Finding John Rae

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Finding John Rae Page 24

by Alice Jane Hamilton


  “It sounds lovely, actually. We pray to God and Jesus Christ in heaven, and we believe the souls of our departed ones live with them.” She giggled. “I think the idea of travelling as a shooting star is far more exciting.”

  I held her tightly. “So do I.”

  “Does Irniq have children?”

  “Yes, two boys.”

  After Kate had drifted off to sleep, I lay awake, thinking about Irniq and his reasons for wanting to find me after all these years. I understood why he would have been curious about the man who had saved his mother’s life, and it seemed as though he had learned much about me from his people. There was no question that I liked the young man; I had grown increasingly comfortable with him as our time together on the Westrays went on. I could even imagine inviting him to join me for another fishing and hunting holiday in the Orkneys.

  The idea both pleased and worried me. Did I wish to spend more time with Irniq because of my grief about not having a son of my own, and was he somehow brought to me for that reason? Although I had faith in God, I was not given to believing in such unproved notions as destiny, yet here was a young Esquimaux who had travelled all the way from the Arctic to meet me and thank me for saving his mother’s life. He was also a relative of my travelling companions. As I lay beside my sleeping wife, I thought about what life in the Arctic had meant to me. I didn’t want to let go of it completely, even though I was too old to travel there.

  Westray and Papa Westray, the Orkneys

  [JULY 1886]

  When Irniq and I next corresponded, we agreed to meet again in the Orkneys the following summer, a plan which gave me much satisfaction. We met in Stromness and took the ferry to Westray, then sailed a borrowed yole over to Papa, its small sister isle. We landed the sailboat on a sandy beach. As we unloaded our things, Irniq handed me a small deerskin package.

  “This is for you, John. To show you my appreciation for meeting with you again.” I unwrapped the animal hide and withdrew a smooth, stone carving of a seal.

  He was smiling. “I made it for you.”

  “It is exquisite, Irniq. I am most grateful.”

  On that visit, I taught him how to sail. We fished, caught birds and shot hares for sustenance, and we built a small cairn with rocks to mark our island holiday. We competed against one another with my rifle at target practice. Irniq had the advantage of being many years my junior; his aim was consistently steady and true. I — a man who had at one time earned a trophy for marksmanship — had to accept that I was losing my magic touch.

  Words flowed more fluently between us during that visit. I asked Irniq to tell me some news from the Arctic.

  “My cousin Tukkuttok had a baby girl and named her Uqi.”

  “What does the baby’s name mean?”

  “It means ‘survivor.’”

  I smiled. “That is a good name.”

  One evening, when our bellies were full and our bodies tired from the exertions of the day, I asked Irniq to tell me what his people thought of the Kabloonans who came to explore the frozen north. “White men think differently than your people do,” I said.

  He grimaced. “Yes they do. Our people and Kabloonans do not speak the same language, so both sides make many mistakes because we do not understand each other. I can tell you what has been passed along to us by our relatives and ancestors, what we tell our children, and what they will tell to their children. Are you certain you want to know the full truth of what our people think of the Kabloonans?”

  “Yes, I am curious. Whatever you say may be difficult to hear, but your honesty will not personally offend me.”

  He hesitated, as if deciding how to choose the right words. “My people do not understand why Kabloonans want to kill everything. They do not care when an animal suffers, or if they take more than they need. We are bothered and unhappy that they never give thanks to the animals for providing them with food and warm clothes. They think they own the land, the animals, our bodies and minds, but we don’t even own these things and places. We borrow something, and then we give it back.”

  I could not deny the truth of his statement. “Go on. I am listening carefully to your words.”

  “As you know, our people believe that hunting should be gentle, that the hunted should trust us enough to accept our snares, our arrows and harpoons, our gratitude. Hunting should be quiet, so the animals are not shocked by the cracking sounds of many guns and the horrible, stinking smoke that fills the air. Kabloonans wonder why the animals stop coming to them, why they almost starve because the animals stay away. We try to explain the reasons to them, but they do not listen to us. They shove food into their mouths and hardly chew on it, or taste its goodness.”

