by John Wilson
Mother’s worries could not remain firm in the face of Father’s persuasion and my enthusiasm. Eventually she surrendered and gave me her blessing. William and Alexander, who had listened to all our talk from the corner where they were playing with their red-coated lead soldiers, gave three rousing cheers.
The very next day Father wrote to Sir John, and in a matter of days received a reply. It stated that I was to be a lowly cabin boy on HMS Erebus and was required to report for duty on April 28, 1845, at the Woolwich dock. My mother busied herself, frantically knitting endless socks, scarves and gloves to shield me from the cold, while I devoured every book I could find on the northern lands.
It seemed an age until April 28, but I filled much of my time gazing at Sir John’s ships, Erebus and Terror, being prepared for the voyage. I sat above the dry docks at Woolwich, watching as the heavy iron plates were added to protect the hulls from the ice, and as entire steam locomotives were lowered into the ships’ holds. The ships swarmed with workmen rigging, painting and hammering. An endless stream of uniformed officers and dignitaries came to inspect the progress.
Eventually the great day drew near and the ships were given a coat of paint, white for the three masts, black for the hull and a broad yellow stripe around. On the morning Erebus was to be floated, Father and I arrived at the dock early. We watched as the dry dock was flooded and the vessel, my home for the next year or two, floated out onto the river. She sat low in the water as she went through her paces but, to my unpracticed eye, she appeared stable and safe.
In the afternoon, Erebus approached her moorings. Many of the crew were already aboard and the open deck was crowded. Those not engaged in docking leaned on the rail and stared at the small crowd that had gathered to watch the display. I remember noticing a young officer who directed the crew with cheerful shouts. I was so excited that I barely heard Father explain the vessel’s benefits.
“She will see you through the Passage,” Father said. “After all, with James Ross, she and Terror took the worst that three years of the Antarctic oceans could throw at her, and she has been even further strengthened for your voyage.” He laughed and clapped me on the back. “I doubt the ice you encounter will present a serious problem.”
As Erebus bumped gently against the dock and sailors ran to secure the lines, I scanned the men leaning on the ship’s rail. They were a rough-looking crew and I felt a sudden nervousness at being in their company. Then I froze. One of the figures was waving at me.
“Someone you know?” my father asked.
The figure was smiling, but I couldn’t forget the last time I had seen him, plunging his knife into Jim’s chest. “It’s … He’s …” I stammered, “someone I met down by the river.”
Father didn’t seem to notice my discomfort. “Then you will have a companion on board.”
I didn’t answer. I was too confused. What was Davy doing on the Erebus? How would I be able to avoid him on such a small vessel? He seemed quite jolly, waving hard and smiling broadly. Weakly, I returned his wave.
I waited, fidgeted and tried not to meet Davy’s eye as Erebus was securely docked and a gangway run alongside. Then the young officer I had seen on deck came ashore, laughing and joking with a companion.
“I don’t see Sir John,” Father said, looking around. “Surely he would have disembarked first if he was aboard.” He pushed me forward. “Go and introduce yourself to the officer, George. Be polite.”
I edged forward and stood by the officer. Up close he was older than I had thought, but his chubby features made him look young. He was hatless and had curly ginger hair. His eyes sparkled and a smile continually played around his mouth. At length he noticed me. I removed my cap. “I am George Chambers,” I said. “I was told to report to Sir John Franklin as a cabin boy.”
“Ah, Chambers,” the officer said, his smile broadening. “Sir John said you would be joining us. He is staying up in town for the time being — won’t live on board until we are ready to sail. The advantage of being famous, I suppose.
“I am Commander James Fitzjames. Your duties will be split between Sir John and myself. Do you live nearby?”
“Just up on Church Hill, sir.”
“Excellent. Head home and get your kit in order. Terror will perform her trials tomorrow. Time enough then to come aboard and begin learning the ropes. I’m sure your mother won’t object to one last night at home.”
“She won’t, sir. Thank you.”
Fitzjames nodded and turned back to his companion.
