“Just give me the bloody reward money, you fools, and I will set the record straight myself!” I scribbled, after which I crumpled the paper and tossed it into a dustbin. In May, I sent the Admiralty still another letter. “It is now four weeks since the expiration date for the Lords Commissioners’ decision concerning the reward. Don’t keep me in suspense,” I added.
In the early summer — after what had felt like an eternity of chasing after the reward — the Admiralty finally made a decision in my favour, and my battle for it was over. When I submitted my retirement notice to Sir George, he accepted it with great reluctance. “I wish the government had properly recognized you for your outstanding achievements, my boy. Such a bloody shame. As for the Company, I sincerely hope you’ll consider taking on the odd project with us in the future. Leading expeditions, conducting research and so forth, when your schedule permits.”
“I would be honoured to be at your service,” I replied. And I meant what I said.
I directed the Hudson’s Bay Company to divide the sum of £2,000 among Ouligback, Mistegan, and a handful of deserving men who had so ably assisted me during the fall of 1853 and that fateful summer of 1854. With the remaining £8,000 in hand, I bade farewell to Sir George, promising to visit him in his retirement in Lachine, near Montreal, and to remain in contact with the Hudson’s Bay Company about future endeavours. I boarded a ship bound for New York, and then a train to Hamilton, Canada West, where Marion, John and their nine — now ten — children had settled close to Tom and Richard. It was time for a fresh start, and the idea of building the Iceberg was never very far from my thoughts.
Hamilton, Canada West
[SEPTEMBER 1856]
“Tom! Over here!” I shouted as I disembarked from the train. My gangly, curly-headed younger brother was a fine sight for sore eyes. I lifted him off his feet in a bear hug, and we danced around one another in an imaginary boxing match, throwing false punches and ducking, just as we used to do as boys.
“Good to see you, big brother!” he laughed. The city air was hot, humid and thick with coal-fire smoke, much like the atmosphere in London at the same time of year. “We are in need of a good, strong wind right now, Johnny.”
Tom was referring to more than just the weather. Rae Brothers & Company was moving forward with great speed. The company owned several ships now, and more were under construction at the Hamilton railway shipyard. He led me to the waterfront, where two brigantines and four schooners were anchored and ready to carry cargo, waiting for customers.
“How much have you got invested in this?” I asked.
“Fifty-five thousand dollars.”
“That’s a tidy sum.”
“Dick and I finally managed to sell off the meat-packing equipment, and we took out a loan,” he added. “Our first vessel is over there. We bought the Princess Victoria from a bankrupt builder. She’s almost twenty years old, but she’s a solid workhorse if ever I saw one.”
“And the others?”
“All built in the last three years. Beauties, aren’t they? I have a surprise for you. Look over there. We named that 200-ton schooner for you. The John Rae was finished in 1853.”
“Bless you. I am flattered, but is she making money for you?”
His voice dropped. “She’s getting there, slowly but surely.”
“Perhaps I can contribute a modest sum to help.”
“Thanks for the thought, Johnny. We can talk about that later.”
“And how is Dick?”
“You’ll see that he’s much better and steadier on his feet now that he’s employed as an immigration agent. In his free time, he’s overseeing the building of another schooner, the RH Rae. He’s been busy finding investors and raising the funds for the project.”
Another one? This enterprise was growing into a full fleet. Would it be profitable?
The RH Rae. Richard Bempede Honeyman Johnstone Rae. I kept my thoughts about the extravagance of the boys’ new venture to myself. Great Lakes shipbuilding was an emerging industry and full of promise, but constructing such a sizeable fleet in a short period of time was a risky undertaking, to say the least. It was my good fortune, however, that the facilities for constructing the Iceberg were right there and could be available for use. My brother and I stayed up and talked long into the night, about his wife, their two boys, about Hamilton, and Rae Brothers & Company. We also discussed the strange turn my own professional life had taken.
“Tell me about this mysterious vessel you’re thinking of building, Johnny. You sounded quite excited in your letter.”
“Well, while I was waiting for the decision about the reward money, I had time to give the idea a good deal of thought. Here it is, Tom. If I’m going to settle some unfinished business in the Arctic, I’ll need to have a specially designed ship. The past two years have been gruelling. I’ve had enough of London and the British government’s ineptitude. It’s time to get on with other things.”
“Go on.”
“When I saw a brigantine under construction at the Aberdeen docks almost two years ago, a bell rang in my head. It’s still ringing, reminding me of what I want to do. I don’t know how to explain it exactly, but at that moment I knew I wanted to return to the Arctic one more time and be accountable for it to no one but myself. I’ve been working on plans, making sketches, looking at ships, and thinking about building an exceedingly strong schooner, partly based on the design of a brig. Sleek, light, easy to manoeuvre, and with a rake in the stem so she won’t strike hard on the ice. I am also planning to build her with round sides, so she’ll be able to tolerate being pushed upwards by pack ice without damage to her hull. And I want to fit her with the new, long-shafted screw propeller technology everyone’s talking about. What do you think?” My excitement was rising to the surface; I couldn’t stop myself from smiling as I spoke.
