Killigrew and the North-West Passage

by Killigrew

  ‘Not that I could see – apart from his deuced rum behaviour, of course. Rather put me in mind of a Hindu holy man I saw in India once,’ he added thoughtfully.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘A fakir, I think he was called. This fellow could put himself in a trance for hours on end. Some of the natives said he could go for months on end like that, without eating, although I didn’t get a chance to confirm that with my own eyes. Or rather, I had better things to do than to sit around watching some emaciated, diaper-wearing Indian doing nothing at all for days at a time.’

  Killigrew entered his cabin, where Sørensen was laboriously transcribing the log into English in a fresh ledger provided by Latimer. The Danish harpooner rose to his feet as soon as the lieutenant entered.

  ‘Making any progress?’ Killigrew kept his voice low, not wanting the others in the wardroom to overhear through the louvred slats in the door, and Sørensen had sense enough to do the same.

  ‘Not much, min herre. I’ve only just begun. But I have found one thing out.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You checked the date of the final entry; maybe you should have checked the date of the first. They sailed from Trondheim in April eighteen-fifty.’

  ‘Eighteen-fifty? You’re sure?’

  ‘See for yourself.’

  ‘So they probably weren’t trapped in the ice for more than three months.’

  The harpooner nodded. ‘Hardly enough time to go insane, min herre. Not for seasoned whalers who were used to spending time cooped up on board a ship.’

  ‘All right, Sørensen. You can continue in the morning. I’m going to try to get some sleep now.’ Although Killigrew very much doubted he would sleep restfully, after what he had seen on the Jan Snekker.

  * * *

  ‘Ice, dead ahead!’

  On the quarterdeck, Killigrew levelled his telescope, but could see nothing of this new ice. Not that there was not plenty of ice in evidence all around them: shore ice clinging to the coasts on either side of the channel, and ‘growlers’ – so named from the noise they made as they ground against the Venturer’s iron-sheathed bows – floating in the open water between. He picked up the speaking tube to address the ice quartermaster in the crow’s nest.

  ‘What does it look like, Ågård?’

  ‘Pack ice, sir. Lots of it. From one side of the channel to the other.’

  Peel Sound had narrowed, and then opened up again, until the sea stretched out as far as the eye could see to starboard; but most of that was covered in irregular chunks of pack ice. The Venturer continued her voyage through the lead between this pack ice and the shore ice to port, following the coast southerly. According to Yelverton, they were now following the west coast of the Boothia. Discovered by Sir John and Sir James Ross more than twenty years earlier, Boothia had been named after Felix Booth, the philanthropic gin magnate who had funded their voyage, which made the peninsula the largest advertisement for mother’s ruin – or indeed any other commodity that Killigrew could think of – in the world. Although the Rosses’ ship had only touched at the more accessible east coast of the peninsula, James Ross had undertaken many sledge journeys across the neck of land. On one such journey he had discovered the Magnetic North Pole; the Venturer had passed it the previous day.

  The compass had not gone crazy – at least, as crazy as a compass could go, by spinning wildly – as some had suggested it would. It had simply become even more sluggish, and refused to point in any particular direction with a sense of conviction. Strachan had wanted to stop for a few hours so he could carry out some measurements with his magnetometer and his dip circle, but Pettifer flatly refused. They were too close to discovering the North-West Passage.

  Strictly speaking, they were back on mare cognita for now, although they had connected Peel Sound with the waters off the north coast of King William Land. The latter had also been discovered by James Ross, although it had not been entirely mapped out. Was it connected to Victoria Land, to the west, or was it an island? The explorers Dease and Simpson had discovered a strait between the south of King William Land and the north coast of the Canadian mainland during an overland expedition, but did King William Land connect to the mainland to the south-east? Yelverton refused to be drawn into making any guesses, but Pettifer was convinced that there must be a way around the east and south of King William Land that connected with Dease Strait. If he was right, they were on the threshold of discovering the North-West Passage.

  They were passing through a channel between King William Land and Boothia, no more than twenty-seven miles wide, although two miles of shore ice on either side cut that down to a channel twenty-three miles across. After half an hour, Killigrew could see the ice ahead through the telescope: thick pack ice, unmoving, anchored by the several icebergs embedded in it that must have been grounded in shoal water. He sent Cavan below to report this to the captain. The mate returned a minute later with fresh instructions.

