There was a long silence.
Sir John gestured to the red-bearded ice master of HMS Erebus. “Perhaps it would be helpful, before we venture opinions and open discussion, to hear from our ice masters, engineers, and surgeon. Mr. Reid, could you inform the others of what you told me yesterday about our current and projected ice conditions?”
Reid, standing on the Erebus side of the five men at the end of the table, cleared his throat. Reid was a solitary sort and speaking in such exalted company made his face flush redder than his beard.
“Sir John, … Gentlemen … it ain’t no secret that we’ve been God-da— … that is … darned lucky in terms of ice conditions since the ships was released from ice in May and since we left Beechey Island harbour around the first of June. While we was in the straits, we been plowing through mostly sludge ice. That ain’t no problem. Nights — them few hours of darkness we have what’s called nights up here — we cut through pancake ice, that’s like what we been seeing the last week as the sea’s always on the verge of freezing, but that ain’t no real problem either.
“We been able to stay away from the young ice along the shores — that’s more serious stuff. Behind that’s the fast ice that’ll tear the hull off even a ship as reinforced as this here and Terror in the lead. But as I say, we stayed away from fast ice … so far.”
Reid was sweating, obviously wishing he hadn’t gone on so long but also knowing that he hadn’t fully addressed Sir John’s question yet. He cleared his throat and continued.
“So with the moving ice, Sir John and your honours, we ain’t had much problem with the brash ice and thicker drift ice, and the bergy bits — them little bergs what broke off from the real bergs — we been able to avoid them because of the wide leads and open water we’ve been able to find. But all that’s coming to an end, sirs. What with the nights getting longer, the pancake ice is always there now and we’re running into more and more of them growlers and hummocky flows. And it’s the hummocky flows that’s got Mr. Blanky and me worried.”
“Why is that, Mr. Reid?” asked Sir John. His expression showed his habitual boredom at discussions of the different ice conditions. To Sir John, ice was ice — something to be broken through, gone around, and overcome.
“It’s the snow, Sir John,” said Reid. “The deep snow atop ’em, sir, and the tidemarks on the side. Such always signifies old pack ice ahead, sir, real screwed pack, and that’s where we get frozen in, you see. And as far as we can see or sledge ahead to the south and west, sirs, it’s all pack ice, except for the possible glint of open water way down south of King William Land.”
“The North-West Passage,” Commander Fitzjames said softly.
“Perhaps,” said Sir John. “Most probably. But to get there we shall have to cross through more than a hundred miles of pack ice — perhaps as much as two hundred miles of it. I am told that the ice master of Terror has a theory about why the conditions worsen to our west. Mr. Blanky?”
Thomas Blanky did not blush. The older ice master’s voice was a staccato explosion of syllables as blunt as musket fire.
“It’s death to enter that pack ice. We’ve come too far already. The fact is, since we came out of Peel Sound, we’ve been looking at an ice stream as bad as anything north of Baffin Bay and it’s getting worse every day.”
“Why is that, Mr. Blanky?” asked Commander Fitzjames. His confident voice showed a slight lisp. “This late in the season, I understand that we should still have open leads until the sea actually freezes, and close to the mainland, say southwest of the peninsula of King William Land, we should have some open water for another month or more.”
Ice Master Blanky shook his head. “No. This isn’t no pancake ice or sludge ice, gentlemen, it’s pack ice we’re looking at. It’s coming down from the northwest. Think of it as a series of giant glaciers — calving bergs and freezing the sea for hundreds of miles as it flows south. We’ve been protected from it, is all.”
“Protected by what?” asked Lieutenant Gore, a strikingly handsome and personable officer.
It was Captain Crozier who answered, nodding at Blanky to step back. “By all the islands to our west as we’ve come south, Graham,” said the Irishman. “Just as we discovered a year ago that Cornwallis Land was an island, we know now that Prince of Wales Land is really Prince of Wales Island. The bulk of it has been blocking the full force of the ice stream until we came out of Peel Sound. Now we can see that it’s full pack ice being forced south between whatever islands are up there to our northwest, possibly all the way to the mainland. Whatever open water is down there along the coast to the south won’t last long. Nor will we if we forge ahead and try to winter out here in the open pack ice.”