His eyes widened. “A schooner with some brig features,” he repeated. “That’s an interesting combination. So you’re planning a return trip to the Arctic with your own vessel. Will you be searching for the remains of the Franklin Expedition?”
“I want to do more than that. My plan is to reconstruct what I believe to be the route of the Erebus and Terror, around the top of the Boothia Peninsula. Instead of bearing west from there and then south in Victoria Strait as I think Franklin and Crozier did, I will turn her south sooner, between the west coast of the Boothia Peninsula and the eastern coast of King William Island, where I believe the missing link to the Northwest Passage to be. I’ll show you a map I’ve drawn — ”
“Johnny, the British government has already rewarded Captain McClure for finding the route! He was paid £10,000 for his discovery, and he’s now a ‘Sir’!”
“I don’t think he found the correct link. I plan to travel north anyway, and if my hypothesis proves to be correct, then I should be able to sail the ship between the southern shores of King William Island and the northern coastline of the continent. We can disembark and travel overland when needed — ”
“— to locate the naval encampments and search for more evidence?”
“Aye, and bring back proof of cannibalism among the last survivors. Proof that the Esquimaux told the truth about all of it, about the marching men with their boat, the death camps, perhaps even information about at least one of the ships, although the chances of finding much material from the Erebus and Terror are slim at best.”
“You may find pieces of them, though.”
“Perhaps. I found part of a ship’s stanchion off the coast of King William Island several years ago. At the time, I was quite sure it came from a Royal Navy vessel, so I gave it to the Admiralty. I didn’t hear anything more about it. And there is something else I wish to do in the Arctic. I want to complete the Boothia Peninsula coastline survey I began in 1854. It nags at me that I didn’t complete what I started. I’ve never liked leaving things half-finished.”
He chuckled. “We all know that about you, Johnny.”
“Aye, brother,” I gri
nned. “I’ll load up my ship with proof, and sail her back to England. I will send letters and reports in advance to the Times, the Illustrated News, the Guardian, the Gazette, the Scotsman, the British Admiralty, Lady Franklin, her unpleasant niece, and even to the ‘Conductor’ of Household Words, my friend Mr. Dickens.”
I was breathing hard now. We both smiled. Tom knew me well; he was aware of how much it had stung when my report of 1854 had been criticized. “You’ve taken quite a beating at the hands of the London establishment, haven’t you, Johnny? Perhaps the public will finally acknowledge the truth about your report. Lady Franklin and her companions may continue to be troublesome, but you’ll be able to leave all that controversy behind you.”
“I have already drawn up plans for this vessel, Tom. I can see how busy you are, but d’you think you could help me build a schooner here in Hamilton?”
A look of surprise swept across his face. “There’s not much time to complete her. Winter will set in and…”
“I want to launch her next spring.”
“What? Have you lost your senses? We can’t possibly — ”
“Just watch me. She will be ready to go if I have to hammer in every nail and turn every screw myself. Tom, others are probably well underway with their own plans to do the same thing! If this enterprise is going to be at all successful, there’s not a moment to waste.”
He sighed, knowing there was little point in arguing about it, and that I would fight hard to see the project through, come hell or high water. “God bless you. You never were one to wait patiently for things. You’ve got to understand that I have a business to run, and I can’t devote all my time to this. By the way, have you chosen a name for her?”
“The name was John’s idea. We tossed some ideas around when I was in Stromness, and we settled on Iceberg,” I said. I watched his eyes for a reaction. He blinked, sat back and grinned.
“Iceberg,” he repeated. “Aye, that’s a fine name for such a vessel, considering where you plan to sail her. You’ll be sure to encounter more than a few of those…”
“She’ll have a crew of no more than nine men, including me, each of us properly experienced, trained in sailing, and equipped with survival skills. My plan extends beyond even that. If all goes well, the Iceberg could later be refitted as a commercial vessel and carry cargo around the Great Lakes. She could pay for herself and bring in some decent profits. Tom, with these tasks completed, I think I will be ready to settle down somewhere and start a family.”
He laughed. “When are you ever going to settle down? You’re fortythree years old! You’ve been restless since the day you were born!”
“Well, I’ve got to scratch this Arctic itch whilst I still feel it. Then, you’ll see…”
It was pleasant to be grounded for a time, living with Tom and his family, seeing all the others for the occasional meal and at church on Sundays. Soon I fell into a state of undistracted obsession with my plans for the 80-ton vessel, sometimes waking in the night to write notes about her fittings, making sketches of her smooth lines all day, imagining her many angles and curves inside and out, thinking of her as a lover I was yearning to meet. With Tom’s help, the materials were ordered, and construction of the Iceberg began the following week.
Hamilton
[FEBRUARY 1857]
Trying to finish her for a spring 1857 departure from Hamilton was indeed an ambitious undertaking. Tom was right about not having enough time to get her ready, although I was loath to admit it until I had no choice. After six months of frenzied work, often in poor weather conditions, it became clear that the chances of a spring launch were rapidly diminishing. As the days and weeks passed and she was nowhere near completion, my stomach became tied in what felt like a hundred knots.
