Ilatsiak - 35

David woke. It was a new sound, a strange one, something hitting the roof of the skin tent. It was raining heavily. David rose and turned, coming to a sitting position under the caribou blankets. The inside of the tent was a quiet gloom, the only light was coming from the patches in the skin which had been scraped too thin and become translucent. The rain sounds seemed to increase, a regular pitter-patter which now and them turned into a rage of sound against the outside surface. It wanted to come inside and get everything wet. David sat there and listened, wondering whether it was worth getting his clothes on and going out to have a look. This was the first time he had seen real rain at all and here it was in early fall. In fact, it was highly unusual. Snow would be more like it, especially after the beautiful, cold, clear, sunny days of the past week or two.
Agayuk began waking up as well, stirred awake by the sounds outside. He turned and began his usual morning cough, pulling his long, black, stringy hair from his sleep-worn face, another standard morning routine. He then pulled himself from under the caribou skin he shared with his wife and, bare-naked, crawled along the ground to the hanging flap of leather which covered the entrance. Drawing it aside, he peered outside. As far as he could see, there was an overpowering whiteness, the snow beneath blending seamlessly into the clouds above. The illusion was made even more perfect by the fog which had come with the rain, which had begun to freeze as it hit the ground. The fog hung over the snow like a sullen dog, dripping wet and mean, something everyone would come to regret as the ice began to build up on everything.
David heard him mutter something, probably a curse of some sort. Rain and worse, the icy fog, meant the hunting would be useless today, not to mention making attempts at travelling awful as well. No, today it would be best to stay inside where one could at least be dry. He could hunt tomorrow. If not then, well, there was always the fish cached last month only a day’s walk southward from the camp. He turned from the doorway, got up, pretended to cover himself with false modesty, smiled at David with his friendly, toothy grin, mumbled something through his second coughing fit , during which David recognised the word “sila”, the weather, and then he slipped gracefully back under the caribou skins. Within minutes, he was snoring again, dead to the weather.
David pulled on his clothes then his tattered woolen coat and crawled though the tent opening. He stood up and looked around. The two other tents were drooping in the icy wetness, the side facing the weather glistening with its freezing coat. It had become much warmer than the past few days. That would account for the rain and fog. Below the crust, the snow was soft and wet and not the dry, hard granular stuff he had become so used to during the long winter months.
He walked around for a while, then realised he was getting soaked. His woollen coat had completely lost its ability to shed water like it had done when new. Instead, it just soaked in the moisture that fell on it, no longer beading on the surface where it was easy to brush off. His boots leaked as well. He could feel the remains of his socks getting wet around the toes, especially the left one. David needed to get some replacement clothes and vaguely wondered if he would be able to return to the ship in this weather, but came to the conclusion they would give him clothes anyway unless he stayed on the Erebus.
In this fog and rain, the whole world had turned white, every direction looked exactly like every other one, without any up or down or sideways. Once out of sight of the tents, he would be totally lost in this dimensionless world where there was nothing to guide him. Turning back to the skin tents, David wondered how the men he had left were fairing in the ships. At least, they would be under cover, he thought. The deck tenting was probably still up, so they would have lots of room to wander about out of the rain. They were probably thinking about getting the ships ready for yet another winter. The gossip was that the ships had not moved very much since they’d got stuck almost a year ago. Then he laughed, “I don’t care about those ships anymore! They don’t even know they’re frozen in for good...”

