Once again the crews gathered in silence on the rocky soil of Beechey Island to leave behind one of their own. I cannot help imagining that this sterile island will not be satisfied until it has swallowed the bodies of the 126 men who are walking upon it today. More than ever I am eager to leave this cursèd land and go to sea again. In a few weeks the ice that clasps the Erebus and the Terror will perhaps have relaxed its grip and we shall be able to leave and, God willing, enter the passage that no one is even certain exists, but in the reality of which I must now believe if I am not to succumb to despair, and return at last to England. As I write these words I realize that even that desire is not entirely pure for I well know that upon our return I shall be obliged to see the joy and admiration in Sophia’s eyes at the sight of Fitzjames, returned safe and sound. Yet I do not hate him now and have never hated him; I wish him no harm; rather, I value his company: his mood is cheerful and he is a fine companion. Chance has made him handsome while it has made me what I am.
AFTER BECOMING ACQUAINTED with all the books in the Terror’s library, after solving the problems set forth in the manuals of physics and mathematics, after considering the paradoxes submitted by treatises in philosophy, after reading and rereading the Sonnets of Shakespeare until he could recite most of them by heart, Adam set out to devote himself to what had fascinated him beyond anything else ever since he had discovered the fundamental principles in several theoretical studies. It seemed to him that all the rest (mathematical formulæ, philosophical allegories, geographical observations, and even poetry) were but imperfect illustrations of this one phenomenon: magnetism. He had spotted the instruments that Crozier and the officers used in taking various readings and he had many times listened to them discuss the problems and the pitfalls of the task, which was long and complex, and now he had managed to develop a fairly accurate idea of how it was done.
Beginning for the tenth time the introduction to the most ordinary method of declination, he spoke the words in a hushed voice without really reading them, almost as if it were a dictation:
The value of the terrestrial field is usually determined by the declination and the inclination, which give the directions, and by the value of one component. It would also be sufficient to know the declination and two of the components.
In order to have the declination, the geographical meridian must first be determined, and then the azimuth in which the magnetic axis of a magnet sets movable about a vertical axis. This latter observation usually presents some difficulties, since the magnetic axis of a magnet is not generally parallel to its axis of figure; the error is corrected by turning the magnet upside down, observing in each position the direction of a line of sight; the mean of the two azimuths is the line which passes through the magnetic axis.
The line of sight is formed either by the ends of a needle, cut in the shape of an acute lozenge, or by two cross wires at the ends of a bar, as in Gambey’s compass; or by two lines traced on the terminal faces of the magnet, and which are viewed with the microscope. We may also use hollow bars, converted into collimators by an object-glass let into one end, and a divided scale or a cross wire at the other.
Suppose, for instance, that we merely know the latitude of the place. Let OP be the earth’s axis, OA the vertical, OE the direction of the star at the moment of observation, l the latitude of the place or the height of the pole, h the height EQ of the star.
In the spherical triangle APE, the PA is equal to 90° – l, the side AE to 90° – h, the side EP is at the polar distance ? of the star, or the complement of its declination. The angle h is given by the vertical circle, and the corresponding reading of the verniers is made on the horizontal circle.
Putting
the angles A and P will be given by the formula
He took pleasure in slowly dissecting these formulæ, deciphering the instructions with fascination, as if they would enable him to reach the philosopher’s stone, with the absolute certainty that they were leading to some fundamental revelation about the secret life that hummed in the heart of the Earth.
These equations contained another kind of poetry that, Adam was certain, was not a stranger to the art practised by Shakespeare, who would no doubt have known better than he did the mysteries of a true bearing.
22 May 1846
IMMACULATE UPON OUR ARRIVAL, the ice around the ships now resembles in places a wasteland of the sort one finds in poor neighbourhoods; the pack ice that surrounds us is strewn with all kinds of trash: empty tins, bits of oakum and rope now unusable, gloves mismatched or left to dry in the sun and forgotten – not to mention the contents of hundreds of chamber pots (even though we had ordered that they be emptied in a single spot some hundreds of feet from the ships), which here and there form small mounds of filth that fortunately are frozen. When I raised the question with Sir John this afternoon, suggesting that we put together a work crew for the purpose of cleaning up this waste, he gave me a look of surprise as if he had just noticed its existence and asked me how I intended to dispose of it – indeed, he was quite right to do so and I did not press him further. But the sight of it spreading over the icefield turns my stomach; I have the impression at times that the contents of the ship’s entrails are being poured onto the snow like black bile thrown up by a sick man’s stomach.
1 June 1846
Nearly every week, weather permitting, one or two small groups are dispatched with the mission of taking magnetic readings for a given territory. The instruments used are complex and fragile and one must have the patience of Job in order to stay motionless, often for hours, on the pack ice; to handle with tremendous care compass, needle, roulettes that are hard for numb fingers to pick up. As this task also requires rather advanced mathematical skills, some twenty men at most are capable of performing it successfully. I try to organize them into teams, the composition of which varies from one time to the next, and not to favour anyone, but I cannot ignore the fact that those fortunate mortals who are able to escape for a few days the stale atmosphere of the ships are the envy of the others. For my part, I have gone out only three times on similar expeditions that lasted for two or three days, and each time I came back filled with wonder at how vast are the spaces that we claim to control.
