What followed our meeting was a few hours of orderly chaos. There is a lot of work involved in getting two ships on the move again. The roofs over the decks had to be dismantled and the tall masts set back in their place. Our remaining tins had to be brought back onboard along with any other foodstuff we had stored on land. I watched the men run back and forth, in a rush to perform their chores until all was done, whereupon, following a year of residence, we were transformed into sailors once more.
As we pulled away from the bay that had sheltered us from dreadful storms, I stood on Terror’s deck and confessed to Thomas, ‘What a bleak place this is. I am glad to see the back of it.’
My steward mumbled something that I assumed agreed with my sentiments.
How long would it be before someone else stood over the three graves and wondered about their occupants? What would they make of our pyramid of empty food tins or our three out-houses that provided no warmth and little shelter from the chilly winds that wormed their way through the merest gaps in the wooden slats?
‘Sir, I’m afraid I have a confession to make.’
‘What is it?’
If it wasn’t so cold, Thomas might well have blushed as he said, ‘We left in such a hurry that I forgot all about your cashmere gloves. I mended the torn finger and then washed them and laid them out to dry in the sun. I only meant to air them, really. I wasn’t going to leave them long.’
His face was a picture of misery as he added, ‘I am so sorry, sir.’
I was thoroughly vexed and refrained from telling him not to worry, that it was only a pair of gloves, that no one had died, or whatever else people say to ease a person’s mind. Let him suffer for his negligence. Because, in truth, they were not just a pair of gloves. They were a present from my best friends James and Anne. It is true that I had other gloves but this particular pair meant a lot to me and now they remained behind on Beechey Island, no doubt to be picked up by the next visitor.
‘You can dock my wages, sir. Please do. I know they were good gloves.’
I got no pleasure from adding to Thomas’s shame and I was certainly not about to take any money from him. He had no idea how expensive those gloves were, though it was decent of him to offer to compensate me for their loss. Still, I wished to make my point and showed him no forgiveness as I snapped, ‘Have coffee brought to me.’
He almost curtsied in response before he fled.
Alas, my poor gloves were not the only things to be forgotten in our haste to be gone. We should have left a report detailing exactly where we were going, storing it in the cairn we built, for anyone who comes looking for us. Fleeing Beechey Island like this is a breach of the rules and, anyway, it is just unwise to leave no clue as to where we are going. I could have organised it a few days beforehand but we did not know our departure date and the cairn was too far away from the ships. Perhaps we should have thought of that and built one nearer the camp.
Although, as long as there are no more mishaps and we get home within the next year or two, it will matter little one way or the other. No one is going to look for us unless we are gone longer than three years. An empty cairn is hardly a catastrophe when an expedition is successful.
I kept watch on deck for a while with my telescope, surveying the land as we passed it. I thought of asking for my musket to be brought to me. At this time of the year, I expected to see bears and seals and musk oxen, yet all was quiet. There were no moving dots on the mountains or icebergs. Perhaps they heard us coming or they preferred to be further inland. Besides, we had plenty of food. I had no worry in that respect. We had hardly made a dent in our mountains of tinned food.
The going was rather slow and Messrs Reid and Blanky had to concentrate hard on the waterway. Terror followed in Erebus’s wake, which really meant that Mr Reid shouldered the enormous responsibility for both ships since he led the way.
Oh, but it felt glorious to sail again. I found myself in quite a sentimental mood as I peered over Terror’s side to admire the water that was still crusted in places with a layer of ice but one that was thinning and moved with us instead of holding us in place.
So long, Beechey Island. Take care of our friends who must stay on forevermore.
Next stop King William Land.
At least, that is our plan.
8
Papa changes his mind
Papa was home for the next while, for a few months, he said. He had not been to Weesy’s grave since the funeral and Mama was hurt that he would not just go and see the new headstone that she had chosen. ‘But I will,’ he protested, ‘in my own good time.’
Mama said bitterly, ‘I suppose you have no need of a headstone since you can see her any time you like.’
The following Saturday, Papa asked William and me if we would like to go for a walk. Of course we said yes and raced off for our hats and coats. Aunt Harriet helped us to get ready and lingered in the hallway, smiling nicely at Papa. She was, I felt, hoping that he might invite her along, but he didn’t. Neither did he suggest that we fetch Bobby. I was surprised that William did not make a request. It seemed we both appreciated that this was a special moment and, therefore, we should not complicate it.
Off we went, William and I on either side of Papa. ‘Anywhere in particular?’ he asked.
‘No, Papa … although, I do like walking the walls.’
William nodded his agreement. Papa would let him study the old cannons in more detail than Mama would.
Papa replied, ‘Alright! The walls it is then.’
Later on, I wondered if I had suggested the walls on purpose. The clock at City Hall clanged to announce it was two o’clock. Instinctively, Papa brought out his pocket watch to ensure that he was perfectly on time.
As usual, the walls were busy; people used them for their regular exercise, circling them once or twice. Furthermore, plenty of the walkers knew Papa and he was obliged to raise his hat frequently in acknowledgement. However, I could see he had no intention of getting entangled in conversation.