Ilatsiak - 34

David stopped and reminded himself again, they had begun calling him “erniq” - son - ever since he walked into Agayuq’s camp. It was his return from the hike northwards with Fairholme and the others that changed everything. They thought he had gone for good, so his appearance was treated with surprise and great joy. He had arrived just in time. The family - his family - would join in the annual fishing camp on Kikitarjjuq, as King William Land was called. This was an annual event when people from all around would meet at the big lake in the center of the island and celebrate the late summer season. There was always lots to eat: fish and caribou and sometimes people from the mainland to the south, would bring dried muskox, a real treat.
David jumped to his feet and once again walked along the shoreline. In his head he could hear the words and phrases of his newly acquired language, Inuktitut. He realised how quickly he was catching on. In a way it was more like Gaelic than English and that made it easy to learn. He was now able to understand much of what was being said and only speaking came slowly, but he knew it too would come, just like when he learned English, French and Dutch with old Captain Fergus - oh how long had it been since he remembered that kindly old man!
The more days passed, the less he thought of returning to the Erebus. Something seemed to block his mind whenever the idea of of the ships and their crews occurred to him. For some reason, David could never solidly grasp, he seem to be blocking the ships from his mind. They disappeared little by little each day and now when someone mentioned them he would think of they in the third person as though they were foreign to him in some inexplicable way.
Still, every now and then, David would wake up from a dream in which the information he knew had to be relayed immediately to those still aboard the ships. Sir John would be there waiting for him to arrive with vital news about the ice. From what the Inuit - to use their own name for themselves - had told him the ice in which the ships were beset could remain frozen where it was for several years at a time without melting or moving. This knowledge was crucial information which would affect the outcome of the voyage immensely. He had to get it to Sir John... Waking up, he would find himself in a cold sweat, but be unable to remember what it had been that caused him to awaken. He would search for a clue in his mind, but the more he probed, the more whatever it was remained hidden from him. Was it something about Sir John? No, he had died last Spring. It must have been something else, guilt over not returning to his ship? That must be it, but how could he return, especially now it was mid-summer and he was miles away?
In the meantime, David knew he was enjoying the experience of living with his newly adopting family - the first time he could really say he had a family with two parents and siblings! It was a very addictive feeling, this family thing and certainly was an easier life than putting up with the short tempers and grumblings most of the ship’s company displayed with him and each other during the last few months he had been on the Erebus. People would sometimes ask David how the ships would escape from the icy trap from which there seemed to be no escape? He would shrug the questions away. Surely the officers had already come to some conclusion and were probably making plans to do something. He had heard that the food would run out in three years, so that would be next summer. Perhaps they were already planning something, but he doubted it. Francis or one of the men would have said something about it. There were always rumous going around, but he’d heard nothing.
He found it hard to relate to his former life on the Erebus. It seemed so distant and unreal. Still, now and then he would over-hear a bit of Inuit gossip about the ships or the movements of the crew. None of the stories seem to amount to much and he found them easy to ignore. Surely, he thought, if over a hundred men began sailing away or marching en masse to safety the Inuit would be alerted and he would hear the stories and think once again about whether or not to join them. Until that time came, David made up his mind to stay with these easy-going happy people who got to eat fresh food a lot more often than he had since the ships entered the ice two years past. Until that time came, he would think about the ships as little as