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Authors: John Wilson
Tags: JUV016170
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early.
I didnât feel any better after the session, but I had some spare time so I went to the library to pick up a book on Franklin I had ordered the week before. It was a journal written by one of the officers from the expedition that had discovered Franklins first wintering site on Beechey Island. It was pretty dull and only told me stuff I had read a dozen times before. There were descriptions of the three graves of John Torrington, John Hartnell and William Braine, the foundations of the blacksmithâs workshop and the pile of discarded cans. As I thumbed through it I began drifting away. I was thinking that there was not much point in going to see Chris again. Then my eye caught something. It was a brief footnote that I could have easily missed. It discussed the possibility that the ships had left Beechey Island in a hurry. That in itself was not remarkable. What was, was that one of the searchers had found a pair of gloves laid out to dry. They had been weighed down with a rock and forgotten in the haste to leave.
I was stunned. Georgeâs gloves, left behind in therush to take advantage of the open lead. It was a detail of my last dream that I could not have known from anywhere else. It was as if George were trying to talk to me. He was sending me a message: Donât
listen to anyone else. Only your dreams are true. No one else will understand.
Maybe there was hope yet! Maybe my dreams would come back. I tucked the book under my arm and rushed out to meet Mom in the car. I told her I wasnât going back to see Chris again. I put it very positively, saying he had been a great help, but that there was no point now that the dreams had stopped. On the drive home we chatted about school and sports, but my mind was in turmoil. I couldnât keep my eyes off the book. I was convinced that, in some way, that footnote was a message from George and I was almost too scared to hope that it meant that the dreams would return.
That night I dreamt again. This time I told no one. But I did follow one of Chrisâ suggestionsâI wrote the dreams down. Not for him, but so that, if they stopped again, at least I would have something concrete to remember. The dreams were mine, and I was not going to risk losing them again until they had led me to the end, whatever or wherever that might be.
CHAPTER 10
In nine days I will be fourteen. What a difference it will be from my last birthday when we left Beechey Island with such high hopes. Then I thought that we would be celebrated heroes by now. Instead, I am standing by the rail looking out over a grey wilderness of ice and snow. Neptune sits by my feet. He is my constantâmy onlyâcompanion these days. I cannot help remembering what a difficult year it has been.
At first progress was slow as the ice was still heavy. Often we had to wait for an open lead heading in our direction, then we would cautiously follow it until we could go no farther. Twice the
Erebus
became trapped and we waited nervously to see if we should escape. Then, at last, we reached Cape Felix, the northernmost tip of King William Land.
This is where we are now, halfway between east and west and farther than any man has gone by ship before. A few miles south of us is the cairn at Victory Pointbuilt by James Ross at the end of his sled trip from the east three years before I was born. Only sixty miles south of that is another cairn. This one was built only seven years ago by Simpson and Dease on their canoe journey from the west. That sixty miles is the last unexplored bit of the Northwest Passage. It seemed when we first arrived that our success was assured.
It was late summer but there was still a full twelve hours of light each day. The west coast of the island was blocked by heavy ice, so we set off down the east side, down Ross Strait. The bottom of the strait was unexplored, but we hoped it connected to Simpsonâs Strait and we could sail around King William Land. The ice was
I didnât feel any better after the session, but I had some spare time so I went to the library to pick up a book on Franklin I had ordered the week before. It was a journal written by one of the officers from the expedition that had discovered Franklins first wintering site on Beechey Island. It was pretty dull and only told me stuff I had read a dozen times before. There were descriptions of the three graves of John Torrington, John Hartnell and William Braine, the foundations of the blacksmithâs workshop and the pile of discarded cans. As I thumbed through it I began drifting away. I was thinking that there was not much point in going to see Chris again. Then my eye caught something. It was a brief footnote that I could have easily missed. It discussed the possibility that the ships had left Beechey Island in a hurry. That in itself was not remarkable. What was, was that one of the searchers had found a pair of gloves laid out to dry. They had been weighed down with a rock and forgotten in the haste to leave.
I was stunned. Georgeâs gloves, left behind in therush to take advantage of the open lead. It was a detail of my last dream that I could not have known from anywhere else. It was as if George were trying to talk to me. He was sending me a message: Donât
listen to anyone else. Only your dreams are true. No one else will understand.
Maybe there was hope yet! Maybe my dreams would come back. I tucked the book under my arm and rushed out to meet Mom in the car. I told her I wasnât going back to see Chris again. I put it very positively, saying he had been a great help, but that there was no point now that the dreams had stopped. On the drive home we chatted about school and sports, but my mind was in turmoil. I couldnât keep my eyes off the book. I was convinced that, in some way, that footnote was a message from George and I was almost too scared to hope that it meant that the dreams would return.
That night I dreamt again. This time I told no one. But I did follow one of Chrisâ suggestionsâI wrote the dreams down. Not for him, but so that, if they stopped again, at least I would have something concrete to remember. The dreams were mine, and I was not going to risk losing them again until they had led me to the end, whatever or wherever that might be.
CHAPTER 10
In nine days I will be fourteen. What a difference it will be from my last birthday when we left Beechey Island with such high hopes. Then I thought that we would be celebrated heroes by now. Instead, I am standing by the rail looking out over a grey wilderness of ice and snow. Neptune sits by my feet. He is my constantâmy onlyâcompanion these days. I cannot help remembering what a difficult year it has been.
At first progress was slow as the ice was still heavy. Often we had to wait for an open lead heading in our direction, then we would cautiously follow it until we could go no farther. Twice the
Erebus
became trapped and we waited nervously to see if we should escape. Then, at last, we reached Cape Felix, the northernmost tip of King William Land.
This is where we are now, halfway between east and west and farther than any man has gone by ship before. A few miles south of us is the cairn at Victory Pointbuilt by James Ross at the end of his sled trip from the east three years before I was born. Only sixty miles south of that is another cairn. This one was built only seven years ago by Simpson and Dease on their canoe journey from the west. That sixty miles is the last unexplored bit of the Northwest Passage. It seemed when we first arrived that our success was assured.
It was late summer but there was still a full twelve hours of light each day. The west coast of the island was blocked by heavy ice, so we set off down the east side, down Ross Strait. The bottom of the strait was unexplored, but we hoped it connected to Simpsonâs Strait and we could sail around King William Land. The ice was
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