Chasing Ghosts

by Nicola Pierce

  ‘Well, my boy, are they keeping up with us?’

  He could never resist looking back, such a curious dog.

  He answered my question with a short bark and, I could swear, a look of reproach. ‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ I told him. ‘Don’t you feel sorry for them! Pity is a luxury here.’

  We had not been walking for too long before I thought I saw some movement in the distance. But was this another mirage of mine? For the last day or two, I could not shake the feeling that we were being watched.

  ‘Neptune, can you see what I see? Am I mad or is that people up ahead? Actual people?’

  I heard a bark which was good enough for me. Well, if we were on a floating ship, I could equate this marvellous scene with finding land. Remember, James, when we finally found the Australian coast. Wasn’t that something? Wasn’t it warm? So, it was that same feeling, of something miraculous happening even if land had been expected for quite some time. I had hoped and hoped that it was only a matter of time before we met with some form of life other than ourselves. I simply would not accept that we were the only ones here. I quickened my pace, although I did turn and use my arms to gesture to the others that wondrous sight.

  Retrieving my telescope from my coat pocket, I put it to my eye. Oh, how it hurt, the steel being so cold to the touch that it scalded my skin. Do you remember our Antarctic expedition, James? Remember that we marvelled about never, ever feeling warm for months on end. We had to be careful with our instruments; they hurt us so.

  I could have whooped in delight as I peered through the telescope. At first glance, I teased myself that I had discovered a new type of animal, one that was as tall as a man and walked about on two legs like a man. The glass circle of my telescope confirmed that I was looking at a group of Inuit covered in fur, from head to toe. Some of them carried spears, which delighted me further as this meant that they were hunting for food. They had their own dogs with them. And they saw us too. I watched them point in our direction. Two men, it seemed, were being sent to meet us. Since I had time to, I briefly inspected the rest of them. My heart thudded when I realised it was a family group. There were women and children. How long had it been since my men and I last saw a woman or a child? Oh, it gave me such a jolt.

  Officer Fitzjames appeared at my side, out of breath, his panting causing pillow-sized mists that momentarily obscured his face, reminding me of bridal veils made from the finest Belfast linen. His breathing was laboured for a few minutes but when he could, he asked, ‘What is it, sir?’

  ‘Natives. A family, I would say. I should think they are most surprised to see us here. Two are coming our way.’

  ‘Do they look friendly? We should take the usual precautions, sir.’

  I bridled at this. ‘Why, yes, Fitzjames. Thank you for telling me what I already know. Have one of the marines load a rifle and follow me but tell him to hang back. You wait here with the others until I judge the lie of the land.’

  ‘But should I not accompany you, sir?’

  I was haughty because, as usual, I felt he was judging me and assuming he was superior to me in every way. I snapped, ‘No, you should not!’

  But then I sought to be understood. Willing myself to sound more patient than I felt, I added, ‘I do not wish to frighten them away. We cannot afford to intimidate them or appear unwelcome.’

  Looking unconvinced, Officer Fitzjames nevertheless replied, ‘Very good, sir.’

  I watched Fitzjames as he carried out my instructions. Our little procession came to a halt and, moments later, one of the taller men detached himself, rifle in hand, and made his way towards me. I raised my hand briefly, letting him know that he was to follow me, at a distance.

  As I walked, a hundred thoughts slid around my mind. Surely this was the best piece of luck that we had had in years. God in His mercy had sent these natives to us in our hour of need. Possibly, young Fitzjames did not grasp the reality of our situation. We had guns and bullets aplenty which meant nothing out here. Over the last while, we had managed to shoot a couple of birds, but there were no oxen, no deer, no bears, not even a blasted squirrel. Only snow and ice. We were in a bad way. Most of our food was gone. I am not sure how this happened. Maybe we gave the others too much. Maybe we lost it. In other words, we were at the mercy of these strangers. If they turned away from us, I should not like to consider the consequences for our survival.

