered me with questions until I begged her to let me get some sleep and resume the conversation in the morning.

  North America

  [1864]

  Kate and I set sail for New York from Liverpool on a fair spring morning, arriving in New York a week later. The journey aboard the RMS Persia delighted both of us to no end. We strolled along the decks arm in arm, dined extravagantly, and I thought that I had never seen her look so vibrant and well. We travelled by train to Hamilton and then to St. Paul, Minnesota, and took a steamboat north on the Mississippi River until we were transferred to horses and carts. At this point, the comfortable aspects of our expedition abruptly ended, and the conditions became almost unbearable.

  When I was in the area years earlier, I had marvelled at the lush landscape and abundant lakes, naïvely assuming that the region would be in the same green late-spring condition this time. The final leg of our journey north was grim, however, due to the worst drought conditions I had ever witnessed. Prairie fires had destroyed tree and plant life; lakes had dried to nothing. There were times when the clouds of smoke, dust and insects were so thick that I was unable to see the horse I was driving. I could hear it coughing, though — a dreadful sound I will never forget.

  The atmosphere slowly changed from brown and foul to green and fair, as we pushed our way north along the Red River Valley and arrived at our destination in late June. “Katie, if I had known what the conditions were going to be like… I should have checked ahead of time. I wish it had been like this all along — ”

  “Hush, dear. What an adventure this is. I’m thrilled to be here with you. Never for one moment did I think we wouldn’t make it through the rough patches, safe and sound.”

  The following six weeks kept me occupied with preparations for the survey expedition. Kate enjoyed the companionship of several other women who were staying at Fort Garry, and we usually dined with employees of the company and their families. The topic of native dissatisfaction with the growing influx of white settlers was frequently brought up in discussions, and I was reminded of how native people were expected to adapt and change at the behest of British interlopers. I couldn’t imagine the Esquimaux being forced into the same trap, because no white man in his right mind would try to settle in the frozen north.

  Preparations were completed by mi
d-August, at which point Kate and I bade each other a fond farewell. She was escorted north and east to Hudson Bay for her journey home to England by ship, while our party of eight men travelled west alongside rivers with horses, carts and wagons. We moved at a painstakingly slow pace, because of my mandate to stop often and evaluate various species of trees for their durability and longevity as telegraph poles. Treacherous conditions sometimes forced us to leave our horses behind and continue the expedition on foot — my preferred method of conveyance on rough terrain — although the heavy load of equipment and supplies made the task particularly arduous when we pushed further west and were forced to traverse Rocky Mountain passes.

  After we crossed the continental divide at Yellowhead Pass in British Columbia, I purchased two dugout canoes, declined the offer of a guide and, along with three of my men, undertook a most challenging and stimulating journey of two hundred and seventy miles down the Fraser River to Fort Alexandria, averaging seventy miles each day. So many bends, twists and turns to be navigated!

  We left the canoes behind and, with my portion of the survey finished, I journeyed on to the newly incorporated city of Victoria, where I received a most welcoming reception from the local government. From there, I travelled south by ship to the Isthmus of Panama and boarded a train to the shores of the Atlantic Ocean. During the sea journey from Panama to England, I was mostly occupied in my cabin, preparing maps and a report on the survey. It was gratifying to write that, given the quantity and quality of suitable trees between Fort Garry and the West Coast, the proposed telegraph system would be 100% viable.