Ilatsiak - 26

On the return trek to Cape Felix, Lt Irving managed to overcome his fear of the ice by walking behind the others most of the way. In fact, it was he who suggest to Lt Fairholme that the party depart the Matty Islands and make a direct line northwestwards for King William Island thus avoiding walking around to the narrowest crossing point as they had done on the outward voyage. In fact this turned out to be a good idea. No poor ice was encountered and a number of seals were spotted basking on the ice near their breathing holes. This was a novelty for the men as it was the first time they had been able to actually see seals in any number at all. The rough ice around the ships made it impossible to see any seals although several of the crew claimed to have heard them under the ice from time to time. This was dismissed as nonsense by most of the officers and especially Mr Goodsir, the best naturalist on the expedition.
By the time they stopped to camp, the party was well up the coast of KWL, as they had come to call King William Land and if the weather continued to be as warm and sunny, Lt Fairholme predicted their arrival at Cape Felix the following evening or at least the morning after. Irving complained about missing his servant as he now had no partner for dominos.
They were awakened early in the morning by the sound of the canvas tent flapping and being blown inwards from the strong gusts of wind that was blowing from the west. Looking out, Lt Irving cursed under his breath.
“Bloody snow!” he turned and bunching up his blankets, squatted on the side of the tent which allowed some sitting room. “Must be a couple of inches on the ground already. Looks like we’ll be sitting here for the day.”
“How could that be, after yesterday’s heat?” said Lt Fairholme. “Surely it will melt away and we can be off.”
“Take a look, sir. I think you’ll find it quite wintery again. We’ve lost the spring weather, I’d say.” Irving was disgusted. The long months of winter, the condition of the ships, beset as they were in the ice with little prospects of advancing any time soon, was beginning to get to him. “I was hoping this outing would bring a change in our condition. Now we’re right back were we began. Stuck, with winter at our heels again, sapping our strength, killing us by inches at a time.”
“I agree, I agree. But at least we have seen some new territory. Meeting the Eskimo at last may help. They will be able to advise us on when the ice breaks up, on the best route to follow.”
“You’re right. Yesterday’s weather got me thinking it was July and we’d be on our way again.” Irving’s voice sounded normal and reasonable suddenly.
“The worst is over, Lt, we’ll soon be sailing clear and free again. In fact, I was just thinking of our passage down here last summer. Yesterday’s weather reminded me, I guess of that passage. This snow won’t last but a day or two.” Fairholme tried to cheer him up with some hopeful memories.
“I’m not too sure of that, Mr Fairholme. We’ve been thinking, over on the Terror that we might be best to retreat up Peel Strait and look further west for a better channel. The ice we’re in will break us up ‘fore we’re into sailing again.”
“I’ve heard the talk too, but I can assure you, it doesn’t carry far with Sir John. At best, he might send a boat out to search a passage west, but he’s determined to break through the 90 miles we have to go to Simpson’s Cairn. Just let’s wait on the weather. You’ll see he’s right.”
Irving folder his arms across his jacket and closed his eyes. The discussion was closed as far as he was concerned. Fairholm stared at this stubborn man for a few more minutes before turning to his note-book. Then thinking better of warming up some ink to write with, turned on his side and closed his eyes. “Only 90 miles to go and we’ll be free of this and on our way...”
The wind began to slacken after they made a lunch and a short walk around convinced them it was worth continuing on to the Cape. In fact, the thin snow cover actually made the sledge easier to pull, although several times both crew men stumbled and fell in the slippery snow. Their boots, more designed for dry conditions where a smooth sole was an asset, became treacherously slippery in the snow.
By suppertime, they were still a good day and a half from Cape Felix and the decision was taken to camp again rather than go on. Hopefully the snow they had received earlier in the day would melt and travelling would improve although the look of the sky to the west, where the weather seemed to mostly come from, was anything but promising.
Once again, during the night, the wind began to blow again, this time from the north, and dark heavy clouds scudded past looking ominous and threatening. Irving was in a foul mood again, but worse by far than anything Fairholme had seen before. He stormed out of the tent, complaining of the infernal flapping of the canvas, the dampness of his blankets, the impossibly slow cook stove, his slippery boots, just about everything seemed to anger him these past few hours. It seemed to be worse now that he didn’t have poor David to bully. Fairholme felt guilty about letting that go on for so long, but Irving was senior to him and there was little he could do. Outside Irving was facing the wind, like some sort of timeless prophet of old. He looked into the distant horizon and began yelling and cursing it with every word he could think of. Finally exhausting himself, he ended with a caughing fit which only resulted in his stumbling back into the tent, nearly knocking down the center pole as he careened about looking for an unoccupied spot to land in. Finally, he sat down rather hard, wrapped himself in his blanket and sat staring dumbly at the ground, totally dejected and miserable.