  ‘He says to proceed under tops’ls only and order Varrow to get steam up, sir.’

  ‘Get steam up?’ Killigrew echoed. ‘Has he forgotten how much of our coal we’ve already used up?’

  ‘That’s what he said, sir.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it, Mr Cavan. But would you remind him that… Oh, never mind. I’ll tell him myself. You have the watch while I’m below, Mr Cavan. Tell the bosun to heave-to.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  Killigrew descended the after hatch. On being ushered into Pettifer’s day-room by the marine sentry, he found the captain bundling up in warm clothes. The lieutenant himself was wrapped up warmly in his greatcoat, comforter and leather gauntlets: the days when they could stroll about the deck in frock-coat and cap were gone until the spring.

  ‘Is there a problem, Killigrew?’

  ‘No, sir. I just thought I ought to remind you that we’re down to forty-nine tons of coal; nearly half what we had on board when we set out. Are you certain you wish to proceed under steam?’

  ‘That’s what I told Mr Cavan, is it not? Or did he relay my instructions imprecisely?’

  ‘Not at all, sir.’

  ‘I’m well aware of how much coal we have left, Killigrew. We brought the coal to be used, not simply as ballast.’

  ‘Yes, sir. But you mustn’t forget, we have one, perhaps two winters in the Arctic ahead of us. We’ll need coal to fuel the stoves.’

  ‘Perhaps if we can push through the Dease Straight before the end of September, there’ll be no need for us to spend a winter in the Arctic at all.’ Pettifer was clearly in high spirits, buoyed up by the thought of not only discovering the North-West Passage, but also of sailing through it in a single season.

  ‘I’m not sure that’s something I’d care to gamble on, sir.’

  ‘Pish! You worry too much, Killigrew.’ Pettifer wound his comforter around his neck and led the way up on deck. ‘Unbox the sails, Mr Thwaites!’ he ordered the boatswain. ‘Proceed under tops’ls only. Instruct Varrow to get steam up, Mr Killigrew.’

  Killigrew took the speaking tube from the binnacle. ‘Mr Varrow? Fire the boilers.’

  ‘Fire the boilers?’ The engineer’s voice, thick with a Geordie accent. ‘Are you off your head?’

  ‘Those are the captain’s orders.’

  ‘Is he off his head?’

  ‘Ahem! Make it so, Mr Varrow.’ Killigrew replaced the stopper in the brass mouthpiece, stifling a torrent of Geordie imprecations.

  While waiting for the engineer to get steam up, the Venturer followed the edge of the pack under sail, searching for a lead, but the ice stretched from one side of the channel to the other.

  ‘How far does this ice go, Qualtrough?’ Pettifer asked the senior quartermaster, a Manxman who had spent most of his life serving as an officer on board whalers before being recruited into the navy for his Arctic experience.

  ‘As far as the eye can see from the crow’s nest, sir. But there’s open water somewhere on the other side: you can see it reflected in the �
��water sky”.’ He pointed to the dark shadow on the underside of the cloud over the south side of the pack ice.

  ‘Can we force our way through?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. There’s a lot of brash ice – it’s soft, sludgy stuff, but it can solidify in no time, if the temperature drops…’

  ‘The thermometer has already fallen seven degrees in as many days; unusually early in the season, I might add. How much further is it likely to drop?’

  ‘Who can say, sir? These are little-known waters; the only people who’ve been here before us are Sir James Ross with his sledge parties, twenty-two years ago, and the Erebus and Terror – maybe. Who’s to say what’s usual for this part of the world?’

  ‘Then it can be done?’ Pettifer asked brightly.

  Qualtrough glanced at Killigrew, as if to say: Am I no longer speaking English?

  ‘Well?’ demanded the captain.

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Capital! As soon as Mr Varrow has steam up, we shall try to force our way through the ice. See if you can find a weak spot, Qualtrough.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, sir. I said, yes, it could be done. I did not say it should be done. If the ice closes in on us while we’re in the midst of it, the brash ice between the floes will solidify, freezing us in like a fly in amber. I cannot in all conscience advise you to proceed any further.’

