So it was a shock when the older Ross pulled him aside almost abruptly and began to bark questions at him through the cigar smoke and the glint of candlelight off crystal.
“ Franklin, why in hell’s name are you taking one hundred and thirty-four men?” rasped the holystone across rough wood.
Captain Sir John Franklin blinked. “It’s a major expedition, Sir John.”
“Too bloody major, if you ask me. It’s hard enough to get thirty men across the ice, into boats, and back to civilization when something goes wrong. A hundred thirty- four men…” The old explorer made a rude noise, clearing his throat as if he was going to spit.
Franklin smiled and nodded, wishing the old man would leave him alone.
“And your age,” continued Ross. “You’re sixty, for God’s sake.”
“Fifty-nine,” Franklin said stiffly. “Sir.”
The elder Ross smiled thinly but looked more like an iceberg than ever. “
“Three hundred seventy-two for my flagship,” said Franklin. “Three hundred twenty-six for
“And a draft of nineteen feet each, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“That’s buggering insane, Franklin. Your ships will be the deepest draft vessels ever sent on an arctic expedition. Everything we know about those regions has shown us that the waters where you’re headed are shallow, filled with shoals, rocks, and hidden ice. My
“Both ships have been strengthened, Sir John,” said Franklin. He could feel sweat running down his ribs and chest onto his portly belly. “They’re now the strongest ice ships in the world.”
“And what is all the nonsense about steam and locomotive engines?”
“Not nonsense, m’lord,” said Franklin and could hear the condescension in his own voice. He knew nothing about steam himself, but he had two good engineers on the expedition and Fitzjames, who was part of the new Steam Navy. “These are powerful engines, Sir John. They’ll see us through the ice where sail has failed.”
Sir John Ross snorted. “Your steam machines aren’t even maritime engines, are they, Franklin?”
“No, Sir John. But they’re the best steam engines the London and Greenwich Railway could sell us. Converted for marine use. Powerful beasts, sir.”
Ross sipped his whiskey. “Powerful if you’re planning to lay down rails along the North-West Passage and take a God-damned locomotive across it.”
Franklin chuckled good-naturedly at this, but he saw no humor in the comment and the obscenity offended him deeply. He often could not tell when others were being humorous, and he had no sense of humor himself.
“But not really so powerful,” continued Ross. “That one-point-five-ton machine they crammed into the hold of your
Franklin had nothing to say to that, so he smiled. To fill the silence he signaled a passing waiter carrying glasses of champagne. Then, since it was against all his principles to drink alcohol, all he could do was stand there holding the glass, occasionally glancing at the flattening champagne, and wait for some opportunity to get rid of it without being noticed.
“Think of all the extra provisions you could have crammed in the holds of your two ships if those damned engines weren’t there,” persisted Ross.
Franklin looked around as if seeking rescue, but everyone was in animated conversation with someone else. “We have more than adequate stores for three years, Sir John,” he said at last. “Five to seven years if we have to go on short rations.” He smiled again, trying to charm that flinty face. “And both
Sir John Ross’s pale eyes gleamed coldly. “
Franklin looked around, trying to catch Fitzjames’s eye. Even Crozier’s. Anyone to come to his rescue. No one seemed to notice the old Sir John and the fat Sir John huddled here in such earnest, if one-sided, conversation. A waiter passed, and Franklin set his untouched glass of champagne on his tray. Ross studied Franklin through slitted eyes.
“And how much coal does it take just to heat one of your ships for a day up there?” pressed the old Scotsman.
“Oh, I don’t really know, Sir John,” said Franklin with a winning smile. He really did
“
Captain Sir John waved his hand in what he realized was a dismissive – and almost effeminate – gesture. “Oh, somewhere around two hundred tons, m’lord.”
Ross squinted again. “Ninety tons each for
Franklin smiled and said nothing.
“Say you arrive at where you winter in the ice with seventy-five percent of your ninety tons unburned,” continued Ross, boring ahead like a ship through soft ice, “that leaves you what… how many days’ steam under normal conditions, not ice conditions? A dozen days? Thirteen days? A fortnight?”
