The Broken Lands

by Robert Edric

  During the first day’s march they covered seven miles, delayed by a field of pressure ridges intersected by narrow fissures.

  The following day they were held up when Edward Couch fell and injured his ankle. Having strapped his foot, Couch felt able to continue, but rather than add to the four miles they had already covered, Gore chose to make camp.

  At sunset, James Rigden, who had gone ahead of the main party, returned with the news that there was land to the southeast of them, and encouraged by this, and convinced that what Rigden had seen was not the distant shore of Boothia, Gore agreed that they would turn in that direction at first light the following day.

  They reached this exposed shore an hour before noon, having come a distance of only sixteen miles, and dividing into two parties, they searched in both directions along the low, ice-filled shore.

  By Des Voeux’s calculations they were on King William Land at the base of the Boothia Peninsula, but were still to the north and east of James Ross’ Point Victory, reached seventeen years earlier and unvisited ever since. It was difficult to make precise calculations, being so close to the Magnetic Pole, but Des Voeux estimated that they were still fifty miles from Ross’ Farthest West.

  It was Gore’s intention to visit neither the Pole nor Point Victory, but to remain for several days longer and explore inland and to the south of where they had come ashore, this being the most valuable area of exploration should a later evacuation to the south become necessary.

  They searched for the cairns Ross had built during his journey west, but found only the stakes of an abandoned Eskimo dwelling and the nearby scattered bones of a large animal, whether butchered and stripped or dead of natural causes they could not tell.

  Gore set the men to work constructing their own cairns, six in all, at half-mile intervals both north and south of their landing-point, and tall and solid enough for one to be seen from any other. Using a chisel, he numbered these, so that anyone coming after them might know immediately where on the coast they had come ashore, and in each he placed a canister containing the details of the route of their expedition to date. He also wrote that Sir John Franklin was still in command and that all was well, choosing not to mention the deaths they had already suffered.

  He buried the last of these canisters on the 28th of May and then recalled his men to their base, from which they set out back across the ice to the ships.

  The sea was still frozen for as far as they could see, but ashore the confused stacks of broken ice suggested to Gore that some recent movement had taken place. Inland, large areas of rock and shingle were exposed, and a succession of low smooth ridges tempted them to the east.

  On a short hunting trip immediately prior to their departure, Robert Hopcraft found a discarded cartridge case, and upon inspecting this, Gore was convinced that their path had at last crossed with James Ross.’ He organized a further search along the line taken by Hopcraft, but nothing more was found, with the exception of a large patch of sorrel, which they collected and boiled.

  They turned back across the frozen sea on the 31st of May, and following their own tracks they reached the ships two days later.

  Franklin congratulated them on their discoveries, pleased that their current position had been so swiftly and easily fixed. Privately, however, he expressed his regret that Gore had not pushed farther south until he came upon more positive proof of Ross’ presence, or perhaps east, crossing the full width of King William Land to determine once and for all whether it truly was a part of the Boothia Peninsula, or if it was in fact a separate island linked only by an ice-bound sea to that larger land mass.

  Following his first excursion away from the Erebus, Fitzjames did not visit Tozer and the others until ten days later. Since that first trip he had not exerted himself and had continued to recover his health. His one true disappointment during this time was the loss of four of his back teeth, which had come loose from his injured gums, and detached themselves completely during dinner one evening. He had gained half a stone in weight since his return, but his face still bore the signs of his illness. His hair continued to fall out, and despite Goodsir’s assurances that it would grow again, he regretted the change in his appearance. That he should feel genuinely saddened by this loss surprised him. He knew he was not a vain man, but since his return he frequently found himself comparing what he saw in the mirror with a photograph of himself taken a month before their departure from home. Only a little over two years separated the faces, but the one he now considered daily in the mirror looked at least ten years older. He knew that a man’s years between his mid-thirties and mid-forties represented a dangerous passage, and one for which he now realized he had not yet properly prepared himself.