  I gave them my best smile and dearly wished I could remember the Inuit word for friendship. There was a crack in the ice and the two fellows steered me there to meet, a river frozen beneath our feet. I know, James, I know. They were wary of us and wanted to keep us away from the rest of the family until they deemed me trustworthy. It was all down to me, to make them feel at ease and make them want to help us.

  Could they see the hunger in my face?

  They stared at my escort’s rifle so I ordered him to lay it on the ground and look friendly. Once the gun was down, they focused on me, studying my clothes and my boots. I was charmed by the reverence they showed for the gold buttons of my coat. Perhaps this was their first time to see buttons. Certainly, I could see no openings in their attire. I wondered how many animals each was wearing.

  ‘Two ships,’ I began, as I used my arms to draw Erebus and Terror in the air.

  Private Heather, my marine, muttered, ‘Do they even know what a ship is, sir?’

  I ignored him. They watched me politely. I added noises to my repertoire, the whirring of engines getting slower and slower before dropping my head to my hands to signify the ice moving in around us, getting tighter and tighter until we were solidly trapped. It was a most vibrant pantomime, I assure you, and they were an attentive audience, graciously following my hands when I pointed in the direction we had travelled from, where our ships were held fast.

  Hunger motivated the next act. I moved my hands from my mouth down to my stomach several times and told Private Heather to do the same. I mimicked putting food into my mouth and then, rather cheekily, pointed to the bags on their back. There had to be food in them.

  You can imagine my delight when they gestured us to follow them and turned to head back to the rest of their group. I winked at Private Heather, delighted with my success. Yes, James, you are right. This was quite out of character for me to behave so with crew but you will have to admit that this was a special occasion.

  Our two friends spoke to their family who each carried the same sort of shapeless, bulky bag made out of some furry animal. There was no need for small talk, no need for niceties because they knew no English and this is the Arctic, not a London residence. I pointed to their bags and prevailed upon them to open them, again pointing to my mouth and tapping my stomach to demonstrate it needed to be filled with whatever they could give me. Private Heather did not need to be urged a second time to copy me.

  They did exactly what I asked and you can appreciate how my eyes watered at the sight of the meat in their bags. Thick chunks of seal meat. They had been far luckier than us since we had not seen a seal in months and months. I smiled and smiled to encourage them and, bless them, they all removed some of their meat and placed it in one pile for me. I was overjoyed. This was better than gold, to dine on fresh meat for the first time in years. The oldest man called one of his dogs, a big, shaggy thing that reminded me of Neptune. He carried his own bag which was tied to his broad back and which was now being filled with the meat. I shook hands all round, even with the women and the timid young boy who held back yet allowed me to take his hand. Or perhaps he was a young girl. Their exotic features make it difficult to tell the youngsters apart.

  ‘Come,’ I said, waving my arms once more. ‘Come and meet the rest of us!’

  Four of the men elected to go with me. I sent Private Heather on ahead to ensure that our men were busy setting up camp and that they should make our guests feel welcome. I started making plans there and then. We would befriend this family group and, with our weapons and their keen knowledge of the area, we would be able to provide
fresh food for everyone. My heart sang as I thought about never having to open another tin again, not that we had any left.

  Our four companions followed me back across the frozen river to where our chaps were erecting the tent. At our arrival, I am disappointed to say that my men stopped what they were doing to stare rudely at my companions. I was an anxious host and roared at them, ‘Get back to work if you want to eat today!’

  The natives looked startled at my tone. I smiled graciously and summoned Assistant Surgeon Alexander McDonald. He knew these people better than the rest of us as he used to hunt whales in Arctic waters and had spent some time with them, even learning their language. He came forward and I wished he could have looked a bit less sorrowful. In any case, he translated for me, my name and rank, and how we came to be here. The four seemed rather surprised to hear familiar words spring forth from the surgeon’s mouth. They glanced at another, raising their eyebrows in disbelief. As McDonald spoke, I beamed and nodded my head to compensate for my colleague’s dour expression.