  “My God — ”

  “Should I stop now?”

  “No. Tell me all of it.”

  “You know that we take what we need, and cache the rest for our return journeys and for others who are hungry. Your travelling parties did the same thing, John. That way, everyone has a chance of surviving when conditions are bad. Why do other Kabloonan explorers throw so much away? We do not understand this at all.”

  I shook my head. “Perhaps because those white men have too much, they don’t want — or know how — to stop doing those things. You know, I’m not quite sure myself. Greed is a disease of the mind. I don’t know of any medicine that can cure it.”

  “Another thing that makes us unhappy is when they force themselves on our women, our mothers and daughters, our sisters. If they treated us well and then asked to be close to our women, maybe the ones they desire would make their own decisions and reward them. My people tell me you never did that, John.”

  “No, I did not. It’s barbaric.”

  “Bar…?”

  “Barbaric. The word means everything you just said. Cruel treatment of others, the animals, of people’s belongings. Taking more than you need, not sharing what you have.” John Franklin’s earlier expeditions in search of the Northwest Passage came to mind. There had been rumours about his men’s crude behaviour towards the Cree, Ojibwa, Yellowknife and Esquimaux guides who accompanied them.

  “Are stories of Kabloonan expeditions from long ago still told by the native people, Irniq?”

  “The stories are still told to warn our children about the evil ways of some Kabloonans. We heard of treachery, murder and cannibalism. Our people were taught to stay away from English explorers like John Franklin and George Back, because the first man was too weak to control his men, and the second one treated our people like slaves.”

  There was no point in pretending that the behaviour of explorers towards native people had been exemplary over the years, because there had been plenty of talk about their antics. “Aye, I heard about a disastrous Royal Navy journey up the Coppermine River long before I first came to Hudson Bay. The leader was Lieutenant John Franklin, and his travelling party was under orders to explore the Arctic shoreline.”

  Irniq frowned. “Do you know John Richardson?”

  I nodded. “He was a doctor from Scotland.”

  “My uncles spoke of him. They said that he shot a voyageur through the head.”

  “I have heard about that. Apparently, the man Richardson executed had done something terrible, and he deserved to be shot.”

  “What did he do?”

  “It was said that when hunting conditions were poor and the men in the British party were starving, the voyageur killed at least one man, ate his flesh and offered it to the others. Some of Franklin’s men consumed the meat, and then realized that it was from the remains of a human. Apparently this man was dangerous. Dr. Richardson shot him through the head with his pistol, when he was found next to a white man’s body with a gun in his hand.

  “There are many rules in the Royal Navy, Irniq. For example, a man must never leave his fellow sailors unless he is ordered to do so by an officer. If he does and he is caught, he is punished for abandoning his duties.”

  “Did the natives travelling with the Kabloonans live under
those same rules?”

  “Yes, it was expected of them.”

  “The Kabloonans who left the big ships and died…” he began.

  “Their sad situation was different, Irniq. The men of the Erebus and Terror were dreadfully ill when they were marching on the ice, so I imagine that after a while, they were no longer thinking about rules. Each person likely died from natural causes, not from murder. The survivors probably consumed the dead men’s flesh because there was simply no alternative.”

  I talked about the many Kabloonans who must have felt trapped like penned animals aboard the ships, and how frightening it would have been to listen — month after month — to the sounds of pack ice squeezing the hulls, grinding past iron sheaths and against wooden boards, alternately lifting the vessels and their terrified occupants up, pushing them forward, then suddenly releasing them, only to grip and drop them again.

  He slowly shook his head. “John, can you give me advice?”

  “Of course, I will certainly try.”

  “What should my people do when we are guides and hunters for the Kabloonans, and they do not listen to us or treat us with respect?”