  Also of continuing concern to him was the worsening condition of James Fairholme who, following his rapid recovery, had since suffered some form of relapse and was again feverish and delirious. On one occasion he had left his sick-bed and pulled out all the drawers of the chests around him, spilling their contents and then sitting among these and tearing to shreds any books or papers which came within his reach. Afterward he shouted and screamed until he was discovered by Stanley, who immediately sedated him.

  He slept for the next thirty-six hours, and when he woke he had no recollection of anything that had happened. When he saw the results of his destructive rage, he collapsed and wept. He continued to sweat heavily and at the same time to complain of a bone-chilling cold; he cried out in his shallow sleep and became incoherent and distracted when anyone tried to hold a conversation with him. He demanded to see Franklin long after he had been told of Franklin’s death, and on the few occasions when Fitzjames was called upon to help subdue and reassure him, Fairholme did not recognize him, cursing and lashing out with his feeble arms without warning. He was fed regularly, but was seldom able to keep down even the lightest of foods.

  Fitzjames visited him on the morning of his second attempt to meet Tozer, and was alarmed to see how much more weight he had lost during the previous few days. Before he left, Stanley drew back the blanket to reveal Fairholme’s near-skeletal body, with its swollen joints and the bruising which covered his stomach and groin. He had become incontinent, and the smell filled the small room. According to Stanley, his condition was stable, but the progress of scurvy once it had taken hold was unpredictable, only its symptoms following the same irreversible and terrifying pattern.

  Disheartened by what he had seen, Fitzjames left the room and then the ship, and walked the quarter of a mile from the Erebus to Tozer’s shelter. With him again went Gore and Vesconte, accompanied this time by Hodgson and Irving from the Terror. Crozier had urged him to take a party of “loyal” marines from the Erebus, but Fitzjames had rejected this, knowing that the approach of any armed men in his company might provoke the confrontation he was hoping to avoid. He was convinced that the situation concerning the men on the ice was not so serious as Crozier believed, and that, in his mind at least, matters of loyalty and self-preservation had become deliberately confused.

  The five men passed through the mounds of stores and came to the first of the two upturned boats, to which tarpaulin canopies had been attached, and within which small fires burned. The men gathered around these fires did not notice their approach, and Fitzjames stepped beneath the canopy of the nearest boat before those inside were aware of his arrival.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, drawing back his hood and stamping the wet from his boots. He moved closer to feel the warmth of the fire. Empty cans and bottles lay scattered around him, and a mound of bones showed powder white in the embers of the fire.

  “James Daly, isn’t it?” he said. “And William Heather,” recognizing the two marines sitting by the entrance, and having already checked with one of the Terror’s warrant officers the names of all the men who had so far chosen to follow Tozer.

  Both men nodded and Daly took off his cap, followed by Heather.

  “You’ve made yourselves very comfortable,” Fitzjames went on, hopi
ng neither man misinterpreted the tone of his remark. He saw them look over his shoulder to see who had accompanied him.

  There were three others in the upturned boat, all seamen, only one of whom—George Kinnaird—Fitzjames recognized. He greeted him too, and then asked if it was possible to see Tozer.

  The five men agreed to this, and offered to accompany him to the larger ice-shelter where Tozer now slept. It was clear that his presence made them uneasy, causing some of them to behave as though a trap were about to be sprung on them.

  “We had no choice,” Kinnaird said to him before Fitzjames could ask anything further.

  Gore and Vesconte appeared in the doorway and called in to identify themselves.

  James Daly invited both men in. He smoked a pipe, which filled the low space with smoke and collected in a cloud above them.

  “Choice?” Fitzjames asked Kinnaird.

  “Go and look at her. Her forecastle head’s all stoved in. The first sign of a sea under her and she’s going to say her prayers. I know they’re trying to repair her, but I doubt they’ll stop her tipping in a fast thaw or if the ice drops her. I wouldn’t never have left her otherwise. We haven’t abandoned her, Mr. Fitzjames, but we couldn’t go on living in her as she was, not forward of that smashed hold.”