  Once our tent was standing, the dog’s saddlebag was emptied out onto the ice. My men beheld this fatty feast with a holy regard normally reserved for the inside of a church. I could not help myself and took a bite of the meat, uncooked, just enough to fill my mouth. I grinned at our guests, displaying my compliments for their food. Now, it was time for us to give them something. ‘Open up our bags, open everything. We need to give these good people our thanks.’

  My men were sluggish from lack of sustenance, which explains why I had to roar once more, ‘I said, open up our bags. We owe these people our lives.’

  Not one of them looked like they agreed with me. Dullards! How I wished that Thomas, my poor steward, would appear to carry out my wishes.

  I suddenly fancied a break away from my men. Had I not been looking at their faces for days on end now? I had McDonald suggest to the natives that I accompany them back across the river, to where they were building their shelter for the night. How nice, I thought, to go and visit the neighbours. While McDonald translated, I rifled through our things, taking out a knife, large coloured beads and Sir John’s medal that was jumbled up with everything else, more than enough to make them happy to help us.

  My four new friends grinned like excited children as they led me back to their ‘home’. We walked back in contented silence. McDonald had told me their names but I could not remember them. Never mind, I thought, there will be plenty of time for that later.

  Their tents looked a far sight warmer than ours did, thanks to their outer layer of furs. I was invited to go into one of them, which I duly did, bending down almost double to step over the threshold. My height fascinated them. They stretched their arms to my shoulder and then compared it to the size of the tent’s entrance. We all fitted in quite comfortably. A young girl was sitting there, gutting fish. I sat down near her and, on seeing a container of water, pointed to it. Guessing what I wanted, she poured me a cup. It made my teeth rattle with the cold. I knew she could not understand me but I told her anyway, ‘I will have my men show you how to make tea and coffee. I think we have a little left of each. Believe me, you are in for a treat.’

  She smiled graciously and, just for that, I opened up my bag and gave her some of the bigger beads. She rolled them about in the palm of her grimy hand. ‘See, you can make a necklace with them, if you like.’

  I took out the small knife and handed it to the fellow that I took to be in charge. He was one the others seemed to check everything with. He held it in both hands and bowed his head. Maybe he was the girl’s father. I passed out a few more beads, along with the medal which fascinated them. One of them, a younger man, rubbed it with his thumb, perhaps expecting to rub out the engraved head.

  Just then, we heard shouting outside and filed out to investigate.

  They brought us luck, these sturdy little people. Two of my men had followed the sound of running water and returned with a pink salmon, medium-sized. We cheered them, while I declared that fortune had finally swerved in our favour.

  And here I sit, James, at this very minute, writing these very words to you. The young girl watches me write. I wonder has she ever seen someone write before. I draw some circles and triangles and hold them up to show her. She smiles nicely before returning to her work. Such an industrious creature.

  I cannot describe to you the relief of sitting here and feeling that we have overcome the worst. The seal meat, the fish and the running water are just rewards indeed for what we have faced up to today. These simple folk will be our guides and protectors. It is madness to think that we could have done it by ourselves. We have maps but lack the native knowledge. They are the answers to our prayers. And we can teach them so much in return. We are going to make it home, James.

  I find that I want to write that last line once more: we are going to make it HOME.

  22

  An Arctic farewell

  I cannot write any more …

  I can only listen to the voice in my head as it composes letters and private monologues, which no one shall ever read or hear. My journal and notebooks are lost, with their pointless scribbles and scientific babble. All is lost.

  Who am I?

  I am Captain Francis Crozier of the British Navy, a native of Banbridge and proud resident of London. None of this is relevant any more. The snow wipes clean a man’s history … and future.

  Do I blame the Inuit, for abandoning us after that first day? No, not now – now that I have realised that they had to in order to survive. Our extra bellies would have meant death for their children.

  The Arctic is a callous murderer that has killed all my men and will kill me. Today, in fact.