“That is one opinion,” said Sir John. “And we thank you for it, Francis. But we must decide now on our course of action. Yes, … James?”
Commander Fitzjames looked, as he almost always did, relaxed and in charge. He had actually put on weight during the expedition so his buttons appeared ready to pop from his uniform. His cheeks were rosy and his blond hair hung in longer curls than he’d worn in England. He smiled at everyone along the table.
“Sir John, I agree with Captain Crozier that to be caught out in the pack ice we’re facing would be unfortunate, but I do not believe that will be our fate should we forge on. I believe that it is imperative that we get as far south as we can — either to reach the open water to realize our goal of finding the North-West Passage, which I think we shall do before winter sets in, or simply to find safer waters near the coast, perhaps a harbour where we can winter in relative comfort as we did at Beechey Island. At the very least, we know from Sir John’s earlier expeditions overland and from previous Naval expeditions that the water tends to stay open much later near the coast because of the warmer waters coming in from the rivers.”
“And if we don’t reach open water or the coast by going southwest?” Crozier asked softly.
Fitzjames made a deprecating gesture. “At least we will be closer to our goal come the thaw next spring. What’s our alternative, Francis? You aren’t seriously suggesting returning up the strait to Beechey or trying to retreat to Baffin Bay?”
Crozier shook his head. “Right now we can as easily sail to the east of King William Land as to the west — more easily, since we know from our lookouts and scouts that there is still ample open water to the east.”
“Sail to the east of King William Land?” said Sir John, his voice incredulous. “Francis, that would be a dead end. We would be sheltered by the peninsula, yes, but frozen in hundreds of miles east of here in a long bay that might not thaw next spring.”
“Unless … ,” said Crozier, looking around the table, “unless King William Land is also an island. In which case we would have the same protection from the pack ice flowing from the northwest that Prince of Wales Island has been giving us the past month of travel. It would be probable that the open water on the east side of King William Land will extend almost to the coast, where we can sail west along the warmer waters there for more weeks, perhaps find a perfect harbour — perhaps at a river’s mouth — if we have to spend a second winter in the ice.”
There was a long silence in the room.
Erebus lieutenant H. T. D. Le Vesconte cleared his throat. “You believe in the theories of that eccentric Dr. King,” he said softly.
Crozier frowned. He knew that the theories of Dr. Richard King, not even a Navy man, a mere civilian, were disliked and discarded, primarily because King believed — and had very vocally expressed — that such large Naval expeditions as Sir John’s were foolish, dangerous, and absurdly expensive. King believed, based upon his mapping and experience with Back’s overland expedition years before, that King William Land was an island, while Boothia, the ostensible island even farther to their east, was actually a long peninsula. King argued that the easiest and safest way to find the North-West Passage was to send small parties overland in northern Canada and to follow the warmer coastal waters w
est, that the hundreds of thousands of square miles of sea to the north were a dangerous maze of islands and ice streams that could swallow up a thousand Erebuses and Terrors. Crozier knew that there was a copy of King’s controversial book in Erebus’s library — he had checked it out and read it and it was still in Crozier’s cabin on Terror. But he also knew that he was the only man on the expedition who had, or would, read the book.
“No,” said Crozier, “I’m not subscribing to King’s theories, I am merely suggesting a strong possibility. Look, we thought that Cornwallis Land was huge, perhaps part of the Arctic Continent, but we sailed around it in a few days. Many of us thought that Devon Island continued north and west directly into the Open Polar Sea, but our two ships found the western end of it and we saw the open channels north.
