I pouted, pointedly refusing to show any interest in whatever he was taking about.
‘You see, my dear, there is a baby on the way.’
Too frustrated to make sense of this, I stood in silence, still trying to concoct something that would allow me to go. To her credit, Mama recognised this and asked, ‘Do you understand, Ann? Did you even hear what your father said?’
Lady Franklin would want me to go. She sounded like the sort of woman I hoped to be, independent and fearless. Perhaps I would write to her and ask her to petition Mama with a second invitation. After all, I was the one who had drawn the map. Of course, to write to her, I would need to get her address from Father without telling him why. That might be difficult but …
‘ANN COPPIN, are you listening to me?’
I jumped in fright and shock that Papa – my own sweet father – had shouted at me. Mama looked on with a certain satisfaction as he addressed me. ‘Young lady, I have had enough.’
The battle was lost. I would not be going anywhere.
Papa’s anger had not yet abated as he peered at me, his voice sounding incredulous. ‘Well, isn’t there something you wish to say to your mother?’
I managed to gulp out what I supposed was expected of me. ‘Congratulations, Mama.’
Laying her hand briefly across her stomach, she sighed, ‘Do you understand why I need you here?’
‘Yes, Mama.’
My tone was flat, all my excitement squashed. I needed to escape them and said, ‘I have an essay to write. Thank you.’
I hardly knew what I was saying as I opened the door and quickly closed it behind me. I galloped up the stairs two at a time in my desperation to reach the sanctity of my room so that I could give in to the sobs that were swelling up from my knees. Making sure not to display any temper in slamming my bedroom door, I eased it into place before flinging myself across my bed, almost swallowing the top cover as I strove to wail in secret.
I was crying because I wanted to go to London and meet Lady Franklin. After a few minutes, however, I felt something crumbling, as if I was sinking into a new level of grief. Now, I was crying for more than a lost trip abroad as I suddenly remembered my parents’ news. A new baby. Poor Weesy.
19
April or May 1848
Captain Crozier’s Journal
I cannot write much. I am tired and cold and am struggling to believe in myself. Or anything at all.
My rule that we stick together was dealt another blow today. Another thirty men gone. I tried reasoning with them and shouting at them too, but in the end my words sounded false even to my ears. I said, ‘We must stay together. There is safety in numbers.’
‘Begging your pardon, Captain Crozier, but safety from what, the ice?’
This was from Officer Irving. He held my gaze as if trying to see into my skull, as if I was hiding something from him. Then he shrugged and said, ‘Look, sir, with all respect, we are too ill to keep walking like this. We all agree that we have a better chance if we return to the ships. At least they provide shelter from the cold. At least we will have hammocks to sleep in.’
Well, even my eyes watered at the thought of my bed on Terror. This was my difficulty, that the weakest part of me, which is to say the part that was cold and exhausted, which is to say most of me, wanted to be back on board my ship too.
Could it be that my thoughts were obvious? Officer Irving continued, possibly believing he was convincing me, ‘Sir, maybe the ice is already melting. Maybe there are searches being made all around Erebus and Terror while we plough on to goodness knows where.’
My reply was unhelpful. ‘That is a lot of maybes, Officer.’
Oh, but they were in a bad way. How can I force sick men to follow me across miles of ice and snow? Yet, I tried once more out of duty and, yes, desperation. My audience was not up to a long speech. One man kept trying to take control of our meeting. His friends hushed him but he became ever more vocal, calling out, ‘I know where we are. I know exactly where we are.’
Doctor McDonald caught my eye and shrugged, possibly telling me to ignore him, but I had not the energy to talk over his ranting. Instead, I asked him, ‘Pray tell. Where are we then?’
He threw back his head to laugh at me, at all of us. ‘Don’t you know? Oh, alright, let me tell you, my friends, that we are on the moon.’
Not surprisingly, his audience just stood and stared at him. ‘Why, yes,’ he cried, jabbing his hands at the air around him. ‘Look, everything is white and shiny and quiet, just like the moon, see!’
In the very next second, his confidence evaporated. With sagging shoulders, he beseeched us, ‘But don’t you believe me? You must believe me!’
I could not think of a single thing to say other than, ‘Yes, we believe you.’
My response was a flimsy kindness that was immediately taken up by the rest of the crew and officers. Our navigator, such as he was, flopped down on the ground, folding his gloved hands into the snow, and seemed almost happy that he had been able to put us right, in his own mind at least.
Few of us were in good shape. Some were doubled up in pain, wrapping their arms around their middles as if afraid of losing bits of themselves out here, in the middle of nowhere.
It felt like nowhere.
It feels like nowhere.
I told them, ‘I know you are all tired but we must keep going. We have a destination, a goal. This is not some pointless march, you know. We are making this journey to save ourselves.’
Thirty faces turned away from me. I realised that they meant to go this very second, actually turning and shuffling off. Comrades in arms, literally holding up the arms of those poor fellows who would never see Erebus and Terror again.
I flung an accusation at their retreating backs. ‘Is this a mutiny?’
One of them, I don’t know who, replied, ‘There are no mutinies in Hell, sir.’
