The Broken Lands

by Robert Edric

  By early evening the boats had been dragged eight miles and a halt was called. Signals were fired and the pathfinding party retreated from its advance position. Hodgson expressed his surprise at being recalled, having come within striking distance of the shore, and hoping to have reached it and set up camp there within the hour.

  A second signal warned those who had fallen farthest behind not to attempt to cover the intervening distance to the main party in the darkness, but to camp where they were and to resume traveling at first light.

  They all spent an uncomfortable night on the ice, but even at midnight the temperature did not fall below 5 degrees and they kept their fires burning using case-wood.

  Fitzjames began to suffer from a sprained ankle, sustained a week earlier during a fall. Before setting out Stanley had applied a camphor poultice and strapped this up for him, but after the day’s march the ankle was again swollen and painful. He removed the bandage and applied a new warm poultice. In his already weakened condition every step he now took caused him to wince with the pain which ran up his leg and into his spine. To support the injured foot, Stanley added two splints to the bandage. At Fitzjames’ insistence, the injury was not reported to Crozier, who had spent most of the day in one or other of the boat harnesses, leading and encouraging by example, and who had then fallen asleep where he sat, having eaten little of his evening meal.

  The following morning they were roused before the sun had risen and they redistributed their loads in preparation for their second day’s march. Before their departure, a signal was fired to alert the men following behind, as yet invisible in the poor light. An answering flare rose silently from the horizon.

  They resumed marching, this time with Blanky and the marines taking their turn in the harnesses.

  Fitzjames hauled alongside Reid, followed by Goodsir and Vesconte, talking at first and then falling silent as they exhausted themselves and as obstacle followed obstacle on the path ahead.

  On several occasions the boats tipped over on their runners and the hauling teams knelt or sat on the ice as they waited for those walking behind to pull them upright and reload them.

  There were two deaths that second morning. The first less than an hour after their departure, when one of the men being pulled in the boats was found to be dead as he was picked up from a spill. He was wrapped in a blanket, carried thirty feet from their path and laid on the ice with two of their route markers nailed into a cross beside him. A note was left with the body telling those who were following without any load to retrieve it if possible and bring it to the land for proper burial.

  Their second fatality took place within sight of the shore. Six men were relieved of their places in one of the harnesses, and seeing the dark outline ahead of them they ran forward. One of these men ran faster and farther than his companions, fell to his knees and started praying. After a minute’s rest, during which the others waited alongside him, he slumped gently forward, his head touching the ice, his praying hand still clasped beneath him. Pulling him back up, his companions found him dead. He too was wrapped in a blanket and laid to one side with a marker.

  They spent the night of the 23rd on the ice again. The shore lay two miles ahead of them, but because of the contorted nature of the ice over which they were now traveling, it was unlikely that even this short distance would be covered in anything less than another half day’s marching.

  They stopped on that Easter Sunday at three in the afternoon, most of them again exhausted to the point of collapse, and some asleep within minutes of having released themselves from the boats. A brief service was held and prayers said.

  Crozier delayed sending that night’s signal to their stragglers until they had covered more ground, thus reducing the growing distance between them. He had anticipated that these slower-moving groups might join the main body of men some time during the early evening, but by sunset there was still no sign of them, and their eventual flare was answered by one disappointingly distant.

  Later, during a brief conference with Crozier, Stanley suggested that he and their other medical officers might retrace their tracks in the morning, taking with them several empty sledges upon which to carry those who could no longer walk. Crozier was against this, insisting that the men hauling their boats and the bulk of their stores remained his priority. A compromise was eventually reached: sufficient haulers would stay with the boats to ensure that land was reached the following day, and those already too weak for this task—eighteen men in all—would remain where they were under the command of Stanley and Peddie. The stronger of these would then march back to meet up with those following behind, while the rest would stay at the camp ready to take over upon the arrival of the sick later in the day. After a break, they might all then resume marching and reach the shore by nightfall. The first of the advance party to arrive there would light beacon fires to guide those still crossing the ice in the darkness. Whatever happened, Crozier privately warned Stanley, he was to reach the shore before daybreak on the 25th.

  The next morning the weather began to deteriorate. At nine o’clock, the time of their intended departure, the temperature stood at only seven degrees and gave no indication of rising.

  Vesconte and Stanley turned back into the wind and went in search of the others, making slow progress against its persistent buffeting. Powdered ice clouded the horizon all around them, restricting their vision to only twenty yards at times.

  Anxious not to lose his own advantage now that they were so close to their first goal, Crozier ordered the landward march to continue.

  Fitzjames fastened himself into place alongside Philip Reddington. They did their best to encourage each other as they began pulling, but both were quickly exhausted, defeated by the uneven ice which either tipped or trapped the runners every few minutes. Fitzjames stumbled and fell, crying out as his weak ankle folded beneath him. Unstoppable tears mixed with the heavy sweat on his cheeks. Then Reddington collapsed beside him and lay without trying to push himself back up. When Fitzjames asked him if he was injured, he could only groan. He passed out completely a moment later, and releasing them both from their harness, Fitzjames dragged him to one side. Their places were taken by two others and the boat was pulled slowly away from them. Fitzjames called out that he would wait for Reddington to regain consciousness and then help him to continue. Others approached them, but passed by without speaking, men barely lifting their feet from the ground, drained of all their strength after only half an hour’s pulling.