“Our orders instructed us to sail directly southwest from Cape Walker, but we found that Prince of Wales Land was directly in the way — and what is more pertinent, that it is, almost without doubt, an island. And the low strip of ice we glimpsed to our east while heading south may well have been a frozen strait — separating Somerset Island from Boothia Felix and showing that King was wrong, that Boothia is not a continuous peninsula all the way north to Lancaster Sound.”
“There is no evidence that the low area of ice we saw was a strait,” said Lieutenant Gore. “It makes more sense to consider it a low ice-covered isthmus such as we saw on Beechey Island.”
Crozier shrugged. “Perhaps, but our experience on this expedition has been that landmasses previously thought to be very large or connected have in truth been shown to be islands. I suggest that we reverse course, avoid the pack ice to the southwest, and sail east and then south down the eastern coast of what may well be King William Island. At the very least, we will be sheltered from this … seaborne glacier that Mr. Blanky talks about … and should we discover the worst, that it is a long, narrow bay, odds are very great that we could sail north again around the point of King William Land next summer and be right back here and none the worse for wear.”
“Except for the coal burned and the precious time lost,” said Commander Fitzjames.
Crozier nodded.
Sir John rubbed his round and well-shaved cheeks.
In the silence, Terror’s engineer, James Thompson, spoke. “Sir John, gentlemen, since the issue of the ships’ coal reserves has been brought up, I would like to mention that we are very, very close to reaching — and I mean this quite literally — a point of no return in terms of our fuel. Just in the past week, using our steam engines to force a way through the fringes of this pack ice, we’ve gone through more than a quarter of our remaining coal reserves. We are now just above fifty percent of our coal remaining … less than two weeks of normal steaming, but only days’ worth trying to force the ice as we have. Should we be frozen in for another winter, we will be burning much of that reserve just to heat the ships again.”
“We could always send a party ashore to cut trees for firewood,” said Lieutenant Edward Little, sitting at Crozier’s left.
For a minute every man in the room except Sir John laughed heartily. It was a welcome break in the tension. Perhaps Sir John was remembering his first overland expeditions north to the coastal regions now to their south. The mainland tundra extended for nine hundred barren miles south from the coast before one would see the first tree or serious shrub.
“There is one way to maximize our steaming distances,” Crozier said softly into the more relaxed silence following the laughter.
Everyone’s head turned toward the captain of HMS Terror.
“We transfer all the crew and coal from Erebus to Terror and make a run for it,” continued Crozier. “Either through the ice to the southwest or to reconnoiter down the east coast of King William Land or Island.”
“Go for broke,” said Ice Master Blanky into the now stunned silence. “Aye, that makes sense.”
Sir John could only blink. When he finally found his voice, it still sounded incredulous, as if Crozier had made a second joke that he could not understand. “Abandon the flagship?” he said at last. “Abandon Erebus?” He glanced around as if just having the other officers look at his cabin would settle this issue once and for all — the bulkheads lined with shelves and books, the crystal and china on the table, the three Preston Patent Illuminators set into the width of the overhead, allowing rich late-summer light to stream into the cabin.
“Abandon Erebus, Francis?” he said again, his voice stronger but spoken in a tone of someone who wants to be let in on a rather obscure joke.
Crozier nodded. “The main shaft is bent, sir. Your own engineer, Mr. Gregory, has told us that it cannot be repaired, nor retracted any longer, outside of a dry dock. Certainly not while we are in pack ice. It will only get worse. With two ships, we have only a few days’ or a week’s worth of coal for the battle necessary to fight the pack ice. We’ll all be frozen in — both ships — if we fail. If we freeze into the open sea to the west of King William Land, we have no idea where the current will move the ice of which we will be a part. The odds are great that we could be thrown into the shallows along the lee shore there. That means the destruction of even such wonderful ships as these.” Crozier nodded around him and at the skylights above.
“But if we consolidate our fuel in the less damaged ship,” continued Crozier, “and especially if we have some luck finding open water down the east side of King William Land, we will have much more than a month’s fuel for steaming west along the coast as fast as we can. Erebus would have been sacrificed, but we might — we will — reach Point Turnagain and familiar points along the coast within a week. Complete the North-West Passage into the open Pacific this year instead of next.”
