Chasing Ghosts

by Nicola Pierce

  Perhaps I was talking too much. Several exhausted looking men started to sit down. One spoke up, ‘I propose we go back to the ships.’

  Before I could respond to this, Mr Goodsir pointed to the man he had been tending, saying, ‘No. This man is too weak to make that journey. We set up camp here.’

  A row broke out and I saw, with rising horror, that my little speech about sticking together had not made a whit of difference. This splinter group of thirty or so was already divided in two, those who wished to return to the ships and the rest who would stay put. It was inevitable that the doctors looked to me for advice. ‘Well, Captain Crozier, what do you suggest?’

  I paused, suddenly flustered, because, in that moment, I felt keenly that they were all doomed no matter what they did. Each and every one of them. And I suspected that Mr Goodsir guessed as much too. He waited for my answer.

  ‘Well, I … I might suggest that you rest here until you are all fit enough to make the journey back to the ships, if that is what you are set on doing.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  I wondered should I confess my misgivings and invite Mr Goodsir, even order him and John Peddie, to accompany us if he wanted to live. There was only one answer to that question: of course I should! I had no intention of spending the rest of my life wondering if I should have said anything. That sounds so selfish but it was what made me ask him for a final quiet word. I was relieved when Captain Fitzjames did not follow us. ‘You are a good man,’ I began, ‘and I must tell you that I am rather torn about leaving you here with them. You are under no obligation to stay; I hope you know that.’

  I was being discreet, trusting him to understand what I was saying, which was that I believed his charges had little chance of surviving whereas he was still healthy with everything to live for. He nodded in silence. We both stared off into the whiteness for a moment or two. Finally, Mr Goodsir said, ‘I took an oath, sir, the Hippocratic oath. As a man of medicine, it is my duty to stay and care for the sick. And because it is my duty, I would forever hate myself if I chose otherwise.’

  He put a hand on my arm. I could not feel the weight of it beneath my layers of garments, and added, ‘So, Captain Crozier, if I left with you now, I would not survive intact anyway.’

  I shrugged. ‘I see. Well, we both have our duties to attend to. Yours is to tend the ill and mine is to lead the rest of the men on what may well prove to be a costly and tortuous march.’

  In answer to the doctor’s questioning look, I confessed, ‘I could be making a huge mistake. It is impossible to know but, even so, it feels better than doing nothing at all.’

  Mr Goodsir smiled. ‘Yes, sir. Neither of us has a choice regarding our urge to fulfil our duties as well as we can.’

  I managed a laugh when he added, ‘And you never know, sir, we may survive this yet.’

  ‘Very true,’ I replied. ‘At this point, anything is possible.’

  We shook hands for the last time. Gripping my hand, he thanked me, saying, ‘It was a pleasure to serve with you, Captain Crozier.’

  His words were unexpected and moved me more than I cared to show.

  Just then, I thought of something and called Captain Fitzjames. ‘Make sure these men are given guns and ammunition so that they are able to hunt for fresh food. Just because we have seen little evidence of seals and bears and birds so far does not mean that they won’t finally put in an appearance.’

  ‘Aye, sir! I’ll have them sent back this minute.’

  I watched him leave. Then I faced the men and made my farewell. Standing as straight as I could, in my bulky clothes, I clipped my heels together and saluted them. Those who could not stand saluted me from where they sat. To my amazement, I watched Neptune run about them, making sure he nuzzled each man, with his cold nose, for a second or two. For this, he received plenty of rubs and tugs to his ears. When he was done, he strolled back to me. I turned and walked away.

  As I headed after Fitzjames, I called out for Officer Irving. The thought of fresh meat was a tantalising one. It would lend a great boost to our spirits if we had a good meal to look forward to, one that did not involve the infernal tins of food. As desperate as our situation is, I have already promised myself, and Neptune, that once we reach home again, neither of us will ever eat food from a tin again, for as long as we both shall live.

