Mr. Honey. Use your pry bar to lever this loose. I want to see what the ice has done to the outer layer of hull oak.”
The carpenter complies. For several minutes the sound of the iron bar prying at iron-cold wood and the carpenter’s grunts almost drown out the frenzied gnawing of the rats behind them. The bent Canadian elm tears back and falls away. The shattered African oak is leveraged out. Only the inward-bent original oak of the hull remains now as Crozier steps closer, holding his lantern so that both men can see.
Shards and spears of ice reflect the lantern light through the foot-long holes in the hull, but in the centre is something much more disturbing — blackness. Nothing. A hole in the ice. A tunnel.
Honey bends a piece of the splintered oak farther in so Crozier can shine his lantern on it.
“Holy fucking Jesus Christ fucking shit almighty,” gasps the carpenter. This time he does not ask his captain’s pardon.
Crozier has the temptation to lick his dry lips but knows how painful that will be here where it’s 50 below in the dark. But his heart is pounding so wildly that he’s also tempted to steady himself with one mitten against the hull the way the carpenter has just done.
The freezing air from outside rushes in so quickly that it almost extinguishes the lantern. Crozier has to shield it with his free hand to keep it flickering, sending the men’s shadows dancing across decks, beams, and bulkheads.
The two long boards from the outer hull have been smashed and bent inward by some inconceivable, irresistible force. Clearly visible in the light from the slightly shaking lantern are huge claw marks in the splintered oak — claw marks streaked with frozen smears of impossibly bright blood.
4
GOODSIR
Lat.
75°-12′
N., Long.
61°-6′
W.
Baffin Bay, July, 1845
From the private diary of Dr. Harry D. S. Goodsir:
11 April, 1845 —
In a letter to my brother today, I wrote —
“All the Officers are in great hopes of making the passage and hope to be in the Pacific end of next summer.”
I confess that, however Selfish it is, my own hope for the Expedition is that it may take us a bit longer to reach Alaska, Russia, China, and the warm waters of the Pacific. Although trained as an anatomist and signed on by Captain Sir John Franklin as a mere assistant surgeon, I am, in Truth, no mere surgeon but a Doctor, and I confess further that as amateurish as my attempts may be, I hope to become something of a Naturalist on this voyage. While having no personal Experience with arctic flora and fauna, I plan to become personally acquainted with the life-forms in the Icy Realms to which we set sail only a month from now. I am especially interested in the white bear, although most accounts of it one hears from whalers and old Arctic Hands tend to be too fabulous to credit.
I recognize that this personal Diary is most out of the ordinary — the Official Log that I shall begin when we depart next month will record all of the pertinent professional events and observations of my time aboard HMS
Erebus
in my capacity as Assistant Surgeon and as a member of Captain Sir John Franklin’s expedition to force the North-West Passage — but I feel that something More is due, some other record, some more personal account, and even if I should never let another soul read this after my Return, it is my Duty — to myself if no other — to keep these notes.
All I know at this point is that my Expedition with Captain Sir John Franklin already promises to be the Experience of a Lifetime.
Sunday, 18 May, 1845 —
All the men are aboard, and although last-minute Preparation is still going on around the clock for tomorrow’s Departure — especially with the stowing of what Captain Fitzjames informs me is more than eight
thousand
cans of tinned food which have arrived only in the nick of time — Sir John conducted Divine Service today for us aboard
Erebus
and for as many of
Terror
’s crew who wished to join us. I
The carpenter complies. For several minutes the sound of the iron bar prying at iron-cold wood and the carpenter’s grunts almost drown out the frenzied gnawing of the rats behind them. The bent Canadian elm tears back and falls away. The shattered African oak is leveraged out. Only the inward-bent original oak of the hull remains now as Crozier steps closer, holding his lantern so that both men can see.
Shards and spears of ice reflect the lantern light through the foot-long holes in the hull, but in the centre is something much more disturbing — blackness. Nothing. A hole in the ice. A tunnel.
Honey bends a piece of the splintered oak farther in so Crozier can shine his lantern on it.
“Holy fucking Jesus Christ fucking shit almighty,” gasps the carpenter. This time he does not ask his captain’s pardon.
Crozier has the temptation to lick his dry lips but knows how painful that will be here where it’s 50 below in the dark. But his heart is pounding so wildly that he’s also tempted to steady himself with one mitten against the hull the way the carpenter has just done.
The freezing air from outside rushes in so quickly that it almost extinguishes the lantern. Crozier has to shield it with his free hand to keep it flickering, sending the men’s shadows dancing across decks, beams, and bulkheads.
The two long boards from the outer hull have been smashed and bent inward by some inconceivable, irresistible force. Clearly visible in the light from the slightly shaking lantern are huge claw marks in the splintered oak — claw marks streaked with frozen smears of impossibly bright blood.
4
GOODSIR
Lat.
75°-12′
N., Long.
61°-6′
W.
Baffin Bay, July, 1845
From the private diary of Dr. Harry D. S. Goodsir:
11 April, 1845 —
In a letter to my brother today, I wrote —
“All the Officers are in great hopes of making the passage and hope to be in the Pacific end of next summer.”
I confess that, however Selfish it is, my own hope for the Expedition is that it may take us a bit longer to reach Alaska, Russia, China, and the warm waters of the Pacific. Although trained as an anatomist and signed on by Captain Sir John Franklin as a mere assistant surgeon, I am, in Truth, no mere surgeon but a Doctor, and I confess further that as amateurish as my attempts may be, I hope to become something of a Naturalist on this voyage. While having no personal Experience with arctic flora and fauna, I plan to become personally acquainted with the life-forms in the Icy Realms to which we set sail only a month from now. I am especially interested in the white bear, although most accounts of it one hears from whalers and old Arctic Hands tend to be too fabulous to credit.
I recognize that this personal Diary is most out of the ordinary — the Official Log that I shall begin when we depart next month will record all of the pertinent professional events and observations of my time aboard HMS
Erebus
in my capacity as Assistant Surgeon and as a member of Captain Sir John Franklin’s expedition to force the North-West Passage — but I feel that something More is due, some other record, some more personal account, and even if I should never let another soul read this after my Return, it is my Duty — to myself if no other — to keep these notes.
All I know at this point is that my Expedition with Captain Sir John Franklin already promises to be the Experience of a Lifetime.
Sunday, 18 May, 1845 —
All the men are aboard, and although last-minute Preparation is still going on around the clock for tomorrow’s Departure — especially with the stowing of what Captain Fitzjames informs me is more than eight
thousand
cans of tinned food which have arrived only in the nick of time — Sir John conducted Divine Service today for us aboard
Erebus
and for as many of
Terror
’s crew who wished to join us. I
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