  I let out a long sigh, troubled but not shocked by the knowledge that white explorers still treated the natives poorly. “Refuse to assist them, Irniq.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Yes, just like that. If your people do not help them, they will not survive, and they know it.”

  It was important for me to know those unpleasant truths as the Esquimaux understood them. I knew that white men had done harm to native peoples while they pressed on to open up the north for passage and trade, but the things I heard from the young man were personal and raw.

  When our time together came to an end, we waited at the docks in Stromness for the arrival of the Prince Rupert, which would take Irniq across the Atlantic to York Factory. I could see that he was feeling melancholy about saying goodbye, and this time I felt it too. We had grown much closer since his arrival two weeks earlier. He turned to me as we stood side by side looking out at Hamnavoe Bay.

  “Our time together has been a good experience for me,” he said.

  “And mine with you,” I replied.

  “The only thing I want from you, John, is to never forget us, your Esquimaux friends. My wish is that you will always think of our people and the land, the birds, the fish and animals, our ice and snow.”

  “You have my word on that, young man,” I replied. “In fact, I have an idea. If you can withstand another ocean crossing, come and meet me here at the same time next year. We will walk, sail and fish together, and I promise you that I’ll beat you at target practice!”

  His reply was swift. “I would like to return, but I must warn you that if we are to meet again, it is I who will beat you at shooting!”

  I told Kate all about the surprisingly close friendship which had arisen between Irniq and me. She listened with interest as I described how their people suffered at the hands of the white people, and how they survived living in such a harsh environment by sharing everything they had with each other. She was particularly moved to hear about Irniq’s gratitude for everything he had, and about his deep love for his family. I told her that I wished to meet Irniq in the Orkneys every year. I could afford to pay for the rental of a simple croft, and as a retired chief factor for the Hudson’s Bay Company, I was able to pay for his Atlantic journey at a greatly reduced price.

  “Kate, he doesn’t make much as an interpreter and guide…”

  She hugged me. “Don’t worry about the cost, dear. Your time with him does your heart good, and the good Lord knows you deserve it.”

  Before each of these summer visits, I made a point of inviting Kate to join us. She consistently declined, but I always left for our holiday with an item she had sewed for him: a cap for the windy Orcadian weather, a neck warmer, a bookmark. Whenever I kissed her goodbye, she reminded me to give Irniq her very best wishes.

  Irniq had never known his father, and I have no children. I have grown to feel as though that fine young man has become the son I have longed for. How blessed I am that he has made the effort to find me.

  EPILOGUE

  On Saturday July 22nd, 1893, just as the mid-summer sun was setting, my beloved husband of thirty-three years passed away. “He had been suffering from bouts of influenza for over three months, but his death came as a shock because his eyes had recently been brighter, his expression more cheerful, his strength slowly returning.

  My sister Emily and I made arrangements for a private funeral service to be held at St. John the Baptist Church in Addison Gardens on the following Friday. We decorated his coffin with wreaths, crosses, anchors, shields, bouquets and a colourful basket of fresh flowers. I carried a simple wreath of the heather John so loved.

  We had issued no invitations for the service, so we were taken by surprise when we arrived at the church and were greeted by a gathering of John’s friends and companions from the Royal Society and Royal Geographical Society, who stood waiting near the entrance to pay their respects. After the service, Emily and I accompanied John’s coffin to Euston Station, where we departed by train for the north of Scotland.

  We arrived at Kirkwall with our sad cargo aboard the steamer vessel St. Magnus, to the sound of church bells from St. Magnus Cathedral on the hill above the docks. A large, solemn crowd was waiting at the wharf to meet us. All shops and businesses in the town had been closed, and flags had been lowered to half-mast. At one o’clock our silent procession moved up the hill to the cathedral, where Reverend Walker conducted a service, and then the casket was lowered into the ground. I had ordered a cross placed on three stone risers for my dear husband’s grave. The inscription to John Rae reads:

  They that wait upon the Lord

  shall renew their strength

  TO THE REVERED MEMORY OF HER

  BELOVED HUSBAND

  THIS MONUMENT IS ERECTED BY

  CATHARINE J.A. RAE

  Emily and I later sold the house in Addison Gardens and moved to Chislehurst, Kent, because no matter how hard I tried, it was too painful for me to walk from one room into another and not find him there. Even so, I never stopped missing the man who had been my closest companion.

