T
he small steamboat approached the shore and the governor’s man cut the engine. Its noise faded in a long, faltering rasp just as the mound of Lively appeared. Behind them lay a thin unbroken ribbon of black over the open water. Ahead, the governor and his officials awaited them on the shore, much as they had awaited them in the settlement four days earlier, and beyond this welcoming party the lights of a single large building were visible against the darkness of the land.
Reid was the first to leap overboard, followed by Fitzjames.
“Please, please, wait for my man,” came a voice from the shore, stopping them both. It was the governor, his hands cupped to his mouth.
They turned to the man at the tiller, who had said nothing to any of them throughout their hour-long journey. He was a half-breed, Eskimo mother, white father. He left the tiller and came forward to cast out a rope to Reid and Fitzjames. He then leapt down himself, using his broad back to brace the impact of the boat upon the shore.
“Our thanks,” Fitzjames said to him, stamping the water from his boots.
The man glanced at him, but still said nothing. His eyes seemed sunk beneath his brow, his eyelids hooded, so that most of the time he gave the impression of having them closed.
“Make way for an officer and a gentleman,” Harry Goodsir shouted, jumping down, joined then by Vesconte and Gore, by Little,
Irving and Hodgson, and finally by Surgeon Stanley and Walter Fairholme, leaving only Franklin and Crozier sitting in the beached steamer.
“Hard to say which of them enjoys his entrance the most,” Goodsir whispered to Fitzjames.
“Oh, our man Francis Rawdon Moira,” Edward Little answered beneath his breath. “He’d been waiting in his uniform a full two hours before our Charon here called for us.”
Only Fitzjames glanced at the mute navigator to see if he had overheard or understood the remark, but the man was now at some distance from them, pulling tight the rope he had looped through an iron ring in the beach. Fitzjames watched as he completed this task and then approached the governor, as though awaiting further instructions. He saw the governor deftly flick him on the chest with the white gloves he held.
Whereas his officials again wore gray or brown suits with their hats in their hands, looking like a party of nervous clerks about to be presented to a feared employer, the governor himself wore a tunic covered from throat to hem with an impressive pattern of embroidery and ribbons, and he carried a plumed helmet which, at that distance, looked like a hen cradled in his arm.
“My nation salutes your nation,” he said loudly. “One proud seafaring country to another.”
“Again,” Gore whispered to those around him.
“I thank you,” Franklin said, stepping forward to shake his hand. One of the officials carried a tray upon which stood a dozen glasses, and at a signal from the governor the man came forward.
“A toast to your enterprise,” the governor said, taking two of the glasses and handing one each to Franklin and Crozier. “May it achieve the glory and the riches it so justly deserves. I trust my man made a swift and safe voyage with you.”
“Excellent,” Crozier said.
“Yes. Most trustworthy. Half-breed, you will have realized, but a trustworthy one.”
“He said very little for himself.”
The governor laughed. “He said nothing, Captain Crozier. His
tongue was cut out when he was four years old. Some say by his own father so that his identity might never be revealed. Some say by his mother for the very same reason. She too is in my employ. Please, follow me.” His officials parted and he passed through them, climbing the beach to his brightly lit house.
The others walked with their glasses. George Hodgson was the first to comment on the clear and bitter liquid, declaring that he had rubbed better tasting spirit on an injured horse. Others who could not stomach the drink tipped it surreptitiously on to the beach. Only the teetotal Reid handed back his full glass without any apology for its untouched contents.
They arrived at an arch formed by the bleached jawbone of a whale, beneath which even the tallest of them was able to pass without stooping. Several similar structures stood beyond it, forming an open corridor to the house. The most impressive of these, newly painted white, was fixed to the front wall around the main entrance.
“My little folly,” the governor explained, but in a voice which suggested it was considerably more. “The wild men build their own shelters out of the rib bones and so I copied their example. Nothing quite so animal in nature, as you see, but in keeping with tradition, I think you will agree.”
All those called upon to admire these simple structure did so.
It was early evening, and although the light would not fade until eleven, there was a chill in the island air, and the governor urged them to enter.
Inside, the house was dominated by a single large room, at either end of which stood a stone fireplace. Several portraits hung from the walls, interspersed with framed certificates and trading decrees, many illegible in the poor light. A table was laid along the center of the room, upon which stood several candelabra. It was an impressive arrangement. Crockery, cutlery and glassware surrounded each setting, and bowls of fruit and decanters were set out along the center of the table.
“Just because we are far from home does not mean we should deprive ourselves of some home comforts. Indeed, gentlemen, I wager you yourselves have aboard your vessels the ingredients of a feast
twice as grand. In preparation for celebration, perhaps.”
There had so far been no suggestion from either Franklin or Crozier of a reciprocal invitation for the governor to dine aboard the
Erebus
or
Terror.
“Nothing so sumptuous,” Crozier assured him, pacing the length of the table and examining it in greater detail, more for their host’s benefit than his own.
One of the governor’s men whispered in his ear, and he turned immediately to where a group of five Eskimo women stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen. Attracted by the messenger the others turned to look too.
“Certainly not,” shouted the governor, immediately apologizing for his raised voice.
The official shooed the women out of the doorway and held the door closed behind them.