  The powder-filled wind continued to blow, and Fitzjames wrapped a blanket around Reddington to protect him. He came round a few minutes later and looked at the figures moving silently past them, propped up by the following wind as much as by their own momentum. Helped by Fitzjames, he rose to his feet. Neither man could move any faster than the other and they shared what little strength they still possessed and shuffled forward as though hobbled.

  It took them seven more hours to cover the two miles over uneven ice to the shore. They arrived less than an hour after the men with the boats, and found them lying on the frozen ground where they had fallen, most of them still in harness, only a few having managed to release themselves and crawl a few feet before dropping. Most had been covered with blankets and rugs by those who still had the strength to walk among them. Several small fires had been lit. By then the wind had fallen and the smoke from these drifted low over the scene and collected above the covered bodies.

  Propping Reddington against one of the boats, Fitzjames called for someone to help him. Graham Gore appeared, himself barely able to walk. He sank to his knees beside Fitzjames and helped him remove his boot and the splints from his bandaged foot. He lit a lantern, and in its dim glow Fitzjames saw that his foot was swollen to twice its normal size, and that the flesh had darkened from toe to shin.

  After leaving the main body of men, Vesconte and the others walked for four hours in the face of the wind, covering a mile and a half before coming upon the advance members of those
they had gone back to help. Two men were sitting on the ground, and a third lay on his back at their feet.

  These three, they discovered, had come ahead of the others in an attempt to catch the advance party and return with some assistance. There were now too many of them unable to walk, and those who were able to stay on their feet had barely the strength to keep moving, let alone assist or carry the others. As far as the three men knew, no one in this second party had yet died, but many had sustained injuries through falling, and at least four of them had lost and not yet regained consciousness. In addition to their other injuries, they were now suffering from hunger and the cold, and were further disheartened by what they saw as their abandonment by the main body of marchers.

  The two men sitting with their backs to the wind had finally been defeated by the ice, and the man at their feet had collapsed a few minutes after stopping.

  Peddie and Macdonald stayed with Stanley, preparing themselves for further arrivals, while the others set off in the hope of meeting up with the remaining stragglers and helping them back.

  They came upon the first of these exhausted men sheltering in a hollow. There were eight in all, only five of whom were able to rise and stumble feebly toward them. Advising them to continue toward Stanley, they went on, retracing a farther two miles of their previous day’s journey before coming upon the last of the men, most of whom fell after even the slightest exertion.

  By late afternoon this smaller body of stragglers was gathered together closer to the shore, and the knowledge that they were within striking distance of the land helped them find the strength they needed to complete the journey. The rest were carried ashore by nightfall, and found the camp there in just as great a state of exhausted confusion as Fitzjames and Reddington had found it the previous night.

  The sight of these sick and weakened additions to their number convinced Crozier even further that for an overland march now to succeed they would have to separate into at least two parties, with the sick and the weak dependent on the speed and success of the stronger members in finding assistance and relaying it back to them.

  Listening to him comment on all this, and realizing how quickly the men left behind were likely to succumb to their scurvy and other illnesses, Fitzjames made another suggestion. He had recovered from his journey with Reddington, but could now only walk with the help of a stick. It was Stanley’s opinion that he had fractured a bone in his foot or ankle and that this was only likely to heal properly with complete rest. It was upon being told this that Fitzjames realized he would very likely be put in command of the men left behind, and that, ultimately, he would be responsible for their deaths if they failed to recover over the coming weeks.

  His suggestion to Crozier was that this second body of men be again divided: those who were willing and strong enough to remain on the shore while they recovered should follow Crozier south after as short a delay as possible, taking advantage of small depots of food, including fresh meat, laid down by the leading party, which would be better able to provide for these others in addition to themselves. Accepting that this suggestion had its merits, and pleased that it would not delay his own expedition, Crozier told him to outline the remainder of his plan.

  This second part, Fitzjames knew, was likely to prove more controversial. He proposed that a small number of the able-bodied should return to the Erebus and remain with her until she either drifted free of the ice into the sea to the southwest, or toward King William Land, or until she finally broke up, in which case they would have to abandon her again and return to the shore. There was some support for this idea, and upon further consideration Crozier agreed to it.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Of the 104 officers and men who landed with Crozier on King William Land, only sixty-eight set off with him for Back’s River on the 26th of April.

  Commanded by Fitzjames, and including Gore, Goodsir, Reid and mate Des Voeux, a party of sixteen prepared to return across the ice to the Erebus. With the exception of the Terror’s two boys, all had been members of her original crew.