As I headed away with my father, I scanned the ship’s rail, but there was no sign of Davy.
The following day I boarded Erebus, feeling very nautical hauling the chest full of my kit up the gangway, and reported to Mr. Fitzjames. He welcomed me and passed me on to the purser, Mr. Osmer, a jovial fellow who showed me where to sling my hammock in the crew mess deck and where to stow my chest — which also served as a seat for meals. Then he ran through my duties.
“You are first and foremost a servant, boy,” he told me, “and your primary duties are to Sir John and Mr. Fitzjames. You will help the stewards serve them, and whichever other officers dine with Sir John, every evening. You will fetch whatever they require, carry messages for them, wash their clothes and keep their quarters clean.”
I nodded. These were things I had guessed as my duties. However, Osmer wasn’t finished. “A cabin boy is the lowest being on board ship. When not attending to the officers’ needs, you will be at the beck and call of any and all who might require your services. You will help the cook prepare meals in the galley and carry food to the crew before you eat. You will learn all the workings of the ship, from swabbing the deck to the uses of every line and rope on board. By the time we return home, you will be more comfortable scrambling up the rigging than you will be on dry land. You will learn to trim the sails, stand watch in all weathers and work the helm.”
I must have looked overwhelmed, because Osmer slapped me on the back and said, “Don’t you worry, lad. You’ll learn in time and it will give your days variety. Besides, there’s one thing you won’t have to do on this voyage.”
“What’s that?” I asked, glad there was one task I would escape.
“We’re not going to war, so you will not have the duties of powder monkey in battle. It is good to know all aspects of the workings of a ship. The knowledge will be a great help should you decide to undertake a life in the Navy.”
“A life as a cabin boy?” I asked.
“To begin, yes, but many a cabin boy who has applied himself has risen far above that station. Francis Drake himself began his seafaring life as a boy, and there’s many an admiral who can trace his career back to being a lowly officer’s servant. And” — Osmer leaned closer and lowered his voice — “in my opinion, you’ll find no better officers to serve than either Sir John or Mr. Fitzjames. Now, there’s work to be done loading the stores.”
Chapter 4: Old and New Friends
Aboard Erebus, 1845
I was shocked to discover that Osmer had set me to work beside Davy. I was nervous that my angry parting from him would sour our relationship and be a problem on the long voyage. However, Davy didn’t seem concerned, and even smiled and nodded to me as we began our duties.
We worked all day, dragging and lifting crates and sacks and rolling barrels down into the hold, and were so busy that we barely had time to exchange a word. All the while, Osmer, with proud precision, listed our supplies: 8 tons biscuit; 31 tons flour; 15 tons salt beef and pork; 5 tons sugar; thousands of pounds each of tea, soap and candles; and 2 tons chocolate. We even had 2000 gallons of concentrated spirits, 100 gallons of wine for the sick, 500 gallons of lemon juice and 100 pounds of pepper. There were also many thousands of pounds of preserved meat, soup and vegetables in cans, not to mention the luxuries brought on board by the officers.
That afternoon Davy and I were carrying jars of lemon juice aboard when Davy slipped and dropped his load. The jar didn’t break, but Davy cu
rsed loudly, attracting Osmer’s attention.
“You might well cuss, boy,” Osmer remarked. “What’s in them jars’ll save your life.”
“Save my life?” Davy scoffed as he lifted the heavy jar back onto his shoulder. “The rum we carry might do that, but the juice of lemons?”
Osmer let out a short laugh. “You’re no deep-sea sailor, lad, that’s for certain. You’ve never seen a grown man whimper in agony; unable to move for the red-hot pain in his joints; his lips black; his mouth bleeding; and his teeth falling out as every scar he’s ever collected oozes blood like it were a new cut.”
Davy stopped adjusting his load and we both stared at Osmer.
“Scurvy, lads — sailor’s curse on a long voyage such as ours. There’s summat we need that ain’t in salt pork nor chocolate. Summat that’s in lemon juice. So you boys drink your ounce of juice when Mr. Fitzjames calls you up on deck every day. Else the scurvy’ll get you for certain. Now get on with your work.”