  ‘What would you have me do, Qualtrough? Turn back now, when we’ve come so far? When we’re but a few miles from mapping the North-West Passage?’

  ‘I don’t see what else we can do, sir.’

  ‘Then you have no vision, Qualtrough. You have the watch, Mr Killigrew.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  But Pettifer was already descending the after hatch.

  Qualtrough lit his clay pipe. ‘Tell me, sir, what was the purpose in bringing me along if Commander Pettifer has no intention of heeding my advice?’

  ‘Advice is all it is, Qualtrough. You’ve given it, you’ve done your duty. The captain is responsible for this ship and the decision rests with him.’

  ‘Does my advice count for nothing, then, even if by ignoring it the captain risks the lives of all on board?’

  ‘The captain is aware of his responsibilities. I’m sure he’s weighed up all the consequences of his decision. It’s not for you or me to gainsay him.’

  ‘Even though I’ve got more than thirty years’ experience of sailing in the Arctic, and this is his first voyage in polar seas?’

  ‘You said it was possible.’

  ‘A mistake. Yes, I suppose it’s possible. Anything’s possible. It’s possible to flap your arms and fly to the moon. You’ve just got to flap hard enough.’

  * * *

  ‘Is that normal, Ågård?’ asked Pettifer, perturbed. Great clouds of condensation billowed from his mouth as he spoke.

  The ice quartermaster smiled thinly. ‘You tell me, sir. I have no experience of steam-driven vessels in the Arctic.’

  Pettifer was referring to the odd glugging noise made by the Venturer as its screw drove her through the mushy brash ice. The floes were thick but consisted mostly of snow, and were soft. The ship steamed through the leads between them, ploughing through brash ice the consistency of porridge.

  ‘What rate are we making, Mr Cavan?’ asked Pettifer.

  ‘A little over two knots, sir,’ replied the mate who, assisted by Jacko Smith and Johnno Smith, had just finished measuring the ship’s speed with log and line.

  ‘You see?’ Pettifer told the ice quartermaster triumphantly. ‘We’re making good time. You should have more faith in modem technology, Ågård.’

  A slight thud ran through the Venturer’s deck as the bows collided with something that gave at first, but slowed their progress until they had come to a halt. Beneath the surface of the soupy brash ice that closed in astern, the screw continued to make glugging noises.

  Whatever they had collided with, they had certainly not hit anything with enough force for anyone to even think of sending someone below to make sure the hull had not been breeched. Ågård hurried forward to peer over the bows to see what the problem was. ‘We’re wedged between two floes,’ he reported. ‘They’ve not nipped us – there’s no pressure on them – but they’re big enough to bar our passage.’

  ‘See if we can force them aside, Mr Killigrew,’ ordered Pettifer.

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’ The lieutenant took the speaking tube from the binnacle. He noticed that the pliable gutta-percha was now brittle with cold and laced with tiny fracture lines. ‘Can you give us full power, Mr Varrow?’

  ‘I’ll do me best, sir.’

  The deck throbbed more urgently as Varrow increased revolutions. The Venturer pushed forward a couple of feet, and then the floes seemed to assert themselves and the ship was pushed back.

  ‘We’re not getting through,’ said Ågård.

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ snorted Pettifer. ‘We’ll take a run-up.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir. Mr Varrow? Turn ahead, full speed.’

  The Venturer surged forwards through the sludgy brash, gathering way: half a knot, one knot, a knot and a half…

  The bows bore down on the two floes ahead. The Venturer was not accelerating fast enough. Then she hit the floes. She came to an abrupt halt and the men on deck staggered as a shudder ran through the hull. At first it seemed as if the floes had baffled them a second time, but a moment later something gave and the ship was moving forwards once more, pushing aside the floes. Then they were through, glugging through the ice at a knot and a half.

  ‘Didn’t I tell you to have more faith in modem technology, Ågård?’ Pettifer crowed, patting the Venturer’s bulwark. ‘She’ll see us through, never fear.’