I pretended not to hear. But I had my responsibility to them. They were still my crew, whether they believed in me or not. I made sure they had plenty of food, to give them every chance of surviving their trek back to the ships. And I ordered them to take one of the lifeboats. I will pray for their success as I pray for ours, those who decided to stay with me.
I must say, though, I almost cracked wide open when I saw Neptune make his decision. That overgrown, shaggy mess of a dog looked left after those setting off to return to the ships, and then he glanced right, seeing me and the rest of my colleagues. How I would have preferred him to have looked confused about what was happening. As it was, he merely shucked his head before following the others.
I would not have thought it was possible that a mere dog could hurt my feelings so.
I was more shocked by this than by anything else that has happened since leaving the ships. How could he reject me? Was it because he felt the sick and broken needed him more? Or did he sense that the others offered him a better chance of survival?
There are forty of us now, who will make the walk to Great Fish River. If I can get forty men to safety then I will not have totally failed.
I will stop writing now.
So tired.
I wish …
Well, what do I wish for? If I rubbed this bowl of mine and it turned out to be a magic lamp that could bring forth a genie who, in turn, granted me just one wish, what would that be? For running water? For Sophie’s love? For Neptune’s return.
No.
I wish for home.
20
Mama is finally convinced
Papa was back from London and not, I felt, telling me much about his visit to Lady Franklin. Apart from the usual, that she was polite and asked about all of us and was sorry about Weesy’s untimely death. She was, he said, ‘a lady of great intelligence’.
This was earlier at the dinner table.
‘Did she like my map, Papa?’
Mama gave Papa a look that was loaded with meaning, making me suddenly suspicious. ‘Why, yes, indeed, she did. Very much so.’ H
e smiled at me, ignoring the fact that I was waiting to hear more. And I waited.
Aunt Harriet broke the silence. ‘William, cut your potato into smaller pieces, or do you want me to do it for you?’
‘Harriet, could you pass me the butter?’ This was Mama.
There began a right chorus of clatter, clinking cutlery against the flowery-patterned plates. Mama poured tea into Papa’s cup, the sound reminding me of rain being blown in torrents against my bedroom window. She filled her own cup halfway and waved the teapot in Aunt Harriet’s direction. Next, she seized the big knife and energetically sawed her way through the loaf of white bread, showing off her skill at creating even thin slices. All in all, the only adult not acting awfully busy was Grandfather, who was feeling better now. All he did was chew his food, deep in thought or perhaps he was dreaming. I tried a different tack.
‘But, what was she like, Papa? Was there any one thing that struck you about her person?’
Mama barely hid her impatience. ‘What an odd question, Ann. I do wish you would eat your lunch before it grows cold.’
I smiled sweetly and obediently raised a forkful of carrots to my mouth.
‘She has tremendous spirit,’ said Papa, glancing at Mother to see he had not vexed her.
Aunt Harriet could not help herself and asked, ‘What do you mean?’
Choosing his words with care, Papa replied, ‘She is not prepared to believe her husband is dead until she hears otherwise. And this, she told me, is why she refuses to wear dark clothes. Because she is not in mourning.’
Aunt Harriet was intrigued. ‘So, what colour was she wearing then?’
Papa laughed. ‘Far be it for me to notice a woman’s dress but it was colourful, blues and reds and pinks, I think. Yes, really quite colourful.’
After lunch, I pretended to believe what we were told. Papa said he would go to his office, while Mama and Aunt Harriet professed a need to sort out our winter clothes, but not one of them moved when William and I excused ourselves. I declared my intention to go to my room and read, whilst William, having extracted a promise from Papa to inspect his newest ship, took off to prepare for it. I followed my brother out of the dining room and halfway up the stairs before it properly occurred to me to hide here, in the alcove of the parlour, which is curtained off from the main room.
‘Where are you going?’
William had thought I was right behind him until he caught me tiptoeing across the hall. Glaring at him, I put my finger to my lips. That was enough for him and he trotted down to join me uninvited but at least he did not bother to repeat his question. For once, the parlour door did not creak as I inched it open. We took up our positions and listened. It was quite a risk as I had to hope that they would not want to move from the table to the parlour, thereby pulling open the curtain to find my brother and me eavesdropping.
Papa sighed. ‘She really was a character and her niece too, Sophie. I would not care to vex either of them. I mean, I would not be surprised if I heard that she was taking command of an office in the Admiralty’s headquarters and issuing orders as if she were her own ship’s captain.’
Aunt Harriet said, ‘But she is a captain, in her own way. You said that she is funding her own ships to go in search of her husband’s.’
‘True,’ agreed Papa. ‘She told me that she is quite prepared to use up all her money to sponsor as many searches as she can afford. I hear the Franklins are not too happy with this, her besieging the family coffers as it were.’
To my surprise, Grandfather spoke up and asked about my map. ‘Did she take Ann’s map seriously?’
There was a pause before Papa answered in the most astounding way, ‘Oh yes, she took it seriously alright. In fact, she was most interested in hearing all that has happened since Weesy’s … well, you know. She even asked if I thought my children were gifted.’
