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Authors: Robert Edric
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looked back to the ice without speaking, and then a moment later pointed and said, “That.”
Fitzjames looked, and as the last of the smoke and powdered ice slowly cleared, he saw a long deep fissure appear, which then cleaved the berg in half as he watched.
SIX
F ranklin’s orders were to proceed along Lancaster Sound to its confluence with Barrow Strait in the west, and with Prince Regent’s Inlet and the Gulf of Boothia to the south, and there to adopt a southwesterly course through whatever navigable water lay in that direction until he reached the mainland coast, whereupon he was then to turn west and continue to the Pacific by way of Bering Strait.
Due west through Barrow Strait would bring the expedition into those unrewarding waters explored twenty-five years earlier by Parry; turning south into Prince Regent’s Inlet they would be following in the wake of the Rosses. Neither route led to the Passage, both terminating in land-locked water and impenetrable ice.
Having arrived at the confluence of Lancaster Sound with Barrow Strait, Franklin made a decision which was uniquely his own, and prior to entering the more turbulent waters of the Strait he called Crozier and his senior officers together to inform them of what he now intended to do.
Pinned to the wall of his cabin was a map upon which Vesconte had drawn the line of every known coast and waterway so far charted, the bulk of these already behind them, the area ahead largely blank except for the few known headlands and bays which had already been visited and plotted. Under orders from Franklin to resist the urge to speculate, Vesconte had avoided adding anything other than that which had been first located and then afterward confirmed. Parry’s islands lay 200 miles ahead of them, still the farthest
west ever reached at that latitude. The west coast of Baffin ended abruptly south of 72 degrees. The east coast of the Boothia Peninsula extended to 70 degrees, but its far coast remained invisible except around this same latitude, where it had already been visited by James Ross fifteen years earlier. Elsewhere there was only emptiness, given some definition by the mainland coast far to the south. It was into this uncharted white space—even following a direct course, a distance of 300 miles, although more likely to be double this once they were forced to begin weaving amid the ice, land and open water in that direction—that all thoughts turned upon seeing the map, and as the men gathering together waited for Franklin to address them.
“Guesswork, gentlemen,” he began, rapping his cane and silencing their speculations. “We cannot even say for certain whether or not the Boothia Peninsula is a solid land mass connected to the mainland—in which case Prince Regent’s is nothing but a giant blind alley—or whether it is broken at some point along its length by a single or by many channels. Ross failed to establish this, and if we ourselves choose this course then we might have great cause to regret his failure. We know it is filled by the spring pack, but so too is the western approach.” It was clear by the peremptory manner in which he made these opening remarks that he had no intention of turning south into the Inlet.
Crozier was the first to his feet. “But surely navigable by us along a good deal of its length,” he said, masking his anger at the realization that his own opinion had not been sought in advance of Franklin announcing this decision.
“Certainly,” Franklin said quickly. “We might even penetrate as far south as we have already come west. Our problem then would be that we might be caught and be forced to winter in some particularly active part of the pack. It is not my intention to gamble all upon an unfortunate first winter when we are provisioned for at least three and are still at leisure to make our calculations based upon something other than the necessity to avoid ice-damage.”
Crozier became impatient with these
Fitzjames looked, and as the last of the smoke and powdered ice slowly cleared, he saw a long deep fissure appear, which then cleaved the berg in half as he watched.
SIX
F ranklin’s orders were to proceed along Lancaster Sound to its confluence with Barrow Strait in the west, and with Prince Regent’s Inlet and the Gulf of Boothia to the south, and there to adopt a southwesterly course through whatever navigable water lay in that direction until he reached the mainland coast, whereupon he was then to turn west and continue to the Pacific by way of Bering Strait.
Due west through Barrow Strait would bring the expedition into those unrewarding waters explored twenty-five years earlier by Parry; turning south into Prince Regent’s Inlet they would be following in the wake of the Rosses. Neither route led to the Passage, both terminating in land-locked water and impenetrable ice.
Having arrived at the confluence of Lancaster Sound with Barrow Strait, Franklin made a decision which was uniquely his own, and prior to entering the more turbulent waters of the Strait he called Crozier and his senior officers together to inform them of what he now intended to do.
Pinned to the wall of his cabin was a map upon which Vesconte had drawn the line of every known coast and waterway so far charted, the bulk of these already behind them, the area ahead largely blank except for the few known headlands and bays which had already been visited and plotted. Under orders from Franklin to resist the urge to speculate, Vesconte had avoided adding anything other than that which had been first located and then afterward confirmed. Parry’s islands lay 200 miles ahead of them, still the farthest
west ever reached at that latitude. The west coast of Baffin ended abruptly south of 72 degrees. The east coast of the Boothia Peninsula extended to 70 degrees, but its far coast remained invisible except around this same latitude, where it had already been visited by James Ross fifteen years earlier. Elsewhere there was only emptiness, given some definition by the mainland coast far to the south. It was into this uncharted white space—even following a direct course, a distance of 300 miles, although more likely to be double this once they were forced to begin weaving amid the ice, land and open water in that direction—that all thoughts turned upon seeing the map, and as the men gathering together waited for Franklin to address them.
“Guesswork, gentlemen,” he began, rapping his cane and silencing their speculations. “We cannot even say for certain whether or not the Boothia Peninsula is a solid land mass connected to the mainland—in which case Prince Regent’s is nothing but a giant blind alley—or whether it is broken at some point along its length by a single or by many channels. Ross failed to establish this, and if we ourselves choose this course then we might have great cause to regret his failure. We know it is filled by the spring pack, but so too is the western approach.” It was clear by the peremptory manner in which he made these opening remarks that he had no intention of turning south into the Inlet.
Crozier was the first to his feet. “But surely navigable by us along a good deal of its length,” he said, masking his anger at the realization that his own opinion had not been sought in advance of Franklin announcing this decision.
“Certainly,” Franklin said quickly. “We might even penetrate as far south as we have already come west. Our problem then would be that we might be caught and be forced to winter in some particularly active part of the pack. It is not my intention to gamble all upon an unfortunate first winter when we are provisioned for at least three and are still at leisure to make our calculations based upon something other than the necessity to avoid ice-damage.”
Crozier became impatient with these
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