The undertaking appears to be at once necessary and absurd. Will it be possible one day to consult an atlas of the Earth’s magnetic fields as easily as, today, a map showing coasts, tides, currents, and mountains? Will the underground forces whose functions we are only beginning to understand help us to better orient ourselves on this Earth, or do they only form a new labyrinth in which to lose one’s way?
The maps that we are drawing have as their central point the place where the Terror and the Erebus are iced in, from which are added, in concentric circles, new observations as they are recorded. We must therefore enter ever more profoundly into the savage depths of the Arctic so as to complete our readings. The last time, we witnessed a most peculiar phenomenon, which I recognized only because I had read the account in Ross’s book (and I have to admit, to my brief shame, that I remember thinking that the description of it was so spectacular it could only be an exaggeration). In the middle of the plain covered with bluish snow were vast red expanses, or, more precisely, they were a pink that was nearly fuchsia, reminiscent of watermelons. Like Ross, I can attest that we have not witnessed any pink snowfall since we have been here, that is to say for nearly a year, and so that strange hue must come from the ground itself, affected by some chemical reaction, a remarkable substance or an animal or vegetable compound. Whatever it is, the result is most astonishing, and one would swear that watermelon flesh has been mashed to a rose-coloured pulp mixed with snow where in certain spots it traces darker veins of the sort one may see in marble, then in a subtle gradation it blurs, forming a rosaceous monochrome against a white ground.
Peddie is certain that this hue is due to the presence of microscopic plants or pollens that colour the snow, as does the pistil of a crocus plunged into a liquid whic
h straightaway turns a warm gold. As for me, I do not know much save that this peculiar phenomenon, which is a source of concern to a number of individuals (some seamen talk about “the Earth’s blood,” crossing themselves, others make reference to hypothetical places of sacrifice of the Esquimaux, or mysterious places where herds are slaughtered, leaving an imprint on the snow), inspires no fear in me. It seems thoroughly at home here among the wonders that the Arctic conceals. This morning we also noticed a group of narwhals – veritable unicorns of the sea – which are no less surprising than the red snow. The men tried to kill one but were able only to inflict a rather nasty wound and it got away, leaving behind a red trail in the water. Pity, for we are desperately short of fresh meat. Moreover, the Esquimaux hold in high esteem the horn of this animal, from which they make a multitude of tools, and we would doubtless have been able to trade that good-sized horn for seal meat or fish. That will be for another time: life seems to be reborn in the water as on Earth. Polar nature, dead for more than six months, drowned in the shadows, experiences in summer a brief yet spectacular rebirth. Flocks of birds fill the sky. On the land freshly rid of snow appears a miniature flora as diverse as that which composes our stately forests; it is simply, one might say, that everything in it has been reduced, the better to resist inclement wind and cold. As soon as the ice has loosened its embrace of the hulls of the Erebus and Terror, we shall be able to set off again and complete the passage started last year.
Did Franklin receive orders about what name to give the mystic way? Oddly enough, I have never asked myself. If it is so, he has said nothing about it to me. I would be surprised if Barrow, who has a well-earned reputation for seeing to the smallest detail and attending to every eventuality, would have left unresolved so important a matter. I am certain he would have liked the Northwest Passage, the discovery of the century, which has perhaps no equal in history but the discovery of America, to bear his name, but I doubt that pride would have blinded him to such a point that he would have seriously considered this possibility. Rather, he would have chosen to name it in honour of the young Queen Victoria, with whom it is said that he is infatuated. True, she is quite pretty, but very frail and inexperienced for holding firmly on to the reins of so powerful a nation.
Today the sky is a deep, sharp blue unknown to the skies of England or Ireland, its hard brilliance reminiscent of the lakes in which the minerals imprisoned in glaciers or earth for millennia have dissolved. The sea that surrounds us, still covered with ice, has lost none of its whiteness, so that you could believe that a mischievous or absent-minded giant has turned the globe upside down to pour into the vault of heaven the blue waters of the sea and cast into the waters the white of the clouds. Oh, how I long to set sail again and to return to the open sea, my true homeland.
12 July 1846
It is hard to hold my pen and even more to trace these words with fingers still numb after I have spent these past days buried under the snow and then exposed to the elements, but I want to tell what happened and I must force myself to write.
We had reckoned on this expedition for a fortnight, waiting for the most auspicious climatic conditions for successful magnetic readings, taking with us rations enough to feed the five men who made up the team that I had myself put together for more than a week. When I told Adam that he would be coming with us, he could not stand still for joy. These past weeks he had been studying day and night the operation of Brunner’s compass and Gambey’s and the formulæ needed for calculating the declination; I had no doubts as to his technical skill.
