Erasmus, thinking those investigations were just a hobby, had expected Zeke to mature into a merchant captain. Yet Zeke kept reading and planning and making notesdreaming, while no one paid attention, of a quest that would make his name. Until finally, at Lavinias birthday party, hed surprised them all.
In the water, Zeke had once told Erasmus, while I was floating there, knowing I might easily die, I understood I would not die. I was not sickly, I was very strong; I could keep my head in an emergency. I was destinedI am destinedto do something remarkable. Men have made themselves famous solely by mastering a subject which others have not yet seen to be important. And I have mastered the literature of arctic exploration.
That mastery was of little use during the first ten days of the voyage, which Zeke spent flat on his back, flounder pale, his oddly large palms and short, blunt fingers dangling over the side of his berth. Erasmus cared for him as well as he could, remembering his promise to his sister and his own early misreadings of Zekes character. Unpleasant work: yet for all his worry, there was still the great pleasure of being at sea again. The wind tearing the clouds to shreds, tearing his old dull life to shreds. In his journal he wrote:
How could I have forgotten what this was like? Thirteen years since I was last on a ship, waking to the sounds of halyards cracking against the masts, water rushing past the hull; and each day the sense of time stretching out before me as rich and vast as the ocean. I think about things Ive forgotten for years. Outwardly this is much like my last voyage: the watches changing, the ships bell ringing, the routine of meals and duties. Yet in other ways so different. No military men, no military discipline; just the small group of us, gathered for a common cause. And me with all the time in the world to stand on the deck at night and watch the stars whirling overhead.
RAIN, FOUR DAYS in a row. Erasmus stayed in the cabin for much of that time, besotted with his new home. Between the bulkhead separating the cabin from the forecastle, and the equipment shelves surrounding the stepladder leading to the deck, everything else was squeezed: hinged table and wooden stools; lockers, hanging lamp and stove; and, stacked in tiers of three along the sides, six berths. Mr. Tagliabeau, Captain Tyler, and Mr. Francis occupied the starboard berths. On the port side, Dr. Boerhaave had the bottom, Zeke the middle, and Erasmus the upper berth, which was lined and curtained off with India rubber cloth. The rats creeping up from the hold at night might have seen the officers arranged like cheeses along their shelves and, on the opposite side of the bulkhead, the seamen swaying in their netted hammocks.
Yet physical discomforts didnt seem to matter. With his curtain drawn, Erasmus could almost pretend he was alone; almost forget that Zeke lay just a few inches below him, Mr. Tagliabeau a few feet across from him. Two wooden shelves held his books, his journal, a reading lamp, his pens and drawing supplies. Compass, pocket-sextant and watch hung from particular pegs; rifle, flask, and pouch from others. Order, sweet order. Everything under his control, in a space hardly bigger than a coffin yet warm and dry and lit. As the rain tapered off on the fourth day he read and wrote in there, happy until he heard Zeke vomiting.
Delirious from lack of food, Zeke whimpered and called for his mother and sometimes for Lavinia. That boy in the invalids chair was still apparent in his eyes, although hed already managed to make it clear that he resented whoever helped him. Erasmus opened his curtain, fetched a clean basin, soothed Zekes face with a damp cloth. Perhaps, he thought, Zeke wouldnt remember this day or hold these acts against him. When Dr. Boerhaave, still a stranger, said, Let me see what I can do, and opened his medicine chest, Erasmus left Zeke in the doctors hands and went to get some fresh air. Low swells, a crisp breeze, the rain-washed sails still dripping and the clouds parting like tufts of carded wool. Beneath that sky the deck was dotted with men picking oakum. Which was Isaac, which was Ivan? Erasmus had made a resolution, after watching Alexandras ease with the same servants whose names he still forgot. On the Narwhal, hed promised himself, hed pay attention to everyone, not just the officers.
That was Robert, he thought. On that coil of rope. Sean, by the sturdy capstan. And in the galley, cooking as if he were dancing, Ned Kynd. A glance at the simmering carrots, a stir of the chicken fricassee, then a few quick kneads of the biscuit dough on a floured board.
Erasmus dipped a spoon in the stew pot and tasted the gravy. Delicious, he said, thinking with pleasure of the live chickens still penned on the deck. Fresh food for another several weeks; he knew, as Zeke and perhaps even Ned did not, how much this was to be relished. Youre doing a fine job.
Its a pleasure, Ned said. A pleasure to have such a tidy place to cook in. And then the seaisnt it lovely?