  Fitzjames acknowledged both the sincerity and the despair in the man’s voice and assured him that he had not come seeking to punish anyone or to persuade them to return with him.

  “Then what?” William Heather asked contemptuously, drawing nods and anxious glances from the men around him.

  “Simply to find out how you are situated and to see what might now be the best way forward,” Fitzjames said, afterward addressing his remarks to the more sympathetic Kinnaird.

  At the appearance of Irving and Hodgson, the two marines took up their rifles and looked as though they were about to run.

  It was Kinnaird who defused the situation. “Tell Captain Crozier that most of us will be happy to return to his command if he will only berth us farther astern so that we might at least stand a chance of orderly abandonment if she does suffer any more damage and go down in a crush.”

  George Hodgson took out a pad and read from it a list of two dozen names, asking those present to confirm if the men on his list had now joined them. He did this under orders from Crozier, and all five officers regretted the ominously formal tone it cast upon the proceedings. The number of those living out on the ice had doubled in the past five days, several men from the Erebus also having joined them. Fitzjames realized that with one or two possible exceptions, these were not men who would panic easily, many of them, Tozer and Kinnaird included, having wintered in the Arctic several times before.

  “There is one thing,” Kinnaird said hesitantly, as Fitzjames and the others prepared to leave and go in search of Tozer.

  “What’s that?”

  “The two boys have come out to join us. Scared as rabbits at harvest, they were. They’re around somewhere. Take them back with you. They have no part in this or its consequences.”

  The others nodded their agreement at this request, and Fitzjames promised to find the boys and take them back to the Erebus with him, where they might share the bunks of their own two apprentices.

  Leaving the boat, the five men, now accompanied by half a dozen of those living on the ice, made their way toward the more substantially constructed shelter beyond.

  Tozer appeared in the doorway at their approach, shielding his eyes against the sun to make them out.

  “Mr. Fitzjames,” he called out. There was neither surprise nor suspicion in his voice; Fitzjames had anticipated a more hostile reception. “And Mr. Gore, Mr. Vesconte, Mr. Hodgson, Mr. Irving,” Tozer added, identifying each of them as they came forward out of the glare.

  Fitzjames went ahead alone and asked Tozer if the two of them might talk in private. Tozer considered this and then agreed, calling into the dwelling behind him for those inside to vacate it. Nine men came out, and behind them came the two boys, whom Fitzjames greeted, but who remained nervously silent in his presence. He signaled to Gore to approach them and persuade them to return with him to the Erebus.

  “Come in,” Tozer said brusquely, holding open the door for Fitzjames to precede him into the hut. Light entered by a solitary small window in its south wall. Cases and clothing filled most of the space, along with scattered furs and groundsheets. A smoking lamp burned on the table at the center of the room. Tozer drew up chairs and the two men sat down. Here, too, lay scattered the debris of empty cans and bottles, and Fitzjames caught the smell of alcohol, mixed with that of grease, gun oil and the warm, rank smell of men.

  “Kinnaird told me what happened,” Fitzjames began.

  “Go and see for yourself. Go and see the so-called repairs Captain Crozier thinks he’s making. She’ll dip as soon as she’s afloat. That is if she isn’t caught and crushed first. You’ve only got to look at all the precious stores they’ve offloaded. We fulfill our duties and obligations as posted. We stand ice watch through the nights, but we aren’t going to be tempted to return until we see some chance of salvation if the need arises.”

  “There are many still aboard who have no intention of joining you,” Fitzjames said.

  “Then more fool them.” Tozer smiled. “But we do worry them an awful lot, don’t we, Mr. Fitzjames? They’re there and we’re here, and they can’t help but have that nagging doubt at the back of their minds, can they?”

  Fitzjames conceded that this was an accurate assessment of the situation. “Did you think Crozier might send armed men to bring you back?”

