by Robert Edric
The sun had risen fully by then, casting their elongated shadows ahead of them as they advanced, Reid still calling out for the figures around the fire to reveal themselves.
At a gesture from the ice-master those around him stopped and waited. The rest gathered in a group several yards behind.
Reid then called out something different, a full sentence.
Ahead of them a man appeared, short and barely distinguishable against the dark land behind him. A second figure rose beside him, and after this several others, until they were eventually confronted by a group similar in size to their own.
Reid went forward alone, speaking loudly, his empty hands held above his head.
The others watched as he walked within reach of the men beside the fire, some of whom held short spears, and who began to speak among themselves as Reid approached. He communicated with them, the same few words repeated over and over, and then turned to indicate the direction from which he had come. He beckoned for Fitzjames to join him, and Fitzjames went forward until he too was face to face with the natives.
“I told them you are our leader and that you bring with you a greeting and promise of peace and gifts from our Queen. Apparently they’ve heard of the Queen. One of them has traded with whalers.” Reid pointed the man out to Fitzjames, and thus prompted, Fitzjames made a short speech, emphasizing everything he said with exaggerated gestures. He too motioned back in the direction they had come, and when he at last fell silent, uncertain whether or not his display had served its purpose, the two men closest to him came forward to embrace him, causing him to stoop to accommodate them, and coming away from them with soot and grease on his cheeks. Then they embraced Reid, who returned the gesture with equal enthusiasm.
The others came forward and the introductions were repeated until each man of both parties had embraced with everyone else. Then they were led back to the fire, where they saw beside it the skinned carcasss of a dozen large seals. Alongside them lay their bloodless pelts, looking as though they had been sloughed off naturally rather than stripped by force from the dead creatures.
Wedged into the fire were two iron pots full of rendered oil, and all around the blaze lay the scattered debris of at least another dozen skeletons, most of these reduced to only a skull and a spine, and looking like giant white serpents crawling over the ground, the illusion of movement completed by the flickering shadows of the fire.
The novelty and delight of the encounter was as great for the Eskimos as for the members of the expedition, and the meeting was celebrated long after their introductions had been concluded.
Later, Reid explained to Fitzjames that they had come across a hunting party, that the Eskimos lived far to the southeast, and were operating now from temporary shelters a short distance to the south, at the junction of the land and the ice. Encouraged by this, Fitzjames sought information concerning the presence of either land or open water in the direction of their home. Reid attempted to convey the question, and the man who had traded with the whalers drew a simple map on the thawed ground with a stick. It was difficult to decipher, consisting of only a few confusing lines, which the man attempted to explain by pointing to the corresponding land and ice around them. Reid confessed that he could understand little, but believed that the man had suggested there was both land and water to the south and southeast of them. He also thought that this was presently covered by ice, and that the man had signified this by blowing upon his ungloved hand and sweeping it over everything he had drawn. As before, Fitzjames felt encouraged and disappointed in equal measure by the revelation.
It had been his intention to continue south, but he was persuaded by the others to delay until the following day so that they might spend some time in the company of the Eskimos.
Later in the evening, the sun only moments from touching the horizon, the Eskimos indicated that they were about to withdraw to their shelters. Fitzjames, Goodsir and several of the seamen walked the short distance with them, surprised both by the weight of meat and oil the natives’ frail-looking sledges were able to bear, and the ease with which they slid over the difficult ground. They were built of bone and held together with knotted thongs. When empty they collapsed into a bundle and could be easily carried strapped across a man’s back. Fully loaded, Fitzjames estimated them to be capable of carrying 120 pounds, while themselves weighing less than ten.
The shelters were crude constructions also made of bone, over which hides had been stretched, and around which low ice walls had then been built. A single broad antler rocked in the breeze, and a short distance away a rack of drying meat stood like a giant abacus.
An hour after their arrival Fitzjames gathered his party together and indicated to the Eskimos that it was time for them to leave, which they eventually did after a ceremony as long and as involved as their introductions.
The following morning they rose early and set off in the direction of the camp on their own journey south.
Arriving there, they were surprised to discover that the Eskimos had already departed, and that little remained to indicate they had ever been there. Searching for a souvenir, one of the seamen found the antler they had seen the previous evening. He was about to take this when Reid told him not to, explaining that it had been left by the Eskimos as a marker for others coming after them.
Reid then searched the ground where the shelters had been and indicated that the hunting party had set off toward the north. They all turned to look, but saw nothing against the low outline of the land in that direction.
Reluctant to delay any longer, Fitzjames gave the order for them to resume their march south. Only four days of their allotted outward journey time remained to them.
By midday they had covered six miles, walking wherever possible on the smooth shallow ice where it abutted the land, and then returning to the rock and loose stone where the ice was fractured, or where it showed signs of thawing, making it unpredictable and likely to give beneath their weight.