‘Is Derry very small?’ asked William.
We looked at him, Papa leaving it to me to ask, ‘What do you mean?’
William shrugged. ‘Just that Papa seems to know everybody or they seem to know him.’
‘He is a very important businessman,’ I said airily, adding, ‘Aren’t you, Papa?’
Our father only smiled so I answered my own question. ‘He gives people jobs and brings trade to Derry.’
‘Yes, I know that,’ sighed William. ‘I already know that.’
‘I suppose you will be wanting William to work for you, Papa, when he is old enough?’
William looked delighted. ‘Really, Papa? I can come work with you?’
‘For him, not with him.’
I looked to Papa to confirm my appraisal of the matter. We had slowed down to approach the wall, from where we could see the River Foyle mirroring the patchwork of clouds in the sky as the sun worked tirelessly in seeking out gaps to shine through.
‘Would you like that, William, do you think?’
‘Oh, yes, please. I want to be a captain, like you.’
Papa ran his hand across the bricks. ‘You will have to work hard as you need to excel in subjects like mathematics and science, but it will be easier if you have a good reason to, an ambition.’
Here, he glanced at William before asking, ‘Do you know what I mean by ambition?’
‘Not really!’ was William’s cheerful response.
‘It means having something you really want to do, something that requires work and effort but will be worth it in the end.’
William grinned with the wonder of it all as Papa momentarily lifted the veil over his future, showing him a life of promise and purpose. Filled with envy, I demanded, ‘What about me?’
To his credit, William looked as keen as I felt to know what lay ahead for me.
‘Well, what would you like to do?’
I hoped to be taken seriously but Papa seemed on the verge of mer
riment. Perhaps sensing my disappointment, he quickly added, ‘Is there anything you have given much thought to?’
‘Yes,’ I replied while my mind began to pinpoint what. Well, what did I want to do? Finally, I remembered one thing at least. ‘I want to travel to other countries!’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Papa, ‘you have mentioned that before.’
‘I can go wherever I want, can’t I – when I am older?’ I asked.
‘Oh, I shouldn’t doubt it!’
Did he think that I was fantasising about something that I would soon forget? In the meantime, William assured me, ‘I will take you wherever you wish to go when I have my own ship.’
It was a kind offer but I rejected it. ‘I will be long gone before that, William. You forget that I am a lot older than you are.’
A group of young women appeared in front of us, stretching the width of the walkway. Something about them tugged at me. They seemed so jolly and confident. As they approached, I noticed odd splashes – of what could only be paint – on some of their skirts. Smears of navy-blue were dashed across the hand of one in the centre, who carried a book and was pointing out something for her friends. ‘Her name is Catarina van Hemessen and this is her famous self-portrait. See how she presents herself, not just with her paintbrush but also her palette and easel.’
I stopped to watch them pass by. The one with the book, slender and tall, and not wearing a hat, winked at me. I felt winded.
Papa called me, ‘Whatever is the matter, Ann?’
‘I want to be like them!’ I said.
Papa peered after the noisy group and smiled. ‘I am not sure what you mean, my dear. They were rather messy and, well, excitable. That is not exactly you, is it?’
Undeterred, I insisted, ‘I think they were artists. There was paint on their clothes and they were talking about art.’
‘Ah,’ said Papa. ‘Perhaps they attend the art school in the Diamond.’
‘Well, then, that is what I want to do!’
‘So, you no longer want to travel far and wide. You would be happier sitting in the Diamond?’
‘Papa, I am serious, just as William seriously means to be a captain like you.’
Papa smiled. ‘Oh, my dear, I am not mocking you. Sure, wasn’t my own career founded on nothing more than daydreaming, when I was your age, about building and sailing my own ships?’
‘So, I can go to the art school when I am older and, after that, go wherever I want?’
‘If that is what you wish to do.’
I nodded to confirm that this was exactly what I wanted to do.
It was only then that I realised where we were going. Maybe it was easier for him to visit Weesy’s grave with us than to accompany Mama, who might need him to behave in a certain way. A flower seller had set up her stall beside the church gates. Papa took no notice of her but once he was inside the gates, he fished out a coin and asked me to buy some flowers.
‘We cannot turn up without something for Weesy, now can we?’
William laughed and then looked guilty.
‘It is alright, child,’ said Papa. ‘We cannot be sad all the time and your sister would not mind us having a joke. Besides, she did love receiving presents, didn’t she?’
William and I smiled in relief. I trotted back to the flower seller. It was thrilling to be able to select what I wanted. Mama would never have allowed this. Grateful that the girl was busy with another customer, I briefly scrutinised what was on sale. I knew little enough about flowers so I decided to choose my favourite colours, pink and blue. I was buoyed by the fact that, however little I knew about flowers, Papa knew even less so he would not criticise my choice. I pointed out what I wanted to the flower seller and we made the exchange, her flowers for my coin. When I turned to leave, she was rather vehement in her thanks. ‘Why thank you, miss. Most kind of you!’
‘Not at all,’ I replied graciously, having heard my mother say this to shopkeepers.