  Officer Irving sprang to my side. ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘I want you to send out our best shooters ahead of us, to scour the area for fresh food. My God, but there has to be some sort of animals in residence. I refuse to believe that we are the only beings here.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’ He trotted back and started calling out names.

  I was glad that I had thought of this. It helped to ease the guilt that I felt in leaving Goodsir, Peddie and their patients behind. It would not be so bad if we could provide them with fresh meat.

  Four men skirted ahead of me, slowly fanning out to the left and right. I silently wished them God’s speed. This march to freedom would benefit considerably if the hunters could provide even half our food intake.

  The hunters have just returned, empty handed.

  Friday, 28th April 1848

  All day the only movement and sounds are of our own making. Since officers do not help with the pulling of the boats, it is just the grunts of the men that ring out, as they heave and tug.

  Time and time again, I imagine that I could see something ahead, some dark form, but when I prop up the telescope to my eye, I only see more snow and more ice. Is it phantoms playing tricks on me?

  Quite a few of the men are complaining of blindness due to the sun’s glare being reflected everywhere we look, in the snow and ice. We may as well stare directly at the sun which no one can do for more than a moment or two. Only some of us have goggles. Well, what can I do? It is just another thing to worry about.

  Thomas staggered in here with my writing desk, falling down in front of me. His breathing sounded forced as he gulped, ‘Sorry, sir!’

  ‘Are you alright, Thomas?’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Just a bit dizzy, sir.’

  I nodded. ‘See if Doctor McDonald can give you something, maybe an extra shot of rum.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’ He staggered back outside again, leaving me feeling that I should do something more. But, what?

  Saturday, 29th April 1848

  Doctor McDonald squeezed himself into the tent just now, to inform me that my steward is dead. I failed to show any sorrow, only asking that the body be buried as quickly as possible so that we could break up camp and move on.

  ‘He was a good man,’ said the doctor, watching me carefully.

  I was both impatient for coffee and attempting to form my plans for today’s march. All in all, I was in no mood for a talk such as this.

  ‘Is there anything else, Doctor?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, there is,’ he said. ‘I have remembered that the Inuit use wooden spectacles to protect their eyes from the sun. I suggest we have enough made for the men.’

  Seeing my look of dismay, he hurried on. ‘It should not take too long. What I am referring to is a mere slat of wood, the length of a man’s forehead, in which two small holes have been punctured.’

  In fact, I knew what he was talking about, having seen Inuit wearing them on other trips. I had pitied them for not having proper goggles, but now desperate times were upon us. I asked, ‘Is there enough wood to go around?’

  The doctor rewound his scarf around his neck. ‘Yes, we think so. Well, perhaps a few of the larger books may need to be relieved of their outer covers while some minor slats can be removed from the lifeboats without causing too much fuss.’

  I saw him glance at my little writing desk. Of course, Thomas had not returned for it and it had spent the night in here with me. I wondered if the doctor dared to ask for it. Well, he was not getting his hands on something so precious to me. I need to write every day. We are depositing notes as we walk, in the hope that someone will find one
and then come find us. That little ornate desk could well be our only means for surviving this hell.

  ‘Alright, sir,’ he finally said. ‘I will have those spectacles made as swiftly as possible.’

  He turned to leave only to turn back again, saying, ‘Oh, I almost forgot!’

  Digging his hand into his coat pockets, he took out a pair of raggedy-looking gloves and handed them to me. I eyed them suspiciously. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Thomas’s last wish was that these be given to you … to make up for gloves he left behind at Beechey Island.’

  Before I could say a word, he was gone and therefore missed my tears for the man who had cared for me every day, without fail, for the last three years.

  18

  Mama and Papa have important news

  Last night, I dreamt it was snowing. I awoke to feeling my entire body freezing up, limb by limb: toes, ankles, fingers, elbows, shoulders, nose. The creeping chill was making its way for my heart and I could do nothing to stop it. I could not move. The bedcovers felt like sludgy water, sodden through. The cold air hurt my throat as I struggled to take deep breaths in an effort to calm the seismic beating of my heart. Was this what it was like to suffocate?