  I will let it kill me today.

  Am I not grateful, now, that I leave no wife and children grieving forevermore? Sophie was right not to entangle herself with the likes of me. James was right to give up this life in exchange for a home that will never move.

  My body is deteriorating fast. I can hardly see where I am going but that does not matter. I cannot feel my feet and have lost the courage to inspect them, to look at the blackened stumps instead of toes and ankles. Everything is black against the white of the Arctic. My fingers resemble dry twigs, ready to be snapped in two.

  How can anyone survive here?

  Just a few steps more.

  I did my best.

  Just a few steps more …

  23

  Night-time visitors

  They had me surrounded, confusing me with their cold smiles while moving in far too close. Tess, Katie and the others. ‘Do you or do you not have a ghost in your house? You must tell us the truth!’ Tess Bradley appeared to be in charge. We were in the yard, Mrs Lee having sent us out into the sunshine after it had rained for the previous ten days.

  Feeling trapped, I glanced around, hoping for a friendly face. Tess shoved me in the shoulder. ‘Ann Coppin, do you have a ghost? You do, don’t you!’

  I was not allowed to talk about Weesy outside our house. Nor could I tell anyone about Mrs Powell’s visit or about the map or Lady Franklin or anything like that. Sticking her face into mine, Katie Bradley whined, ‘Are you going to cry? Well, are you?’

  ‘Do you want me to?’ I asked, desperate to say something.

  They sneered at me. ‘If you do not tell us, we will send you to Coventry.’

  I swallowed hard, admitting, ‘I don’t know where that is.’

  ‘Oh, dear!’ howled Tess. ‘Fancy not knowing what Coventry is.’

  She spoke to me as if I was a child. ‘It means that we will not talk to you at all. You will be ostra … ostrich … ost … well, none of us will talk to you ever again.’

  ‘I never liked her anyway,’ sighed Katie. The others considered this and then nodded their heads in agreement.

  Someone behind me tugged my hair, just a short, sharp pull. I did not turn to see who the culprit was. They were all the culprit, making up one big awful culprit that would not let me be until I told them something,
so I said, ‘There might have been something months ago but it is gone now.’

  To my mind, that was the safest answer I could give since I was not mentioning Weesy’s name or anyone else’s. If my parents were here, they would surely agree.

  ‘Well, what?’ asked Tess, sounding excited. ‘What did you see? What did it look like?’

  The earnestness of the question threw me, though I felt the change in the atmosphere as they awaited my story. Now, I was feeling a surge of pride in being the centre of attention and quickly leafed through the occurrences of the last few months for something interesting, and safe, to tell.

  ‘What is going on here?’ It was Mrs Lee. ‘Ann, come inside and tidy the bookcase. The books are all muddled up. Girls, if you wish to take a book, you must put it back exactly where you found it. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Lee,’ responded the meek chorus.

  They released me with reluctance and I followed my teacher indoors. The bookcase was beside her desk.

  ‘Empty it and start again, putting the books in alphabetical order according to the writer’s surname.’

  I hunkered down and began pulling the books out, stacking them on the floor beside me. The room felt cool and calm after the blaze of sunshine and attention.

  ‘Ann, what was going on out there?’

  Not daring to look at her, I kept at my work, saying, ‘Nothing, Mrs Lee.’

  ‘It did not look like nothing to me. Tell me the truth, please.’

  Everyone wanted me to tell the truth. I took up a book and wiped a smudge from its cover, A Christmas Carol by Mr Charles Dickens. ‘D’ for Dickens.

  ‘Ann?’

  I looked up, feeling exactly as I had done a few moments earlier outside. What could I say that would not get me into any more trouble? Mrs Lee was seated at her desk, her expression grave. But she was not alone. A girl by her side smiled at me and so I smiled too and she went back to what she had been doing, standing over Mrs Lee as if reading whatever she had written into her notebook. ‘Were the girls picking on you, Ann? You can tell me if they were.’