An hour later Reid called for them to halt while he climbed a low rise to examine something on the horizon ahead of them. A few minutes earlier they had heard a distant crack, and then the long drawn-out scratching of moving ice. Reid called for Fitzjames to join him and pointed out the strip of cloud which lay across both the land and the ice ahead of them. At first Fitzjames had difficulty in making this out, and then in accepting that it was a cloud and not a finger of land running across their path out into the frozen channel. As the two men stood and examined this they heard again the distant noise of breaking ice.
“Is it ice in this channel, do you think?” Fitzjames asked, indicating the broad expanse beneath them, across which lay their return journey to the ships.
“For our sakes I hope not,” Reid said calmly. “If it’s starting to move now, this early, then there’s no saying what it’ll be up to when we turn to cross it on our way back.” He examined the furrowed mass as he spoke.
“I think the cloud is moving toward us,” Fitzjames said, now accepting that this was what Reid had spotted.”
Reid watched for several minutes before confirming this.
“Perhaps that’s why the Eskimos turned north.”
“Possibly.” Reid was more concerned with their own need for evasive action. He called down for the men on the ice to pull the sledges up on to the land. “If we turn inland we might avoid the worst of it, and we’ll at least be safe from any sudden movement in the ice.”
Fitzjames agreed with him, and a moment later, seeing that their sledges had not yet been hauled clear, he himself shouted for the men below to hurry, a note of undisguised urgency in his voice. Looking back to the advancing cloud, he saw with some surprise, shock almost, that far from drifting slowly north, this was now coming toward them with considerable speed, and seconds later a blast of cold air caught him in the face. He turned to Reid, but saw that he was already running down the slope to help with the sledges. He followed him. The others too felt the chill of the oncoming cloud and were shocke
d into action by it.
Those in harness started to run; others helped to push the sledges, and all of them crossed from the ice to the land. Fitzjames stood apart from them, calling down his orders and motioning for the casks and cases they spilled to be gathered up. He felt the unexpected sting of ice in the wind and then watched helplessly as a shower of pellets drove into them like shot. Several men called out in pain as they raced for shelter, uncertain of where they might find this.
Fairholme and Goodsir ran together, buffeted by the wind which caused them to run leaning into it, and which repeatedly sucked off their hoods until they were forced to fold their arms over their heads to protect themselves. They eventually arrived at a small depression in the ground and directed those following them into it. One of the sledges was pulled safely into this hollow, but the second, the one that was already damaged, overhung the rim and broke in half, scattering its load on the men below. Fairholme was struck by a sack containing a cone of sugar, was badly cut and briefly concussed. Men leapt and fell into the scalloped depression, scrambling over one another and the spilled provisions in an effort to pull themselves out of the wind, until eventually they were all together, crouching on their hands and knees with the worst of the wind whipping immediately above them.
Loose ice was driven into the hollow and this collected all around them. Bryant and his marine pulled out their tents, and although there was no possibility of erecting these while the wind still battered them, the two men were at least able to stretch the cane hoops and canvas over their bodies and legs. Beneath this outer covering they packed their furs and traveling-rugs, padding out the spaces between themselves until they were tightly cocooned. The wind and the ice still penetrated, but they were at least safe from the worst of it. Fairholme regained consciousness between Goodsir and Fitzjames. Molasses from a damaged cask had congealed in the fur of his hood, in his hair and in the stubble of his unshaven cheeks, and pressing closer to him, Goodsir began to lick at this before it froze against his skin.
They endured in this uncomfortable fashion for six hours, and then, as suddenly and violently as it had arrived, the wind fell, by which time the depression was filled with ice.
Reid was the first to pull himself free and to scramble back up to the rim. He saw blue sky all around them, darkening in places, but still clear, and already streaked yellow where the sun shone diffused and wavering through the airborne ice.
He climbed out of the hollow and walked a short distance, searching for the telescope he had dropped while running for shelter. The once-dark ground was now uniformly white, and the thin covering of fresh ice crunched beneath his boots. He followed a trail of broken cases and spilled food until the polished brass tube glinted in the sun and was revealed to him.
He was joined by Fitzjames and Reddington, and all three looked to the north and saw the tail of the storm still driving over the land and sheeting it white as it went.
“Should we stay where we are?” Reddington asked, but before anyone could answer him the sudden crack of moving ice distracted them all, and looking back to where they had come ashore they saw that the once-smooth and shallow ice had ruptured in a series of curving blocks, and was being driven upon the land for a distance of twenty or thirty yards, plowing up the loose stone ahead of it as it went. The noise had come from the distant edge of this ice, and hearing it again they all watched as more of the frozen surface rippled and burst and then thrust itself along the shore.
“It felt so solid and stable when we were crossing it,” Reddington said, dismay and disbelief rising almost to panic in his unavoidable observation.
“She’ll settle and refreeze,” Reid told him. “Too early to be breaking open to stay open. Farther north, perhaps, but not this far in.”