It is, Erasmus agreed. They spoke briefly about menus and the state of their provisions; then about Neds quarters, which he claimed were fine. Never sick, always cheerful and prompt, Ned seemed to have made himself at home. Already hed adopted the seamens bright neckerchiefs and was growing a spotty beard. After a few minutes chat about the weather and a spell of comfortable silence, Ned said, May I ask you a question?
Of course, Erasmus said, praying it wouldnt be about Zeke.
Could you tell me about this Franklin were looking for? Who he is?
Erasmus stared at him, a piece of carrot still in his mouth. Didnt Commander Voorhees explain all this to you, when you signed on?
Ned cut biscuits. That Franklin was lost, he said. That we were to go and search for himbut not much more than that.
Where had Ned been these last years? While Ned slipped the biscuits onto a tin, Erasmus leaned against the water barrel and tried to summarize the story that had riveted everyone elses attention.
Sir John Franklin was, is, English, he said. A famous explorer, whod already been on three earlier arctic voyages.
The chicken simmered as Erasmus explained how Franklin had set off with over a hundred of the British Navys finest men. For ships he had James Rosss old Erebus and Terror, refitted with hot-water heating systems and experimental screw propellers. Black-hulled, white-masted, the ships had left England in the spring of 1845, provisioned for three years. Each had taken along a library of some twelve hundred books and a hand organ, which played fifty tunes. The weather was remarkably fine that summer, and hopes for a swift journey high. Toward the end of that July they were seen by a whaler, moored to an iceberg at the mouth of Lancaster Sound; after that they disappeared.
Disappeared? Ned said. His hands cut lard into flour for a pie crust.
Vanished, Erasmus replied. Everyone knew this part of the story, he thought: not just himself and Zeke, but Lavinia and all her acquaintances, even his cook and his groom. How did you miss this?
There was starvation in Ireland, Ned said sharply. How did you miss that? I had other things on my mind.
The chronology of these two events fell into line. Ned, Erasmus realized, must have been part of the great wave of Irish emigrants fleeing the famine. He was still just a boy, he could almost have been Erasmuss son. Forgive me, he said. He knew nothing of Neds history, as hed known nothing of his servants lives at home. That was stupid of me. Of course the events in Ireland had shaped Neds life more than the stories of noble Franklin, unaccountably lost; or noble Jane, his wife, who by the time Zeke proposed their voyage had organized more than a dozen expeditions in search of her husband.
The chronology of these two events fell into line. Ned, Erasmus realized, must have been part of the great wave of Irish emigrants fleeing the famine. He was still just a boy, he could almost have been Erasmuss son. Forgive me, he said. He knew nothing of Neds history, as hed known nothing of his servants lives at home. That was stupid of me. Of course the events in Ireland had shaped Neds life more than the stories of noble Franklin, unaccountably lost; or noble Jane, his wife, who by the time Zeke proposed their voyage had organized more than a dozen expeditions in search of her husband.
Ned sliced apples so swiftly they seemed to leap away from his knife, and Erasmus, after an awkward pause, explained how ships had converged from the east and west on the areas in which Franklin was presumed to be lost, while other expeditions traveled overland. All had made important geographical discoveries, but despite the rockets fired, the kites and balloons sent adrift in the air, the foxes tagged with messages and released, no one had found Franklin. Erasmuss fellow Philadelphian, Dr. Kane, had been with the fleet that reached Beechey Island during the summer of 1851, finding tantalizing traces of a winter camp.
Erasmus tried, without frightening Ned, to describe what that fleet had seen. Three of Franklins seamen lying beneath three mounds; and also sailcloth, paper fragments and blankets, and six hundred preserved-meat tins, emptied of their contents and refilled with pebbles. But no note, nor any indication of which direction the party had headed on departing. Subsequent expeditions hadnt found a single clue as to Franklins whereabouts. The Admiralty had given up the search a year ago, declaring Franklin and his men dead.
Why would Commander Voorhees want to do this, then? Ned asked. If the men are dead?
There was news, Erasmus said. Surprising news.
In the fall, just as Zeke had said at Lavinias party, John Rae of the Hudsons Bay Company had startled everyone. Exploring the arctic coastline west of Repulse Bay, not in search of Franklin at all but purely for geographical interest, hed come across some Esquimaux. A group of thirty or forty white men had starved to death some years before, they said, at the mouth of a large river. They wouldnt lead Rae to the bodies, and Rae had thought the season too far advanced to embark on a search himself. But the Esquimaux had relics: Rae purchased a gold watch, a surgeons knife, a bit of an undervest; silver forks and spoons marked with Franklins crest; a golden band from a cap.
The part that set everyone talking, though, Erasmus said, was the last story the Esquimaux told Dr. Rae.