Osmer turned away. I vowed to take my lemon juice every day. I turned to see if Osmer’s words had had a similar effect on Davy. “Old fool,” was all he said.
It was near the bell for the evening meal by the time Osmer released us from our duties. All I wanted was to find a corner and rest my aching body, but Davy wanted to talk. “So we meet again, Master Chambers,” he began.
I grunted an acknowledgement. I wanted time to sort out my confused emotions. It had been a long time since I had last seen Davy in the graveyard, and if I was honest, a part of me was pleased to see his smiling face at Erebus’s rail. But he was involved in body snatching and I had seen him kill a man — even if it was a man who was trying to kill me. It was all so complicated.
“Look, Georgie,” Davy said when I didn’t respond. “I ain’t a saint — never pretended that I were — and I done some things that I ain’t proud of. But life ain’t easy. Now, I reckon we got on well enough afore we met Jim, so we got two choices. We’re stuck here on the same few square yards of deck for God knows how long. We can each pretend the other don’t exist, or we can get on as best we can. After this adventure, we can go our own ways and never say hello to each other again, but for now, let’s pretend Jim and the graveyard never happened.”
Davy grinned at me and held out his hand. I hesitated, but he was right. We either got on or condemned ourselves to months of misery. I took his hand.
Davy hauled me towards him and slapped me on the back. “So now that we’re friends again,” he said as we drew apart, “what role do you play in this great undertaking?”
“I am cabin boy to Sir John and Mr. Fitzjames,” I replied.
“Same as me,” Davy said, “but I got Lieutenants Gore, Le Vesconte and Fairholme to attend to.”
Before I could think of anything to say, the bell for the evening meal rang. “Come on, Georgie,” Davy said, “that’s the call for you and me. We got to work for our supper afore we attend to the high and mighty.”
We climbed down to the mess deck and headed over to the large, black stove where the cook, Richard Wall stood, ladling stew into buckets for distribution to the crew. Down each side of the deck, tables hung suspended from the deck above, and the crew sat on their chests. Each table of eight men received a bucket of stew and a wooden board stacked with biscuits and mugs of tea.
Following Davy’s lead, I lifted a bucket and board and set off, wondering how I would manage this when the ship was rolling at sea. The first table I came to was occupied by seven Royal Marines. They were older than the average sailor and looked hard. Most were in shirt sleeves, but two wore their distinctive red coats, unbuttoned. Several sported tattoos, mostly crowns and anchors or a nautical scene. I placed the board and bucket beside them, but couldn’t help but stare at the silver epaulettes with the anchor in the middle. Father had shown me his epaulettes and I wondered if this was how he had looked in his days as a marine.
“What you looking at, boy?” one of the men wearing a red coat asked. He was skinny, with a long face and prominent cheekbones. His hair was dark and curled over his ears, although it was thinning on top. He had a short, ugly scar on his forehead and wore a bright red kerchief knotted around his neck.
“N–nothing,” I stammered. “It’s just … My father was a marine.”
“What ship?” the man demanded.
“He was on the Bellerophon at Trafalgar,” I said proudly.
Everyone at the table turned to look at me. “The old Billy Ruffian,” the man said. “Now that were a fine old ship.” The others at the table nodded in agreement. The marine stood up and smiled, exposing a mouthful of tobacco-stained teeth, several of which showed signs of rot. He was tall — over 6 foot, I guessed — and he unfolded his long, thin limbs like a spider uncurling. He held out his hand. “I’m pleased to meet the son of a marine from the Billy Ruffian,” he said. “My name’s William Braine.”
“I’m George Chambers,” I replied. We shook hands.
“You know that Sir John himself was on board for that fight?” Braine said as he sat back down.
“I know,” I blurted out. “My father saved his life.”
“Did he indeed? Well, young George Chambers, I look forward to having a chance to hear that story.”
“Are we going to have to wait all night for our dinner while you natter with your new friends?” a sailor from another table shouted at me. I grabbed another bucket and board and continued with my duties.