  Just when it became unbearable, just when I decided to call for help, I recognised the tingling of my scalp and, instead of screaming, I gritted my teeth in annoyance and hissed, ‘Go away, Weesy!’

  It was just her. Oh, how I hope it was only her.

  Within seconds, my body was returned to me. I flexed my toes and fingers before dragging my blankets as far as my nose. And then, as soon as I could, I cried.

  Earlier that day, I had been standing in the parlour, trying to decide if I felt like walking in the garden. Papa was in his study and I heard him call me. I pushed the door open to find him at his desk with Mama standing beside him, a letter in her hand. Her cheeks were flushed as she glanced from the paper to me. She appeared quite bothered about whatever it was that she was reading.

  Now, what had I done? Had some complaint been made about me? Why did Mama look so ill at ease? Had someone else died?

  ‘What is wrong, Mama?’ I felt a little afraid.

  Meanwhile, Papa seemed his usual calm self. He was patently not looking at Mama, only concentrating on me as he said, ‘Sit down, Ann. Your mother and I wish to discuss something with you.’

  Hoping that he would prove to be my ally for whatever was going to happen, I asked him, ‘Am I in trouble, Papa? Did I do something wrong?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, no, it is nothing like that.’

  Mama continued to read, although I could see that the letter was not that long. She must have finished it by now.

  I waited nervously, with no idea what was going on.

  Finally, Mama sighed and let her arm drop to her side. Now they were both looking at me. I smiled, hoping that would help.

  ‘So, Ann, my dear, it seems that we find ourselves involved in a rather extraordinary matter.’

  ‘Yes, Papa?’ I asked.

  ‘Your map of the Arctic, the one you drew some time ago … do you remember?’

  Well, of course I remembered. How on earth could I forget something like that? Naturally, I did not say any of this aloud but only nodded coyly.

  Papa continued, ‘I sent it off to Lady Jane Franklin, Sir John’s wife.’

  My eyes widened in surprise. I had been wondering what had happened to it. Papa had taken it to his study that day and it had never been mentioned again. He shrugged. ‘It seemed the right thing to do. I had heard that she is beside herself, having no clue where her husband’s ships are. Searches have been made of the area but, so far, nothing has been sighted of the men. No hints had been left as to where exactly they went, which of course creates great difficulty for those trying to find them.’

  ‘And you think my map will help? You think I got it right?’

  Mama began to fidget. ‘No, that is not what Papa is saying. Nobody is sure about that. Papa felt obliged to send it to Lady Franklin just in case it could help. It would have been remiss of us not to.’

  ‘The thing is,’ added Papa, ‘I, that is, your mother and I could not ignore our obligations because of that word you heard, as you finished it.’

  ‘You mean, “victory”?’ I asked.

  Thanks to Aunt Harriet pressing me as to whether I could add anything else to my map, I had remembered what I thought I had heard and had offered it shyly, in case it was merely the voice in my head congratulating myself on a job well done. Of course, this was before I had opened my eyes to see the squiggles I had produced.

  ‘There is an area in the Arctic called Point Victory and the Victoria Channel and where you marked your map is within this area.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  Well, what else could I say?

  I was terribly flattered but was doing my best to hide it. Mama would squash any hint of big-headedness and I felt her scrutinising my entire being for the tiniest sign that I was feeling full of myself. But, really, who could blame me? Lady Franklin had seen something I drew; she had actually held it in her hand.

  ‘Did she like it?’ I asked, careful not to sound the least bit excited. It was a reasonable question since any kind of an artist wants their work to be liked. I tried to visualise the map in my mind’s eye; it has been a while since I have seen it. I wished I had had the opportunity to add some colour to it. If I had known it was to be posted off to London, I could have reworked and improved upon it. It was too bad that Papa did not let me know what he was planning to do with it.