Three pies were taking shape; he filched some apple slices. Was it wrong, he wondered, to bring up the subject of starvation with a boy who might have seen it directly? Was it wrong to talk so freely with a subordinate? But Ned, crimping the crusts together, said, Well, tell me.
Erasmus, leaving out the worst parts, described the Esquimaux tale of mutilated corpses and human parts found in cooking kettles. There could be no doubt, Rae had said, that his countrymen had been driven to cannibalism as a last resort.
What an uproar Rae caused! Erasmus said. He registered Neds pallor, but he was caught in his own momentum now. Youd have thought he killed the men himself, from the publics response. The Admiralty dismissed his findings and said Englishmen dont eat Englishmen. But they declared the fate of Franklins expedition resolved, despite the fact that Raes story accounted for less than a third of the crew.
You look for the rest, then? Ned asked.
We look.
He wound up with the facts that had set them off on their own quest. Although the Admiralty had given up, Lady Franklin persisted, bombarding the press with pleas for further, private expeditions.
Until the ships are found, Erasmus said, theres no proof that all the men are dead. Dr. Kane is still searching for them, but he headed for Smith Sound before Raes return. Franklin might have reached that area if hed headed north through Wellington Channel, but now we know he went southwest and that Kanes a thousand miles from the right place. We have all the facts Dr. Kane was missing, and our job is to search in the area Rae insufficiently explored.
Ned finished the pies and then looked up. Commander Voorhees made it sound as if we were going to rescue survivors, he said. Yet it seems were only going after corpses.
Not exactly, Erasmus said, flustered. There may be some survivors, we hope there are. We go in search of them, and of news.
He left the galley feeling uneasy, a biscuit in his hand. Hed imagined that the ships crew shared his and Zekes thoughts: the story of Franklin clear in their minds, the goals of the voyage sharply defined and their own tasks understood. Now he wondered if they were like Ned, signed on for their own reasons, occupied with their own concerns, hardly aware of the facts. One was thinking, perhaps, about a belled cow walking high on a hill. Another about a pond and four locust trees, or about drinking whiskey or shoeing a horse, what he might buy when he was paid off, a young woman, an old quarrel, a sleighs runners slicing the snow.
THE LAST TIME Ned had sailed on a ship, hed been sick and stunned and hadnt known how to read or write. This time hed do it differently; this time hed keep a record. Before leaving Philadelphia hed bought a lined copybook, of the sort boys used in school. That night he wrote:
The apple pies were very good. But Commander Voorhees still hasnt eaten a mouthful, nothing I make tempts him. Today I saw a large school of bluefish. Mr. Wells came to visit while I made dinner and told me about the explorer were searching for. Except he is dead, also all his men I think. Not only frozen but starved. When he told me about the men eating each other I thought about home, and all this evening Ive been remembering Denis and Nora and our voyage over, and all the others dead at home, and Mr. Wickersham who taught me to read and write, and everyone. I get along well enough with the seamen I bunk with, but dont yet have a special friend among them and wish I did. Although Ive heard Mr. Wells asking the other seamen for details of their lives, he didnt ask me one thing about the famine years nor how or when I arrived in this country. Nor how it was that I happened to be free, with less than a dollar in my pocket, on the very afternoon Mr. Tagliabeau came looking for a replacement cook. Only he seemed surprised that I hadnt heard about the famous Englishman. If I hadnt tried to stop the fight between the two Spaniards that afternoon, and been fired for my pains and denied my last weeks wages, I wouldnt have leapt at the chance for this position. When we return to Philadelphia in October I wonder if hed help me find work away from the docks, perhaps in one of the inns out Germantown way.
OFF ST. JOHNS, the scattered icebergspure white, impossibly huge, entirely covered with snowcured Zeke like a drug. Captain Tyler, Mr. Tagliabeau, and Mr. Francis viewed them calmly, after their many whaling voyages. Erasmus, whod seen similar bergs off Antarctica, restrained his excitement for the sake of appearances. But the men who hadnt been north before gaped openly, and Zeke was overcome.
Look! Look! he shouted, racing about the deck and then diving into the cabin for his journal. His first entry, dated June 15, 1855, was a series of hasty sketches captioned with rough measurements: The largest iceberg is a quarter-mile across. Nils Jensen, who couldnt read but had remarkable calculating skills, leaned over the drawing and murmured some numbers suggesting the bergs volume and area. Other excited men crowded around, but perhaps only Erasmus saw, behind the hamlike shoulders of huge Sean Hamilton, the officers exchanging glances and sarcastic smiles.