Once every table was served, Davy and I took stew, biscuits and tea to ours. The stew was not too bad. It contained carrots, turnips, onions and occasional chunks of meat that a grizzled old sailor said was horse.
“You’ll be glad of a nice piece of horse where we’re going,” he said, a smile creasing his weatherbeaten face.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Are there horses in the Arctic?”
The man snorted. “This here young pup thinks there’s horses up where we’re going.” Several men at the table sniggered.
“I don’t,” I said, blushing with embarrassment at my stupid comment. “But we have enough good food with us to eat well for three years or more. Why should we wish for horsemeat?”
For a long moment, the man soaked a biscuit in his stew. Then he sucked at it with relish and looked at me. “I worked the whalers,” he said eventually. “All around Baffin’s Bay and Davis Strait. We had food, too — not as good as this, mind you, but good enough. We always set out thinking everything’d be fine and this’d be the season we made our fortune in whale oil. But them northern waters got a way of their own.” Everyone at the table was listening intently.
“That ice’s like a living thing, trying to trick you, draw you in, trap you. I’ve seen ships frozen in with the crew still in them, stone dead. Frozen as hard as rock. Once saw a captain froze at his desk, quill still in his hand. We had to break both his legs to get him out the cabin door.” The man looked round us all, his mouth open in a broken-toothed grin.
“Pay no mind to old Bill,” Davy said, breaking the long silence. “If you believe everything he says, I’ve a magic brass lamp to sell you.”
Nervous laughter ran round the table, but Bill went on. “You believe what you wish, lad, it’s no matter to me. But I’ll tell you this. I were a cabin boy once, back in ’27 on the good ship Anne out of Whitby. We was nipped in the ice off Greenland — never was a place more wrongly named. We just made it ashore over the ice. It were three weeks afore leads opened and another whaler could reach us. Those weeks would’ve killed us for sure if the local natives hadn’t brought us seal meat to eat.”
He paused a moment for effect and then continued. “Or else the others would’ve killed and eaten the cabin boy.”
The shocked silence that followed this pronouncement was broken by Bill’s wheezing laugh. He took a long clay pipe out of his jacket and proceeded to light it, sending clouds of harsh tobacco smoke into the air.
“If it’s so bad up north,” I said. “Why did you sign up for this voyage?”
“Simple,” Bill replied. “We get double pay. And in advance. ’Fore we sail, I’ll have twenty-three pounds in my pocket. That’s plenty for a good drink and to keep the wife and nippers in food for a year or more.”
Other heads nodded in agreement. I realized that for all the fine words in the newspapers about the glory of Empire, Discovery and Science, most of the men were simply on board for the extra pay.
A bell rang and a flurry of activity broke out — men stowed chests, hauled tables up and cleared away buckets and plates. Davy and I were busy scrubbing Wall’s pots and pans. “Do you think those stories are true?” I asked.
“Maybe, some bits,” Davy said with a shrug. “Old sailors do love to tell tales, ’specially if they’ve a landsman to impress. Mind you, even if they are true, there’s a world of difference ’tween a worm-eaten whaler with a greedy captain chancing his luck in Davis Strait, and the expedition we’re on. Besides, I’ve seen worse than his stories in Field Lane and Saffron Hill.”
That night after I struggled into my hammock and lay listening to the other forty or so men snoring and quietly grumbling in our confined, dark space, I wondered about Bill’s tales. Certainly Davy was right and our situation was radically different from those of whalers, but the talk of starvation, freezing death and the possibility of cannibalism unsettled me as I drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 5: Learning the Ropes
The North Atlantic, 1845
My aching muscles were becoming used to the hard work on board ship by the time we were towed down to Greenhithe for final preparations. Erebus and Terror fitted snugly into a small dock beside an inn where Sir John and Lady Franklin took a room on the upper floor. From her window, she could watch the activity on the ships and hear the rumble of the supplies being hauled along the cobbled lane beside the inn. Sir John spent an increasing amount of time with us and impressed everyone with his good humour, generosity and fairness.