  Typically, Mama replied, ‘Whether Lady Franklin likes it or not is hardly the point here, Ann. That is not why your father sent it to her. You should not be looking for compliments since there are most important things to consider, for example, that it might be of some help to her finding her husband.’

  ‘Yes, Mama,’ I replied meekly.

  Papa winked at me. ‘I can ask her if she liked it or not.’

  I stared at him. Whatever did he mean? ‘What, Papa … I mean … pardon? I don’t understand.’

  Before Papa could make a reply to me, Mama took over again. ‘Her Ladyship has asked to meet Papa to talk about how you came to draw the map and what it might mean.’

  Oh, my goodness!

  I panicked. ‘But, I don’t know what it means. I drew it with my eyes closed!’

  Surely such a boring explanation would fall rather short in Lady Franklin’s eyes? My satisfaction over my artistic endeavour vanished and I was just me again, a young girl who knew very little about the world and needed to be rescued by her parents.

  ‘Calm yourself, Ann.’ Papa was laughing at my expression. ‘There is no need to look so scared.’

  ‘You see,’ said Mama to him. ‘I told you that she would not be able for this. It is too much.’

  Wait a minute, I thought. What was I missing? What was I not able for? I did not like to hear such talk, that I might be unable for a situation. That was unfair. Should I not be given a chance to judge my ability for myself?

  Somewhat huffily, I asked, ‘What am I not able for, Mama?’

  I assumed that this was the part that Mama was struggling with. She took a deep breath, flicked some dust off her skirt and spoke slowly. ‘Lady Franklin has invited Papa to have tea in her house.’

  ‘Her house, the one beside the Admiralty headquarters? Remember what Uncle Virgil told us, that she moved home to supervise the Admiralty.’

  Mama tutted. ‘That is not what your uncle meant. Anyway, as I was saying, your father is to visit Lady Franklin. Now, she did invite you along too but we do not think that is necessary.’

  Was it just my imagination or did Papa look uncomfortable when Mama said ‘we’?

  ‘Lady Franklin invited me to her home? In London?’

  Could it be true? I gazed at one parent and then the other.

  ‘She actually wants me to come to London?’

  ‘Well, yes, but only your father will go. You would need a female chaperone and n
either your aunt nor myself are able to accompany you.’

  My mind blazed as she spoke. I needed to find a solution and fast. ‘But, what about Cousin Charlotte? She could come with me.’

  In the few seconds I had, before Mama shook her head, I beheld the grandest vision of my dear cousin and myself, arm in arm, traipsing through London streets, on our way to see pictures at the National Gallery and spy on Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, through the windows of Buckingham Palace … and drink hot chocolates at a refined café … and … and … and. I had read so much about London that this vision would have continued on for some time had I not been interrupted by Mama. She may as well have picked up Papa’s knife, the one he used to slice open his letters, and stabbed me in the heart. Of course, her attitude was entirely predictable. She did not want me to experience anything exciting, nor have Papa to myself for days on end.

  ‘No, that would not do at all.’

  I was shaking. ‘But why not? I want to go. Please, Mama, I beg you!’

  Tears stung my eyes and I was helpless to prevent them from gathering. My parents became nothing more than two shapeless blurs, which only added to my distress as I wanted to look like a responsible young lady instead of a little girl who weeps when she doesn’t get her own way. In tears, I struggled for that perfect reason which would enable me to go. ‘But Lady Franklin asked for me. How can I refuse her such a thing, with all she is going through?’

  My mother actually had the temerity to smile sourly at me as if I had said something so ridiculous, it did not deserve a response.

  ‘Please, Mama. Oh, please let me go!’ I persisted.

  She gave my father a look that stirred him from a stupor, forcing him to get involved once more with this horrid conversation. ‘Lady Franklin will understand, Ann. It is just that your mother …’

  He faltered beneath my accusing look. Why wasn’t he taking my side? Of all the people in this world, he knew my ambitions to travel. Spreading his hands before me, he continued, ‘Well, it is just that we have one more piece of important news, you see, which explains why you cannot be spared.’