  In 1906, a letter addressed to me arrived in the post from the Norwegian explorer Roald Amundsen. He had just succeeded in becoming the first person to sail the elusive link in the Northwest Passage, by navigating the channel of young ice John had spotted from the western shore of the Boothia Peninsula fifty-two years earlier. Mr. Amundsen wrote that, inspired by John, he had chosen to live and travel with the Esquimaux in the Canadian Arctic with a view to being the first person to complete the route in his schooner, the Gjoa.

  I was gratified to read Mr. Amundsen’s words of praise for my dear John. The man I married had indeed been an extraordinary explorer, yet in my opinion he was so much more: an honest man with a true heart, and the best husband and partner any woman could ever hope for. As I had told him in Westminster Abbey all those years ago when we looked at the bust of Sir John Franklin, John Rae would forever be a hero.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  In researching and writing Finding John Rae, I made the decision to be as accurate as possible in my biographical account of Rae and with the historical characters who were known to have played a part in his life. I could not help wondering, however, whether Rae, who had spent so much of his life in the Arctic, had ever enjoyed contact with the Inuit after he returned from his explorations in the north with the Hudson’s Bay Company. There was no mention of such a thing in the historical records, but the absence of information should not mean that it didn’t happen. It is well known that Rae returned to the Orkneys every year to sail, shoot, fish and visit with his many friends in the area, sometimes accompanied by his wife Kate. It is satisfying to imagine that a Hudson’s Bay Company ship brought an Inuit visitor from the Arctic to spend time with him. I think he would have liked that very much.

  SUGGESTED
FURTHER READING

  Beattie, Owen & John Geiger. (1987). Frozen in Time: The Fate of the Franklin Expedition. United Kingdom: Bloomsbury Publishing.

  Berton, Pierre. (1988). The Arctic Grail: The Quest for the North West Passage and the North Pole, 1818–1909. Toronto: Viking.

  Bunyan, Ian, Jenni Calder, Dale Idiens & Bryce Wilson. (1993). No Ordinary Journey: John Rae, Arctic Explorer, 1813–1893. Edinburgh, Montreal & Kingston: National Museums of Scotland & McGill-Queen’s University Press.

  Delgado, James P. (1999). Across the Top of the World: The Quest for the Northwest Passage. Vancouver/Toronto: Douglas & McIntyre.

  Heddle, Iris E. (2005). Roughing It: The Story of John Rae as a Boy. Kirkwall: Orkney Islands Council.

  Keenleyside, Anne, Margaret Bertulli & Henry C. Fricke. (1997). The Final Days of the Franklin Expedition: New Skeletal Evidence. Arctic Institute of North America.

  McGoogan, Ken. (2001). Fatal Passage: The Story of John Rae, the Arctic Hero Time Forgot. New York: Carroll & Graf Publishers.

  McGoogan, Ken. (2005). Lady Franklin’s Revenge: A True Story of Ambition, Obsession and the Remaking of Arctic History. Toronto: HarperCollins.

  Newman, Peter C. (1985). Company of Adventurers. Toronto: Viking Canada.

  Potter, Russell A. (2016). Finding Franklin: The Untold Story of a 165-Year Search. Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press.

  Rae, John. (1850). Narrative of an Expedition to the Shores of the Arctic Sea in 1846 and 1847. London: T&W Boone.

  Rae, John. (2012). The Arctic Journals of John Rae by John Rae. Selected and Introduced by Ken McGoogan. Victoria: Touchwood Editions.

  Richards, R.L. (1985). Dr. John Rae. Whitby, U.K.: Caedmon.

 

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