  ‘We’re not through yet, sir,’ warned the ice quartermaster.

  Within half an hour more floes blocked their path. This time the Venturer had to back up and run at them three times before they broke through. Now they were making no more than a knot through the thickening ice.

  ‘This will never do,’ grumbled Pettifer. ‘Tell Varrow I want more speed.’

  ‘We’re at full ahead as it is, sir,’ said Killigrew.

  ‘More speed, damn your eyes!’ snapped Pettifer, startling the lieutenant with his uncharacteristic anger.

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Killigrew picked up the speaking tube. ‘More speed, Mr Varrow.’

  ‘We’re already at full ahead!’

  Killigrew took a deep breath. ‘The captain’s aware of that, Mr Varrow. Give her all you can.’

  ‘We’re using up a lot of coal, Mr Killigrew. Maybe a quarter of a ton in the past two hours.’

  ‘Stick to it, Mr Varrow. There’s open water up ahead somewhere.’

  ‘Aye – the Pacific Ocean, two thousand miles to the west!’ Killigrew replaced the speaking tube. ‘Mr Varrow reports that we’re getting through a lot of coal, sir.’

  ‘Duly noted, Mr Killigrew,’ Pettifer replied blithely.

  Strachan came on deck and handed Killigrew his notebook. The lieutenant glanced at the last page of his notes and nodded, understanding. He handed the notebook back to Strachan, and turned to the captain. ‘May I speak with you, sir?’

  ‘By all means.’ Pettifer gestured for him to step on to the port side of the quarterdeck, away from the others gathered around the helm. ‘What is it, Mr Killigrew?’

  ‘Sir, Mr Strachan reports that the temperature has dropped two degrees in as many hours.’

  ‘What of it? We’re still making progress, aren’t we?’

  ‘Deeper and deeper into the ice. And an hour ago we were making three knots, not one. Perhaps we should heed Qualtrough’s advice and turn back.’

  ‘Turn back? When we’re so close to completing the North-West Passage? Where’s your spirit, Killigrew?’

  ‘Sir, the longer we leave it, the less our chance of making it out of this brash ice before we become beset. We should turn back now, make for the open water behind us and anchor to the ice, wait for a lead to open.
Either that, or prepare to overwinter in the ice. We’ve come further into the Arctic in a shorter time than any ship that has preceded us. We’ll be superbly placed to complete the passage when the thaw comes next spring.’

  ‘No, Killigrew. We shall press on. You heard what Qualtrough said: there’s open water somewhere ahead of us.’

  Twice more the Venturer’s iron-shod bows had to batter their way through the floes. As the temperature dropped, young ice grew outwards from the surrounding pack, choking the narrow channels with oncoming slabs of drift ice. The thicker the brash ice became, the more their progress was blocked by smaller floes that she would easily have nuzzled aside in open water. She was advancing at little more than a snail’s pace.

  ‘Sir, we cannot go on like this!’ Ågård protested at last. ‘We’ll never get through! You’re driving us to destruction!’

  ‘Belay that, Ågård!’ snapped Pettifer.

  Killigrew had only ever seen the captain as angry as this once before, when he had returned from the Assistance at Greenhithe to report that Sir Edward intended the Venturer to stay with the North Star at Beechey Island throughout the search for Franklin.

  ‘Sir, as ice quartermaster, it’s my duty to warn you about the ice. I must formally protest at your current course of action. Turn back now, or else—’

  ‘You may be one of my ice quartermasters, Ågård, but I am captain. One more word out of you, and I shall have you placed under arrest and removed from the quarterdeck!’

  Ågård turned to Killigrew. ‘For God’s sake, sir! Tell him! Tell him we’ll be caught in the ice, and crushed! We have to stop now!’

  ‘Private Jenkins!’ bellowed Pettifer.

  The marine approached the quarterdeck. ‘Sir?’

  ‘You will place Ågård under arrest.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Take him below and confine him to his cabin,’ Pettifer elaborated impatiently.

  ‘Very good, sir.’ Jenkins turned to Ågård with an apologetic shrug. ‘If you’ll come with me?’

  Ågård backed away, shaking his head. ‘Are you all mad? Do you want to destroy us all?’