“Abandon Erebus?” repeated Sir John. He did not sound cross or angry, only perplexed by the absurdity of the notion being discussed.
“Conditions would be very cramped aboard Terror,” said Commander Fitzjames. He seemed to be seriously considering the notion.
Captain Sir John turned to his right and stared at his favorite officer. Sir John’s face was slowly assuming the cold smile of a man who has not only been left out of a joke on purpose but may well be the butt of it.
“Crowded, but not intolerably so for a month or two,” said Crozier. “My Mr. Honey and your ship’s carpenter, Mr. Weekes, will supervise the breaking down of interior bulkheads — all officers’ quarters to be dismantled except for the Great Room, which could be turned into Sir John’s quarters aboard Terror, and perhaps the officers’ mess. That would give us ample room, even for another year or more on the ice. These old bomb ships have a great amount of space belowdecks, if nothing else.”
“It would take some time to transfer the coal and ship’s stores,” said Lieutenant Le Vesconte.
Crozier nodded again. “I’ve had my purser, Mr. Helpman, work out some preliminary figures. You may remember that Mr. Goldner, the expedition’s provisioner of canned foods, failed to deliver the bulk of his goods until less than forty-eight hours before we sailed, so we had to repack both ships to a great extent. We did so in time to meet our departure date. Mr. Helpman estimates that with both crews working through the long daylight, sleeping on half-watch schedules, that everything we can hold on one ship can be transferred to Terror in just under three days. We’d be a crowded family for some weeks, but it would be as if we’re starting anew on the expedition — coal reserves topped off, food for another year, a ship in full working condition.”
“Go for broke,” repeated Ice Master Blanky.
Sir John shook his head and chuckled as if he had finally had enough of this particular joke. “Well, Francis, that is a very … interesting … speculation, but of course we shall not be abandoning Erebus. Nor Terror either, should your ship suffer some minor misfortune. Now, the one thing I’ve not heard at this table today is a suggestion to retreat to Baffin Bay. Am I correct in the assumption that no one is suggesting that?”
The room was silent. Overhead came the rumble and scrape
of crewmen holystoning the decks for the second time that day.
“Very well then, it is decided,” said Sir John. “We shall press forward. Not only do our orders direct us to do this, but as several of you gentlemen have pointed out, our safety increases the closer we get to the coast of the mainland, even if the land itself there is every bit as inhospitable as the dreadful islands we have passed up here. Francis, James, you may go tell your crews of our decision.”
Sir John stood.
For a dazed second the other captains, officers, ice masters, engineers, and surgeon could only stare, but then the Naval officers stood quickly, nodded, and began filing out of Sir John’s huge cabin.
The surgeon Stanley was plucking at Commander Fitzjames’s sleeve as the men went forward along the narrow companionway and stomped up the ladder to the deck.
“Commander, Commander,” Stanley said, “Sir John never called on me to report, but I wanted to tell everyone about the increasing numbers of putrid foodstuff we’ve been finding in the tinned goods.”
Fitzjames smiled but freed his arm. “We’ll arrange a time for you to tell Captain Sir John in private, Mr. Stanley.”
“But I’ve told him in private,” persisted the little surgeon. “It’s the other officers I wanted to inform in case …”
“Later, Mr. Stanley,” said Commander Fitzjames.
The surgeon was saying something else, but Crozier passed beyond earshot and waved to John Lane, his bosun, to bring his gig alongside for the sunny ride back up the narrow lead to where Terror’s bow was wedged in the thickening pack ice. Black smoke still poured from the leading ship’s funnel.
Heading southwest into the pack ice, the two ships made slow headway for another four days. HMS Terror burned coal at a prodigious rate, using its steam engine to throw itself against the ever-thicker pack ice. The glint of possible open water far to the south had disappeared, even on sunny days.