As I re-joined the others, I presented my chosen bouquet with pride. Papa looked at me inquiringly. ‘And where is my change?’
‘Change?’ I repeated.
‘Yes, Ann, change. This little selection cannot have cost much.’
I blushed and grew defensive. ‘Well, I didn’t know. She never said. She just said I was kind.’
‘Oh, I cannot argue with her. You were most definitely extremely kind.’
He and William chuckled at that, while I felt obliged to highlight a serious truth. ‘It was my first time to buy something!’
‘There is a first time for everything,’ said Papa, ‘and mistakes can be good teachers. Remember that.’
We stood in front of Weesy’s headstone. I set down the flowers beside the roses that Mama had left. When I stood up again, Papa placed a strong hand on my shoulder, and on William’s too.
‘Do you think she knows we are here?’ asked William in a low voice.
Papa relaxed his grip. ‘I thought you two spoke to her every day?’
Was this why he brought us out of the house, to ask about Weesy’s spirit?
I spoke first. ‘No. She comes and goes, I suppose.’
In truth, I did my best to forget that she might be around the house. Well, I could not be thinking about her all the time, now could I? Furthermore, she did not need me to dwell upon her since I am quite sure that she remained a constant presence in Mama’s and Papa’s heads and Grandfather’s and Aunt Harriet’s too. She did not need anything from me.
‘She has been playing with my ships again,’ said William.
Papa was intrigued. ‘What do you mean?’
William shrugged. ‘She moves them around. Sometimes it takes me a while to find them.’
‘Couldn’t it also be Sarah or Laura tidying up?’ asked Papa.
William paused to consider this before shaking his head.
‘You still believe us, don’t you, Papa?
When Papa did not reply, I reminded him, ‘You see her too.’
His expression was peculiar. I felt he was preventing himself from being honest and suspected that Mama was behind his reticence. He spoke quietly. ‘I was very sad when Weesy died and then I had to go away so soon after her funeral.’
William and I stood in silence. Around us, the birds sang, and then, out of nowhere, a robin landed on the headstone and regarded us with interest. It seemed to be listening to Papa as keenly as we were.
‘What I mean, children, is that when I came home again … well, I had no chance to get used to her not being there. In my head, she was still part of our family, part of our home.’
The robin darted down beside my expensive flowers, having seen a small, stringy worm in the upturned earth, which it gulped down with relish.
Sounding disappointed, William said, ‘You mean, you didn’t see her?’
Papa sighed. ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know. All I do know is that I wanted to see her. I wanted her to be still living.’
I broke away from him, startling the robin, who flew off, and busied myself adjusting the flowers. I was angry at Papa for bowing to my mother’s wishes. Perhaps she even told him to take us out today in order to tell us this. She was jealous that Weesy did not appear to her. William was too young to realise any of this, but I decided, there and then, that I would never let someone tell me what I should think about anything at all. Never, ever!
Papa and William were watching me. How was I supposed to stand up now and what was I to say? I was angry, so angry that it scared me a little. But just when I thought I might explode, the robin appeared once more, on the ground, inches from my trembling hand, whereupon I thought I heard a childish voice whisper my name.
To everyone’s consternation, including my own, I began to cry. Taking hold of my shoulders, Papa brought me to my feet, turned me around and wrapped his arms around me.
9
Friday, 11th September 1846
Captain Crozier’s Journal
Six weeks of freedom on the water has ended this aft
ernoon. I watched it happen. Mr Peddie, Terror’s surgeon, and I stood on deck together, gloomily watching Erebus doing her best to battle her way through the sea that was getting thicker with every inch we covered. The waves tried to shrug off the thousands of dinnerplate-sized pieces of ice that Mr Reid called ‘pancake ice’. ‘When you see water dotted with what looks like flat white pancakes,’ he had often remarked, ‘it is a sure sign that it is about to freeze. Because those pancakes are going to join together, like a patchwork quilt, forming a blanket of ice over the entire area.’
Mr Peddie sighed as we listened to Erebus and Terror bumping up against the ice, asking, ‘Do you think we can reach King William Land?’
This was our plan, to make our winter camp on the land there. It was an impossible question for me to answer and I could only offer, ‘I did not expect so much ice yet.’
We gazed upon the familiar sight of a vast, white unyielding world that did not wish us to pass by. Mr Reid blames the high percentage of ice on the high winds that announce the end of summer. It is they that have pummelled the ice in our direction – or in the direction that we wished to go.
Erebus was met by a force greater than her, stubborn and silent, a sea sculpted in stone, in white marble, or that was how it seemed to me. The solid lumps and dips were once fleeting waves. And then, just like that, the battle was lost and Erebus was stopped. The surgeon murmured, ‘So, that is it, again.’
I did not think he was addressing me and made no comment. Moments later we were just as trapped. I stamped my frozen feet against the deck and was nostalgic for something more than this nothingness. As if reading my mind, the surgeon shrugged. ‘It feels like we are nowhere.’
‘Well, Mr Peddie,’ I said. ‘We are home.’
He smiled and nodded. ‘We shall be here a while, I suppose?’
Chasing Ghosts Page 7