‘Gifted?’ Of course this was Mama who sounded so incredulous.
Papa smiled, or at least that is what it sounded like to me. ‘I know this is going to sound fantastic but we can all imagine how desperate she is. Her husband and over a hundred men have vanished, with not a single word or sighting of them for over three years. Several searches have already taken place but, according to Lady Franklin, they have no proper idea where to look and she is desperate for any clue, any hint in which to steer new searches. And, as it turns out, Ann’s map is not the first – let us call it – supernatural information that she has looked into.’
‘Ooh,’ said Aunt Harriet, ‘pray tell us all!’
I heard more tea being poured as Papa said, ‘I may not remember all that she mentioned but this is my favourite story, after’s Ann’s map of course.’
William tapped my arm, congratulating me.
‘Alright,’ said Papa. ‘There is a man, a Mr Snow who, apparently, has psychic powers on account of splitting his head open when he was a boy. He and his powers are the subject of some magazine article. Anyway, he had a sad childhood, became a sailor but is now living in New York as a newspaperman. He wrote to Lady Franklin, describing how he awoke in the middle of the night to find himself standing at his bedroom window when …’
‘Wait,’ said Mama. ‘Is this going to frighten us? Are you sure you want to tell us?’
It was Aunt Harriet who answered, ‘Oh, Dora, do let him continue. I want to hear it.’
I guessed that Papa checked with Mother before continuing. ‘As I was saying. He is standing at his window and sees the curtains being parted and, instead of whatever is the usual scene, he finds himself gazing at what he believes is the Arctic. What he wrote was that he saw a flat, ice-covered triangle that he took to be King William Land, the very same land that Ann included in her map. And he saw bodies.’
I stifled a gasp and was not in the least surprised when William took my hand. I stared hard at the curtains, letting Papa’s words paint a picture for me. How funny, I thought, that the man’s name was Snow.
‘He actually saw bodies?’ Aunt Harriet sounded beside herself with excitement.
Mother tried to protest. ‘Oh, now, this is too much!’
Either Papa did not hear her or he chose not to, so caught up was he in his storytelling.
‘Yes, he claims to have seen it all, bodies of men lying in the snow and the two ships. Don’t worry, not all the men were dead. He heard some calling out for help. They were in different groups, spread out over the area, but he pinpointed actual locations for Lady Franklin, urging her to have them searched. And, according to Lady Franklin, Ann’s map matched up well enough with Mr Snow’s vision.’
William squeezed my hand hard but I was too astonished to acknowledge him.
‘It seems that Mrs Snow woke up to see her husband standing at the window but the curtains were closed. He was shivering with the cold and she said his skin felt like ice.’
‘Honestly,’ said Aunt Harriet. ‘I think that is the most wonderful thing I have ever heard.’
Grandfather said, ‘In other words, Ann was not making it up, not any of it, it would seem.’
I pictured Papa and Aunt Harriet nodding away.
At long last Mama spoke, saying quietly, ‘Yes, I realise that. Now. And that Weesy has really been with us all along.’
There was a tremendous silence at this.
So, she had doubted me all along.
This was huge and I was meant to know nothing about it. In truth, I felt like jumping out at them in triumph, which would have been an error of the highest proportions. How grateful I was for William’s hand in mine to remind me to keep still. I turned to him to, oh – I don’t know – hug him or kiss his shiny forehead. I had to do something. Only he wasn’t where I thought he was. Instead, he was standing behind me, both hands in the pockets of his knickerbockers.
‘Were you holding my hand just now?’ I whispered it, pressing my face close to his.
He shook his head in disgust, as if accused of a crime.
21
Arctic
My dear James
,
I am writing this letter to you instead of making my usual journal entry. You see, for the first time in a long time, I know that I will see you again.
Let me explain.
It is some time since we last saw our companions. To be honest, I am confused as to how many days have passed since they left us because I have not been able to write or record anything until now.
However, this has been a better day. This is the new beginning that I have been praying for.
We began walking at first light and the going could have been a lot worse. There was no wind, just the freezing air biting at us, searching for any flesh not amply covered, blackening it. Frostbite. Yes, that’s what it’s called. Anyway, the sun came out, offering no comfort. This is the hollow, empty sun of the Arctic that merely dazzles us without providing any warmth. It reminds me of that saying, ‘All that glisters is not gold.’ Shakespeare, I think.
I was never one for poetry.
My mind is wandering across this page.
Anyway, with Neptune at my heel, I strode ahead, my back as straight as the wall of my father’s house and I refused to look back, to check on the progress behind me. Of course, you know that I must be stern if we are to succeed. It is up to me to both lead my thirty-nine officers and crew and, as a role model, provide exemplary behaviour and confidence, showing that it can be done, that we can keep walking. We must keep walking.
You agree with me, don’t you, James? How lonely it is to be a leader.
Although, of course, Neptune is not actually here. He left me, didn’t he, to return with the others to the ships? But I am free to say he is here if that is what I wish and, therefore, I permit my imagination to keep him here with me. You would really like him, James. Anyway, I chatted to him because I needed to chat to someone.
Chasing Ghosts Page 18