possible. David stopped and reminded himself again, they had begun calling him “erniq” - son - ever since he walked into Agayuq’s camp. It was his return from the hike northwards with Fairholme and the others that changed everything. They thought he had gone for good, so his appearance was treated with surprise and laughter. He had arrived just in time. The family - his family - would join in the annual fishing camp on Kikitarjjuq, as King William Land was called. This was an annual event when people from all around would meet at the big lake in the center of the island and celebrate the late summer season. There was always lots to eat: fish and caribou and sometimes people from the mainland to the south, would bring dried muskox, a real treat.
David jumped to his feet and once again walked along the shoreline. In his head he could hear the words and phrases of his newly acquired language, Inuktitut. He realised how quickly he was catching on. In a way it was more like Gaelic than English and that made it easy to learn. He was now able to understand much of what was being said and only speaking came slowly, but he knew it too would come, just like when he learned English, French and Dutch with old Captain Fergus - oh how long had it been since he remembered that kindly old man!
The more days passed, the less he thought of returning to the Erebus. Something seemed to block his mind whenever the idea of of the ships and their crews occurred to him. For some reason, David could never solidly grasp, he seem to be blocking the ships from his mind. They disappeared little by little each day and now when someone mentioned them he would think of they in the third person as though they were foreign to him in some inexplicable way.
Still, every now and then, David would wake up from a dream in which the information he knew had to be relayed immediately to those still aboard the ships. Sir John would be there waiting for him to arrive with vital news about the ice. From what the Inuit - to use their own name for themselves - had told him the ice in which the ships were beset could remain frozen where it was for several years at a time without melting or moving. This knowledge was crucial information which would affect the outcome of the voyage immensely. He had to get it to Sir John... Waking up, he would find himself in a cold sweat, but be unable to remember what it had been that caused him to awaken. He would search for a clue in his mind, but the more he probed, the more whatever it was remained hidden from him. Was it something about Sir John? No, he had died last Spring. It must have been something else, guilt over not returning to his ship? That must be it, but how could he return, especially now it was mid-summer and he was miles away?
In the meantime, David knew he was enjoying the experience of living with his newly adopting family - the first time he could really say he had a family with two parents and siblings! It was a very addictive feeling, this family thing and certainly was an easier life than putting up with the short tempers and grumblings most of the ship’s company displayed with him and each other during the last few months he had been on the Erebus. People would sometimes ask David how the ships would escape from the icy trap from which there seemed to be no escape? He would shrug the questions away. Surely the officers had already come to some conclusion and were probably making plans to do something. He had heard that the food would run out in three years, so that would be next summer. Perhaps they were already planning something, but he doubted it. Francis or one of the men would have said something about it. There were always rumous going around, but he’d heard nothing.
He found it hard to relate to his former life on the Erebus. It seemed so distant and unreal. Still, now and then he would over-hear a bit of Inuit gossip about the ships or the movements of the crew. None of the stories seem to amount to much and he found them easy to ignore. Surely, he thought, if over a hundred men began sailing away or marching en masse to safety the Inuit would be alerted and he would hear the stories and think once again about whether or not to join them. Until that time came, David made up his mind to stay with these easy-going happy people who got to eat fresh food a lot more often than he had since the ships entered the ice two years past. Until that time came, he would think about the ships as little as possible.