  The remaining twenty men, under the command of Vesconte and Stanley, included their most seriously ill, those who could not walk, those who could barely stand, and none of whom would survive either the return journey to the ship or Crozier’s overland march. Of these, four had remained unconscious and delirious since their arrival ashore. None had eaten, and it seemed likely to everyone who attended them that they would all soon die. Upon agreeing that the four men were beyond salvation, Stanley and Peddie stopped administering their valuable drugs.

  Having prepared the boats and unloaded all their unnecessary supplies, Crozier’s party started to leave at six in the morning, with the first liquid glimmer of the rising sun to guide them. Their farewells were prolonged and emotional, and filled with promises to return.

  George Hodgson and clerk Edwin Helpman led the first group, harnessing themselves to one of their boats along with a dozen others, including Tozer and the marines who were still capable of pulling. Men walked ahead of them, alongside them and behind them, pacing a path along which the boat was slowly hauled. At first this route was erratic, weaving left and right to take advantage of firm ice and to avoid those patches of exposed ground which already threatened to turn soft.

  The mates Robert Thomas and Frederick Hornby harnessed themselves in lead position in the second boat, followed by Macdonald and second master Macbean. The four men were relatively healthy, and had recovered sufficiently from their march across the frozen sea to now have some real hope for their prospects in the days ahead. Thomas Blanky, weakened by the progression of scurvy, and limping from a fall, walked alongside Macdonald. He was to be their guide, following the tracks left by the leading boat and rerouting them whenever he saw fit. He and James Reid said their own brief farewells, each handing over letters to be delivered to their respective wives upon their return home. Others had urged Blanky to remain behind and begin marching when he was more fully recovered, but Crozier had made a personal appeal to his ice-master, and Blanky had agreed to accompany him.

  Those going on foot with Crozier gathered up their supplies and moved among their crewmates and friends offering hope and encouragement, severing their ties and then separating only slowly, as though they were flotsam pulled apart by some unstoppable drift. Many knelt and prayed together for a final time.

  Crozier was one of the last to leave. He said his farewells to Fitzjames and the others, and left written instructions to be opened only in the event of the Erebus coming free of the ice and being in a condition to continue sailing later that summer. He knew as well as any of them how unlikely this was considering the damage she had sustained and the massive reduction in her crew, but neither he nor Fitzjames remarked on the fact, the seal on the papers as unbreakable now as the seal of their unbroachable deceptions.

  A quantity of medical supplies was left behind with Stanley, both for those remaining on the land and those returning to the Erebus, and Crozier warned Fitzjames and the surgeon to be judicious in their use.

  Edward Couch and purser Charles Osmer waited until Crozier had finished before saying their own farewells. Osmer dragged behind him a sack stuffed with money, handed it over to Fitzjames and asked for a receipt, confessing that he had no idea of how it might still be of any use to him, but that he could not bring himself to abandon it. Fitzjames said he understood and the two men shook hands. Osmer then turned and followed Crozier, calling for the boy David Young to accompany him. As yet the sixteen-year-old showed no sign of the sickness which had killed George Chambers, and from which the two other apprentices were now suffering.

  One by one, individually and in small groups, all those who were leaving rose from the beach, gathered up their belongings and began walking south. Some were delayed, and some returned several times to take again their leave of old friends before finally departing. Some stopped after only a few yards and lightened their loads by throwing down clothing and other unnecessary weights.

 
; Those remaining behind watched them go, the drama of the separation prolonged by the tortuously slow progress of the teams pulling the boats and by the low-lying nature of the land over which they went.

  Fitzjames gazed along the line of men and saw that some of them were carrying umbrellas to keep off the sun, looking to him at that distance like the smooth black caps of toadstools marking out the course of some otherwise invisible spoor-line.

  At noon even the leading boat was little more than a mile distant from them, the second closing on it. They could see every one of the walking men, now drawn out along a struggling half mile, some following the boats, others finding their own paths over the hummocky ground and across the frozen shallows. A small sail had been rigged up on the second boat, but this had so far proved ineffective in the absence of any wind.

  Making a full inspection of the thirty-six men now under their command, Fitzjames and Vesconte ordered those who were able to walk to gather up everything that had been left strewn upon the shore and bring it all back into the center of their camp. The bulk of this detritus consisted of clothing of all descriptions, from dressand dinner-jackets to countless sets of woolen underwear, at least three hundred cotton shirts and ninety pairs of boots and overboots. The best of these pieces were sorted through and exchanged for those of poorer quality. Mattresses were built of coats and groundsheets, and tents were erected to protect the unconscious and those unable to stand.

  When this gleaning was done, Fitzjames, Vesconte and Reid walked inland to the first of the ridges, where they turned and inspected the scene before them: Crozier’s two boat crews were still in sight to the south, but some of those walking ahead had already disappeared into the thin sunlit haze which surrounded them in that direction. It was a warm bright day and the gelid glitter of the frozen sea blinded them every time they looked back in the direction of the Erebus. There was already some danger of a surface thaw, and because of this, Fitzjames declared his intention of setting out for the ship the following morning.