Peddie had also insisted on coming with us, pointing out that he had never yet been able to get away from the vessels in summer and that he knew practically nothing about the flora and fauna in that season. When I explained to him a little harshly that we had better things to do than run around the fields picking flowers for his herbarium, he replied calmly that one never knew in advance what plant might be liable to save our lives, and that it would be to our advantage to learn about all of those around us while there was still time. I do not know if he was alluding to the too-brief Arctic summer which soon would be replaced by winter, or to some other certainty that was equally unavoidable but more widespread. Never mind, he was right, and I resolved to bring him along.
I must stop writing to blow on my stiff red fingers although it is useless. It feels as though the cold that pierces me to the bone will never really go away. I shall have to warm my hands for a few moments on the steaming cup of tea that has just been placed in front of me before I can go on.
We set out then in the early hours, before the first rays of dawn, and headed north, with the intention of exploring the interior of Beechey Island, which we have not yet had the opportunity to survey. Neptune pranced about at our sides and I was unable to send him back to the ship. At my command he would sit for a few seconds, looking woeful, then come running back to us, frenetically wagging his tail. And so our team was enriched by a dog. The ground, frozen when we left, warmed up after noon and the icy plains gave way to soft bogs where we sank in to the ankles. We took a first series of readings during the afternoon, then we established our camp for the night.
The next three days passed without incident. The men were delighted to get away from the confined quarters where they had spent the winter crammed together, and I must confess that I, too, was pleased to be surrounded by vast expanses, alone with them under a huge sky shot through now and then by a flight of wild birds. Our small crew worked quickly and well, avoiding pointless chatter. Everyone knew what had to be done and did it without my having to remind anyone of the task that had devolved upon him. Even Peddie surprised me by the relevance and the aptness of his observations, and I congratulated myself for having agreed that he be part of the expedition. The temperature was relatively mild and the gusts of wind were mitigated by the rays of spring sunlight that were gaining in strength day by day.
On the morning of the fourth day, when we had to go back, we had ventured farther from the Terror and the Erebus than I had originally expected, but I had decided to take advantage of such a fine opportunity to cover as much ground as possible. As dawn was fading the sound of the wind wakened me and I stepped out of the tent to discover a world that was uniformly white. The snow had covered everything and the landscape had lost its fine edge so that one could now make out only slight undulations; it was impossible to tell whether they corresponded to genuine inclinations of the ground or if they were dunes of snow formed by the wind. We ate our porridge of oats and drank our tea in the partial shelter of our tents where swept the gusts of wind laden with thousands of flakes as hard as ice. Then we struck camp and started back. We had to stop after a few hours, however; we could not see two feet in front of us, and the snow that covered everything was liable to conceal deep crevasses as well. We pitched our tents again but no sooner had we put up the second than the first took flight in the wind that lifted it from the ground and carried it off like a great bird with clumsy wings. So all five of us piled into the only shelter that was left us. I inspected what remained of our rations, which would not last much longer. Along with a half-pound of tea and about a pound of chocolate, there were a dozen rations of biscuits and four two-pound tins of food. Calculating that it had taken us three days at a good clip to reach the place where we were, we had provisions enough to wait one more day, two at most, before setting off again.
The day was spent listening to the howling wind which, far from dropping, seemed to be more and more violent. Our tent was more than half buried by the snow that was falling without interruption, and when I could not keep still any longer and tried to go out and reconnoitre the surroundings, I sank in up to my knees and could move only with difficulty, each step requiring a substantial effort. As the tent was too small for five men to lie down in it side by side, the others took turns sleeping while I spent the night sitting and thinking about what we should do. Admittedly we were in no immediate danger, but we were faced with a three-day walk and very littl
e to eat (I cursed the nonchalance that had made me insist that we take only light baggage), and who could say how long this blizzard would last? I resolved then that we would start walking again the next morning, whatever the weather.
It was a grave error. The snow was falling less heavily but the temperature had dropped significantly, and after less than an hour’s walk, our heavy wool trousers, soaked in sweat and then frozen by the intense cold, had been transformed into stiff, rough armour that hampered our movements, already rendered difficult by the accumulation of snow. We sank up to our thighs with each step, and in order to advance we had to perform a strange dance – free one leg from the sheath of snow that it had dug, make it trace an arc, before projecting it forward in one movement. It was as if we were all afflicted with two wooden legs.
There was no more trace of the birds seen over the preceding days or of any other living creature. The cold was biting and soon I could no longer feel the tips of my fingers. The men’s faces were daubed with white blotches and red marks, but nonetheless it seemed to me advisable to keep going at all costs. It was practically impossible to know with certainty what distance we had covered – it was no doubt minimal – but at least we were walking in the right direction, which provided me with the illusion, in any case, that we were improving our lot.
We went on like that for some hours, without stopping, until I heard a cry behind me. Turning around, I spied only three silhouettes. Jeremy Welling was sunk to his chest in a slushy mess of water, snow, and ice. Adam had flung himself nimbly onto his stomach and started crawling to the other man, who was trying desperately to grip the edge of the hole but in doing so succeeded only in enlarging it, thereby jeopardizing his rescue. I managed to persuade him to jettison the bag he was carrying on his back, which disappeared at once beneath the surface of the water, and to stop moving.
On the Proper Use of Stars Page 8
