noted that
Terror
’s captain, an Irishman named Crozier, was not in attendance.
No one could have attended the lengthy service and heard the
very
lengthy sermon by Sir John today without being deeply moved. I wonder if any Ship from any nation’s Navy has ever been captained by such a Religious Man. There is no doubt that we are truly and safely and irrevocably in God’s Hands on the voyage to come.
19 May, 1845 —
What a Departure!
Having never gone to sea before, much less as a member of such a Heralded Expedition, I had no Idea of what to Expect, but Nothing could have prepared me for the glory of this Day.
Captain Fitzjames estimates that more than ten thousand well-wishers and Persons of Importance crowded the docks at Greenhithe to see us off.
Speeches resounded until I thought we would never be allowed to depart while Daylight still filled the Summer Sky. Bands played. Lady Jane — who has been staying aboard with Sir John — went down the gangplank to a rousing series of
Hurrahs!
from we sixty-some Erebuses. Bands played again. Then the cheers started as all lines were cast off, and for several minutes the noise was so deafening that I could not have heard an order had Sir John himself shouted it in my ear.
Last night, Lieutenant Gore and Chief Surgeon Stanley were Kind enough to inform me that it is custom during sailing for the officers not to Show Emotion, so although only
technically
an officer, I stood with the officers lined up in their fine blue jackets and tried to restrain all Displays of emotion, however manly.
We were the only ones doing so. The Seamen shouted and waved handkerchiefs and hung from the ratlines, and I could see many a rouged dockside Doxie waving farewell to them. Even Captain Sir John Franklin waved a bright red-and-green handkerchief at Lady Jane, his daughter, Eleanor, and his niece Sophia Cracroft, who waved back until the sight of the docks was obstructed by the following
Terror.
We are being towed by steam tugs and followed on this leg of our voyage by HMS
Rattler,
a powerful new steam frigate, and also a hired transport ship carrying our provisions,
Baretto Junior.
Just before
Erebus
pushed away from the docks, a Dove landed high on the main mast. Sir John’s daughter by his first marriage, Eleanor — then quite visible in her bright-green silk dress and emerald parasol — cried out but could not be heard above the Cheers and Bands. Then she pointed, and Sir John and many of the Officers looked up, smiled, and then pointed out the Dove to others aboard ship.
Combined with the Words spoken in yesterday’s Divine Service, this, I have to assume, is the Best Possible Omen.
4 July, 1845 —
What a terrible Crossing of the North Atlantic to Greenland.
For thirty stormy days, even while under tow, the Ship has been tossing, rolling, and wallowing, its tightly sealed Gunports on each side barely four feet out of the water during the downward rolls, sometimes barely making Headway. I have been terribly seasick for Twenty-eight of the last Thirty days. Lieutenant Le Vesconte tells me that we never made more than five knots, which — he assures me — is a Terrible time for any ship merely under Sail, much less for such a Miracle of Technology as
Erebus
and our companion craft,
Terror,
both capable of steaming along under the Impetus of their invincible Screws.
Three days ago we rounded Cape Farewell at the southern tip of Greenland, and I confess that the glimpses of this Huge Continent, with its rocky cliffs and endless glaciers coming right down to the Sea, lay as heavily on my Spirits as the pitching and rolling did upon my Stomach.
Good God, this is a barren, cold place! And this in July.
Our morale is Top Notch, however, and all aboard trust to Sir John’s Skill and Good Judgement. Yesterday Lieutenant Fairholme, the youngest of our lieutenants, said to me in Confidence, “I never felt the Captain was so much my companion with anyone I have sailed with
Terror
’s captain, an Irishman named Crozier, was not in attendance.
No one could have attended the lengthy service and heard the
very
lengthy sermon by Sir John today without being deeply moved. I wonder if any Ship from any nation’s Navy has ever been captained by such a Religious Man. There is no doubt that we are truly and safely and irrevocably in God’s Hands on the voyage to come.
19 May, 1845 —
What a Departure!
Having never gone to sea before, much less as a member of such a Heralded Expedition, I had no Idea of what to Expect, but Nothing could have prepared me for the glory of this Day.
Captain Fitzjames estimates that more than ten thousand well-wishers and Persons of Importance crowded the docks at Greenhithe to see us off.
Speeches resounded until I thought we would never be allowed to depart while Daylight still filled the Summer Sky. Bands played. Lady Jane — who has been staying aboard with Sir John — went down the gangplank to a rousing series of
Hurrahs!
from we sixty-some Erebuses. Bands played again. Then the cheers started as all lines were cast off, and for several minutes the noise was so deafening that I could not have heard an order had Sir John himself shouted it in my ear.
Last night, Lieutenant Gore and Chief Surgeon Stanley were Kind enough to inform me that it is custom during sailing for the officers not to Show Emotion, so although only
technically
an officer, I stood with the officers lined up in their fine blue jackets and tried to restrain all Displays of emotion, however manly.
We were the only ones doing so. The Seamen shouted and waved handkerchiefs and hung from the ratlines, and I could see many a rouged dockside Doxie waving farewell to them. Even Captain Sir John Franklin waved a bright red-and-green handkerchief at Lady Jane, his daughter, Eleanor, and his niece Sophia Cracroft, who waved back until the sight of the docks was obstructed by the following
Terror.
We are being towed by steam tugs and followed on this leg of our voyage by HMS
Rattler,
a powerful new steam frigate, and also a hired transport ship carrying our provisions,
Baretto Junior.
Just before
Erebus
pushed away from the docks, a Dove landed high on the main mast. Sir John’s daughter by his first marriage, Eleanor — then quite visible in her bright-green silk dress and emerald parasol — cried out but could not be heard above the Cheers and Bands. Then she pointed, and Sir John and many of the Officers looked up, smiled, and then pointed out the Dove to others aboard ship.
Combined with the Words spoken in yesterday’s Divine Service, this, I have to assume, is the Best Possible Omen.
4 July, 1845 —
What a terrible Crossing of the North Atlantic to Greenland.
For thirty stormy days, even while under tow, the Ship has been tossing, rolling, and wallowing, its tightly sealed Gunports on each side barely four feet out of the water during the downward rolls, sometimes barely making Headway. I have been terribly seasick for Twenty-eight of the last Thirty days. Lieutenant Le Vesconte tells me that we never made more than five knots, which — he assures me — is a Terrible time for any ship merely under Sail, much less for such a Miracle of Technology as
Erebus
and our companion craft,
Terror,
both capable of steaming along under the Impetus of their invincible Screws.
Three days ago we rounded Cape Farewell at the southern tip of Greenland, and I confess that the glimpses of this Huge Continent, with its rocky cliffs and endless glaciers coming right down to the Sea, lay as heavily on my Spirits as the pitching and rolling did upon my Stomach.
Good God, this is a barren, cold place! And this in July.
Our morale is Top Notch, however, and all aboard trust to Sir John’s Skill and Good Judgement. Yesterday Lieutenant Fairholme, the youngest of our lieutenants, said to me in Confidence, “I never felt the Captain was so much my companion with anyone I have sailed with
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