“They came in hope of an introduction to the famous kabloonas.” The governor looked dispassionately at the door. “Curious as children, and just as quick to turn to mischief. I doubt—”
“It would have done no harm to have introduced them, sir,” Reid said unexpectedly. “They understand our course as well as any of us, and who is to say when we ourselves might not be grateful for the help or guidance of one of their relatives.”
“Their relatives, ice-master? They have no relatives; they live here, in a dwelling attached to this house. They work here and sleep here and are visited by no one. What can they possibly understand of the noble quest you are about to undertake?”
“I meant no insult by the suggestion, sir.”
The governor looked to Franklin, who could only look evenly back at both men.
The tension was released by Surgeon Stanley, who asked the governor about the family likeness in several of the portraits hanging around them. Having thus sacrificed himself, Stanley was then committed to following him from picture to picture as individual histories were repeated, each as dull and forgettable as the last. Stories of traders and civic dignitaries, and none of them so highly placed
as the governor himself. The tour ended only when the meal was announced, and the governor led each of them to their designated seats, again flanking himself with Franklin and Crozier at the head of the table.
The feast began with clams, and the governor told the story of the American whaler which had arrived at Lively the previous summer with six tons of foot-wide quayhogs as ballast. These had been dumped in the shallow waters of Danish Bay and the benefits were still being reaped. The bay did not freeze below a foot of the surface all winter and the oversized shellfish were resilient enough to survive. The shells would not fit comfortably into an outstretched hand, and to save the diners the effort and messy business of opening these themselves, the clams had already been prised apart and their meat gouged loose. There were lemons and pepper sauce for those who wanted it.
Fresh bread and thick white butter followed, a small loaf delivered to each man in a steaming linen cloth by the women who had earlier been dismissed. The governor, unaware of the bakers on board both the
Erebus
and the
Terror,
explained that he had had the bread made specially so that the memory of it and all it suggested might remain with them during the months ahead. Franklin signaled to his officers not to disabuse him of the generosity of his gesture. Accordingly, each man found something complimentary to say about the loaves.
Three large joints of fresh roast pork were brought out, each accompanied by several bowls of vegetables and dishes of apple sauce. The glazed head of a small pig was then added to the table for decoration, its skin shiny and crisp, its ears pinned upright. Its uncooked eyes had been returned to their sockets, and a bunch of grapes positioned in its mouth. More wine was served, and with each new decanter, a fresh toast proposed.
Outside, a wind rose and rattled the windows and the governor called for them to be shuttered inside and out. More candles were brought into the room and logs thrown on to the already large fires.
“I hope,” said the governor to them all, having tapped his glass
and waited for their attention. “I hope that the unseemly display on your first morning ashore did not in any way lower your opinions of our existence here.”
“Be assured—” Franklin said, and was then interrupted as the governor resumed speaking.
“I am their governor, but I must also be very careful. Our more usual visitors are a wild breed and they have little respect other than for their profits. To have prevented them from going ahead with their cruel display would have achieved little and almost certainly have resulted in a riot. As you can see, I have no militia to enforce my wishes, and the few of us here who struggle to impose even the rudiments of law and order are all a very long way from home.”
By then the man was intoxicated, as were several others, most noticeably Edward Little and James Fairholme.
“This, all this,” he went on, gesticulating around him. “What is it but a flag upon a forsaken island, a stake-post in the wilderness?” He picked up a piece of meat, the tender flesh separating in his hands, the milky juice running over his chin.
Fitzjames watched him and it was as though he were seeing the man for the first time, seeing beneath his pomp and his feathers and his speeches, and he felt a sudden great sympathy for him, caught here in a despised and treacherous wilderness, attended by his fawning and speechless lackeys and pierced a hundred times a day by the looks of the native men and women and whalers with whom he was forced to surround himself.
As though in some way suddenly aware of these pitying thoughts, the governor unexpectedly announced that he had a wife and five daughters, the eldest twenty-one, the youngest only five, back home in Copenhagen. “I have seen none of them for four years,” he added, shrugging at his inability to do anything about this and then draining his glass in a single swallow.
This reference to the years lost by separation silenced them all, and the next round of toasts was a private, unspoken one.
The meat was followed by a concoction of cherries and cream, and by rich pastries coated in chocolate. Fruit was brought out, and then several cheeses. Port was uncorked and placed on the table.
“Could your wife and daughters not have accompanied you upon your appointment here?” Fitzjames asked.
“And have their hearts and minds frozen to ice? I think not. Unfortunately, one does not turn down such an appointment. Had I done so, my career would have been over very swiftly. My uncle was governor of Iceland for seven years. Christian Sundbeck, perhaps you know of him.”
Several around the table nodded to indicate that they had at least heard of the man.
“And your own stay here?” Fitzjames asked.
“Who knows? I think one more year, perhaps two. At any rate, I regret that I shall not be here to welcome you upon your return.”
“Our return?”
The man became immediately aware of his mistake. “Gentlemen, forgive me. I meant only—”
“No apology, please,” Franklin said. “If there exists no clear passage, then we may indeed be forced back upon your further hospitality.”
No one spoke. It was the first time defeat and withdrawal had been suggested. The unthinkable had been put into words, and they had all, however briefly, been made to face the possibility.
Coffee was served, and with it an almond liqueur considerably sweeter than the spirit with which they had been greeted on the shore. To accompany it, sugared almonds in tortoiseshell bowls were set alongside the bottles.
It was ten in the evening before Franklin and his officers were ready to depart, leaving the warmth of the house for the numbing night air outside.