On a cold and windy February afternoon, we watched as builders and fitters scrambled all over her like ants, trying to get her finished. “You have to face it, Johnny. She won’t be ready in time. You — we all — did the best we could.”
“I know. I appreciate all you’ve tried to do.” I turned away. “With luck, we’ll put her to work on the lakes as a merchant vessel sometime this summer. Let her start paying for herself.” My feelings of reverence for the ship had been slipping away as if she’d let me down, which of course she hadn’t. I suppose I expected her to rescue me as quickly as possible from the embarrassment of the past few years. I cursed myself for being so childish, for trying to believe in the impossible.
Hamilton
[APRIL 1857]
To make matters worse, the newspapers reported that Lady Franklin had raised enough funds to acquire a steam yacht named the Fox, and that she had retained Captain Francis Leopold McClintock to take command of the ship, which would set sail for the Arctic from Aberdeen in July.
“You’ll get there next year, Johnny. You will, and it won’t be too late for any of it. The Fox may run into no end of problems, especially leaving so late in the season. It could be years before they find anything, if they do at all.” Tom was always the optimist in the Rae family.
Hamilton
[MAY 1857]
As it turned out, I wouldn’t have been able to travel to the Arctic that spring after all, because I was called to London on a different matter. Just as Sir George Simpson had predicted, the British government ordered the establishment of a Parliamentary Select Committee in London, to investigate complaints about the Hudson’s Bay Company’s growing monopoly over commercial trade and land control in Rupert’s Land, the northwest region of Canada. The Company had also been accused of failing to “civilize” the indigenous peoples. As its long-term governor, Sir George was expected to be a key witness in the Company’s defence. My own history as a chief factor made it obligatory for me to testify at the hearings as well.
“Tom, I’ve got to return to London for a week or two.” We were standing in the rail yard, watching men going about their tasks aboard the Iceberg. “It’s a long way to go for such a short time, but I don’t have a choice in the matter.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep a close eye on things here.” He moved a stone out of the way with the tip of his boot. “What will happen to the natives in North America, Johnny, if the British government eventually forces its own language, religion and way of life on them? It all seems to be so… against nature, for want of a better expression.”
“Aye, brother, you just hit the nail on the head. I do not believe they will be able to cope with the changes. Indians and the Esquimaux are hunters. They don’t settle in one place and stay there. They survive by constantly being on the move in search of food. They give thanks to the animals for feeding them, and if the animals aren’t to be found, they believe they have not been kind enough to them. In their world, everything has a spirit. I cannot imagine them ever welcoming our God into their lives.”
We were walking away from the rail yard now, breathing in the fresh green scent of spring, thinking about the conflict between the Hudson’s Bay Company and the Crown. The two opposing enterprises were espousing completely different views about how to maximize the commercial potential of colonizing the outer regions of North America.
“The directors of the Company are in favour of expansionism,” I said, “but there is general agreement that the natives’ way of life should be left alone. The indigenous people are used to trading with us; they understand how it works, and our methods are successful for them as well. There is no need for the natives to alter their way of life and sense of identity.” I stopped and turned to face Tom. “That’s the part I don’t understand. The British colonial powers plan to bring in thousands of settlers to Rupert’s Land, and convert the natives to being exactly like them.”
“D’you mean teaching them English and making them into farmers?”
“Aye!” I cried. “Forcing them to adopt English names, forbidding them to speak in their native tongue, dressing them up like English men, women and children!”
Tom shook his head. “If we were ordered to change who we
are and how we choose to live, I know we would fight them every step of the way,” he declared.
London
[JUNE 1857]
When I arrived at the Fenchurch Street offices of the Hudson’s Bay Company after a week at sea, Sir George was waiting for me. He clapped me on the back as we shook hands. “Good to be in London again, and to see you, my boy.” As usual, he got straight to the point. “The powers that be in government are accusing the Company of having a stranglehold on the northwest of the continent. Our enterprise is moving along quite nicely, but we must try to disabuse them of the notion that our plan is to take control of everything.”
He offered me a chair. On the wall behind him was a map of Rupert’s Land, with a circle around each Hudson’s Bay Company trading post and depot. There could be no doubt that the Company was expanding its business and territory.
“Apparently, our pious friend Sir John Richardson is deeply disappointed that the natives aren’t the least bit interested in being converted to Christianity, as if we have failed the people,” he grunted. I thought of Richardson’s fervent belief during our travels that the natives’ starving souls could be “saved” if they would only surrender to the teachings of the church. For a fleeting moment, I missed being in John Richardson’s company, but so much had changed since our time together. He had not only turned his back on me when I needed his support, but now he was accusing the Hudson’s Bay Company of doing a great disservice to the people of Rupert’s Land and beyond.
“Well, Sir, I stand firm with you in my belief that assimilating the native peoples of North America into a British colonial way of life would be a great mistake,” I said.
He tapped his fingers on the desk. “If you see me getting hot under the collar when I’m testifying on the Company’s behalf, John, give me a nudge to remind me that losing my temper will only do more harm than good. You know how much I dislike politics in general — and politicians in particular.”
Finding John Rae Page 15