  The suggestion silenced Tozer for a moment, but he had clearly given this alternative course of action some thought. “Then he’d have had a fight on his hands. Besides which, for all his faults, he isn’t stupid enough to let any such action leave a stain on his career. Especially not now—not now that he’s in command. Surely you’d guessed that much, Mr. Fitzjames, surely you’d realized that that was why he let you come out here and held back himself?”

  Fitzjames had considered this, but had willingly accepted his own role in the negotiations. A balance had been struck, an understanding reached, and neither man spoke for a moment. Then Tozer lifted a hot kettle to the table and made them a drink.

  “We’ll take back the boys,” Fitzjames said eventually.

  “I’d be grateful. And in turn I shall do nothing to encourage the others to join us.”

  “You do that simply by being here,” Fitzjames said.

  “No more nor less than they are encouraged by the lack of concern with which Captain Crozier treats his damage and his repairs. If I were you, I’d watch my own berth on the Erebus.”

  Fitzjames agreed to make his own inspection of the repair work and return with his views of it.

  “She was a bad berth to begin with,” Tozer said.

  “In what way?”

  “The story goes she shivered her timbers in the shipyard and that they double-banded her instead of stripping her back to her keel ready for her shakedown.”

  “Are you certain?”

  Tozer shrugged.

  Fitzjames had only ever heard of one other ship with which he was acquainted having shivered her timbers during her construction, and that was the Rosemary, supply and sister ship to the Clio in which he had sailed the South China Sea for four years. She was built in 1829, and days after having had her keel laid and her spars fixed, the insufficiently seasoned timber of her inner hull had responded to the new strain imposed upon it by shaking itself loose, requiring it to be stripped off and replaced.

  “I was with Back in her ten years ago,” Tozer went on. “She got caught, lifted and squeezed and all but shook herself to pieces then. When we got back we thought she’d be dismantled or sent for a hulk, but instead they doubled her, refitted her and sent her back for ice-service.”

  Fitzjames rose to leave.

  Back outside they were approached by Gore and Vesconte, Hodgson and Irving having already
departed to report to Crozier. Fitzjames regretted not having had the opportunity to speak with them before they conveyed their own impressions of the camp to Crozier. The two boys stood with Gore and did not appear unduly concerned at the prospect of returning to the Erebus. Kinnaird approached with a pot of freshly rendered grease for Fitzjames to take for Fairholme and any others suffering from swollen joints.

  TWENTY

  Franklin was finally buried on the 15th of July, St. Swithun’s Day, five weeks after his death. Following the delay caused by the return of Fitzjames’ party, the ceremony was further postponed by the arrival of a summer storm which lasted three nights and two days, and which covered everything with six inches of powdered ice, including Franklin’s coffin and recently excavated grave.

  It had been Crozier’s original intention to bury Franklin away from the graves of the others, but the ice in the direction of his chosen site had recently shown signs of faulting, its elastic surface folding in long strips like crimped ribbons. In other places, equally distant, leads of dark water had temporarily appeared, only to be frustratingly sealed as lids of thick ice were then drawn and shunted over them.

  The nearest of these leads had appeared a mile distant from the ships, but so far none had been broad enough or long enough to suggest any prospect of release.

  On one occasion a broad channel of broken ice and water had appeared to the southwest, and because this was the direction in which they waited to sail, a larger party than usual, led by Hodgson and Irving, had been sent out to investigate. The surface ice had shattered during the night, and it was not until five the following morning that this distant but promising-looking channel was spotted. Irving’s initial estimate of a mile proved optimistic, and after traveling almost two they were little closer to the distant water than when they had set out. After a few more minutes of their wasted journey, Hodgson called a halt.

  The twelve men rested and shared their disappointment. Eager to confirm that their release was imminent, many had run the whole way and were now exhausted, their cheeks dripping with sweat in the heat. An inch of molten surface water skimmed the plain around them and they scooped this up and splashed it on their faces.