Despite this blunt reassurance, Reid too could not completely disguise his surprise at the swiftness and extent of this early breakup.
“Are you sure?” Fitzjames asked him. “Look over there.” He pointed to the center of the channel. A dark lead had opened up, narrow and straight, and stretching for as far as they could see in both directions, as though it were a thin film on a shallow sea, suddenly pierced and then riven by the fin of a cruising shark come unexpectedly to the surface.
Looking out over this, and seeing ahead of them the remnants of the distant cloud, Fitzjames realized that the time had come to turn back to the ships before they were cut off. He looked along the path to the hollow and saw the line of their spilled provisions, many of these now irretrievable.
The ice continued to grind against the land as they turned their backs on it and began to salvage what had not already been lost to them.
Two of their remaining three casks of lemon juice had been smashed. Their canned provisions lay all around them, shining like giant coins in the returning sun, and these were gathered up and stacked beneath the rim of the hollow.
The seamen excavated a hole in the side of their inadequate shelter and lit a fire on which they cooked a meal, after which they awaited the onset of darkness.
A watch was posted, and at two in the morning Fitzjames was woken by Goodsir with the news that a dense fog was forming around them. He left his sleeping-bag and climbed out into total darkness. The two men sat together and discussed the events of the day, both conscious of the impenetrable void which surrounded them, but reassured by the few noises—the sound of men snoring or turning in their sleep—coming from below. Goodsir said he thought that Fairholme had suffered more than a mild concussion during their scramble for shelter. He was presently asleep, having had his wound dressed, but earlier he had woken shouting in a neardelirious manner, stopping immediately upon being grabbed and held. For several minutes he had not known where he was and nor could he remember what had happened to him.
If there had been any doubt in Fitzjames’ mind earlier, then he knew as he listened to Goodsir that there was now no alternative but to turn back at the first opportunity.
The fog blanketed them for the whole of the following day and night, during which they were unable to move. Anyone walking ten feet beyond the rim of the shelter was completely lost to sight, his loudest shout muffled at only twice that distance.
An inventory was made of everything they had salvaged, leading to the alarming discovery that they only had enough food to last them a further ten days on full rations. Fitzjames immediately reduced this to two-thirds, which, allowing for the generosity of their traveling-rations, would not prove too great a hardship. Their greatest loss was that of their lemon, and three-quarters of the vinegar in which their pickled foods had been preserved.
Eventually the fog lifted, and they left the hollow two days later.
Reddington supervised the loading of the remaining sledge, but the weight proved too great for it, and having removed the excess this was distributed among the men to carry.
Fairholme was not fully recovered from the blow to his head, and after a few minutes’ exertion in the harness alongside Reid, he collapsed unconscious and could not be revived for several hours, during which time he too was carried so as not to delay them any further. Coming round later in the afternoon, he called to be put down, insisting that he could walk unaided, but after only a few steps he stumbled and fell again, and from then on he required help in walking. His head wound reopened in the fall and bled heavily into his eyes and mouth.
On their first day of traveling north along the shifting border of ice and land they made only two miles, reaching the site of the Eskimo camp, by then wholly obliterated, as dusk fell.
“We stumble,” wrote Fitzjames in his journal, the uneven hand betraying the conditions under which the words were written, the word itself broken in half, as though he had paused, undecided about what he truly wanted to say. “We marched out with every hope and expectation of success, and of fulfilling our goal of discovery, but we stumble home.” He wrote no more.
They had been marching north, retracing their steps along the edge of the frozen strait for three days. They pul
led and carried their provisions, grateful when the heavy cases and cans could finally be emptied and discarded.
Fairholme continued to lose consciousness, and they constructed a stretcher to carry him rather than waste time repeatedly tending to him where he fell.
Frustrated by their first two attempts to cross the ice, they were finally able to make headway several miles north of where they had previously crossed the frozen channel marching west.
Reid and Reddington went ahead of the main party, taking with them the two marines in the hope of encountering game.
They had all lost weight, and some were starting to feel the ache of scurvy in their joints, made worse by their exhaustion and the blight of despair which already infected the weakest among them.
Fairholme could not eat for five days, despite Goodsir’s attempts to liquefy his food and help him to take it through a straw.
On the second day of their crossing, the ice beneath them started to judder and shift, only inches, but sufficient to let them know that they had exposed themselves upon dangerous ground and that they might all now become sudden victims of its capricious nature. Each time this happened they stopped walking and waited for the movement to pass, as though the ice were some stalking creature and their movement betrayed them to it.
With Fairholme unable to fulfil his duties as surveyor, it fell to Fitzjames and Goodsir to continue plotting and calculating their progress. Their compasses spun uselessly, repulsed and attracted in equal measure by the contradictory forces of the buried Pole to the east. The two men calculated independently the speed they were traveling and thus the distance they covered each day, but in the absence of any reliable landmarks their calculations varied greatly, and they were forced to the realization that their estimates were in truth little more than poorly informed guesses.