Captain Sir John Franklin had not the slightest idea. His mind, although professional and nautical, simply did not work that way. Perhaps his eyes revealed his sudden panic – not over coal but over appearing an idiot in front of Sir John Ross – for the old mariner clamped a steel vise grip on Franklin ’s shoulder. When Ross leaned closer, Captain Sir John Franklin could smell the whiskey on his breath.
“What are the Admiralty’s plans for your rescue, Franklin?” rasped Ross. His voice was low. All about them was the laughter and chatter of the reception in its late hour.
“Rescue?” Franklin said, blinking. The idea that the two most modern ships in the world – reinforced for ice, powered by steam, provisioned for five years or more in the ice, and manned by crews handpicked by Sir John Barrow – would or could require rescue simply did not register in Franklin ’s brain. The idea was absurd.
“Do you have plans to cache depots along your way in through the islands?” whispered Ross.
“Caches?” said Franklin. “Leave our provisions along the way? Why on earth would I do that?”
“So you can get your men and boats to food and shelter if you have to take to the ice and walk out,” Ross said fiercely, eyes gleaming.
“Why would we walk back toward Baffin Bay?” asked Franklin. “Our objective is to complete the transit of the North-West Passage.”
Sir John Ross had pulled his head back. His grip tightened on Franklin ’s upper arm. “Then there’s no rescue ship or plan in place?”
“No.”
Ross grabbed Franklin ’s other arm and squeezed so tightly that the portly Captain Sir John almost winced.
“Then, laddie,” whispered Ross, “if we’ve not heard from ye by 1848, I’ll come looking for you myself. I swear it.”
Franklin slammed awake.
He was soaked with sweat. He felt dizzy and weak. His heart was pounding, and with each reverberation his headache tolled like a church bell against the inside of his skull.
He looked down at himself in horror. Silk covered the lower half of his body.
“What is this?” he cried in alarm. “What is this? There’s a flag thrown over me!”
Lady Jane stood, aghast. “You looked cold, John. You were shivering. I put it over you as a blanket.”
“My God!” cried Captain Sir John Franklin. “My God, woman, do you know what you’ve done? Don’t you know they lay the Union Jack over a corpse!”
3 CROZIER
Captain Crozier descends the short ladder to the lower deck, pushes through the sealed double doors, and almost staggers in the sudden blast of warmth. Even though the circulating hot-water heat has been off for hours, body heat from more than fifty men and residual warmth from cooking have kept the temperature here on the lower deck high – just below freezing – almost 80 degrees warmer than outside. The effect on someone who’s been out on deck for half an hour is the equivalent of walking into a sauna fully clothed.
Since he’s continuing down to the unheated orlop and hold decks and thus keeping his cold-weather slops on, Crozier doesn’t tarry long here in the heat. But he does pause for a moment – as any captain would – taking the time to glance around and make sure that everything hasn’t gone to hell in the half hour he’s been away.
Despite the fact that this is the only berthing, eating, and living deck on the ship, it’s still as dark as a working Welsh mine with its small skylights snowed over in the daytime and the night now twenty-two hours long. Whale-oil lamps, lanterns, or candles throw small cones of illumination here and there, but mostly the men make their way through the gloom by memory, remembering where to dodge the innumerable half-seen heaps and hanging masses of stored food, clothing, gear, and other men sleeping in their hammocks. When all the hammocks go up – fourteen inches allowed per man – there will be no room to walk at all except for two 18-inch-wide aisles along the hull on either side. But only a few hammocks are up now – men catching some sleep before late watches – and the din of conversation, laughter, cursing, coughing, and Mr. Diggle’s inspired clankings and obscenities is loud enough to drown out some of the press and moan of the ice.
The ship’s diagrams show seven feet of clearance, but in reality, between the heavy ship’s timbers overhead and the tons of lumber and extra wood stored on racks