Ilatsiak - 33

David sat hunched down on the stony beach. If he faced just the right way the wind behind him would almost support him like the back of a chair. And he could watch the waves roll past the shore in endless succession as they had been doing now for the past few days. What a different place, where the wind could blow so hard for so long, yet the ice far out to sea just seemed to stay and stay, never moving. He was reminded of the expedition’s ships, the Terror and the Erebus. They too had remained beset in the ice where they had come to a stop in spite of ample wind and all because of the same unmoving ice. His mind turned next to the wretched Mr Shanks for some reason. Perhaps it was the constant wind and the thinking about the ice and chilly air.
How had he died so quickly? Was it the plunge into the cold sea that first day? Surely that wouldn’t be enough to kill a person. There must be some other reason for it. Was it his refusal to dry out hs clothes or do anything to help David try to get them dried? Certainly remaining in his damp bedding day after day had not helped his cough. It just kept getting worse and worse. Then it hit David again. The sight of Shanks curled up in the shelter when he returned from his walk southwards to look for the Eskimos. It was a scene that still woke David up from time to time. Somehow, he had died while David was away. Only a day’s walk, and Shanks had just died. There had been nothing about him that morning to suggest he was getting worse. It was so odd. Francis had been right. So many strange illnesses and deaths. Not that he liked Shanks much, he was a crude, simple man with few things about him that David found friendly. He talked only seldomly and more often than not it was to complain or rant aimlessly about their fate.
“I signed on to sail, not to lie freezing on this god-foresaken frozen beach.” he would shout at David. There was no answer to that, David knew. Since they had hastely set sail from Beechey Island where they’d spent their first winter, the expedition had managed just over a month of actual sailing and much of that had been spent tacking back and forth searching for a passage through the ice. Now another summer had passed and from what Fairholme and the others had said, the ships were stuck in the same place. The good news was that Lt Gore and Mr DesVoeux had made a trip southward along the west coast of King William Land in May and had found a cairn put up by Simpson and Dease. They discovered much better hunting further south which was good news given the growing number of people getting sick. As well, they had discovered there was a water route through to the Pacific if only the ice would melt! More and more of the ice would be leaving in the next days and weeks. David was sure it would and he was also certain the ships would be freed this year, even though the Inuit said they didn’t think it was possible.
David closed his eyes and let the warm sun beat on his upturned face, but he again saw Shanks. His mind once more went through what had happened at the depot that Spring. Pulling Shank’s body out of the shelter, rolling his blanket around him and then pulling him in the blanket down to the tide-line where he could lay him in an ice crack and cover him up with snow. He had tried to collect enough rocks or snow near the shelter to make a gravesite, but everything was too solidly frozen or in too small a quantity to cover up someone as large as Shanks. The ice crack seemed like the only place. At least there he was covered up. And it was only to be until the depot crew returned... He knew now that no one had come for them. Not until Fairholme organized the search party that found him in Agayuq’s camp.
David opened his eyes and stared once more across the miles and miles of pale brown landscape made of broken rocks. What had happened to everyone last winter? Certainly life on the ships was different from the early days that first winter. people had been slowly changing, he supposed. Too slowly to really notice, perhaps. He could see that now. Especially with his having been away from all of them for these many months. Something bad had been happening back on the ships. Was it just the fact that too many men had been alone for too long, trapped with nothing much to do. Certainly the past winter had not followed the same regimented routines in place at Beechey Island. There had been fewer trips out exploring. The rough ice prevented them from playing football and other games, and the shore was too far away to walk to even on pleasant days. Then there were the growing squabbles among the crew and officers. These thoughts were not pleasant ones. Why was he tormenting himself by letting all these questions come to the surface? Was it that he found Fairholme, Francis and the others moodier and crankier than he had remembered them only a few months previous? They seemed to be much weaker than he remembered, but maybe that was his imagination playing tricks. They had trouble when they were in Stormness and that was a long time ago. Why did these thoughts keep coming back to him? It was as though he knew the answers, but somehow couldn’t focus on them. Was it because he didn’t want to know? Was it because something deep inside him told him the ships were somehow doomed and he should avoid them? Or was it he feared what would happen now that Sir John was dead and meaner men were in change of his fate? Men he didn’t want to trust given what he’d just seen during the past few days?
In any event, it was time to move on. David knew he had to hurry southward or he might miss finding Agayuq, his new family.

Ilatsiak - 32

As they walked northwards, David kept to the shoreline, always watching the water, still amazed that it would be so inviting yet so cold. Even the azure blue colour was so tropical, almost Mediterreanian-like. How could this place be the arctic?
Fairholme shook his head as he gazed out at the sunlight dazzling on the blue water. Not a sign of ice anywhere. Why is it we are still so beset in ice even the ice-master admits is the heaviest ice he had ever seen in all his years of whaling in Davis Strait and elsewhere? Why had the expedition not checked out this coast more carefully? Surely the ships could have found a passage through the shallows, perhaps by hugging the Boothia coastline more closely. On his trek along the eastern shore of King William Land he never saw land extending towards the east. It always trended south and south-west...
He stopped again to arrange the sole on his left boot. The wet going and sharp stones had managed to loosen its sole and now it had begun to flap back nearly to his instep. Using the last bit of his silk neck scarf, he tied it up once again wondering as he did so how long it would last and what he would try as a fix the next time it flapped. Everything was running out. Each day there was less and less. Perhaps David had been right. He should have had it fixed by one of the women back at the camp. Still, how long would caribou sinew hold? Probably a mile or two, no more.
He looked across at David, dressed partly in native clothing, yet so carefree, skipping stones out into the calm water, counting the number of expanding ripples they created on their way. David would indeed be the great help just as Sir John had said he would be. How could it be that one so young had picked up the strange sounding language so quickly, after only a few months of contact with these people? And he even knew the word for map. Having the Inuit men draw the coastline of this land during his brief stay at the camp had been a real stroke of luck. Now they could be certain they were on an island. If David had it right, these people still remembered James Ross and his ships and the years they had wintered to the east of Boothia. It was Ross’s visit to the area that the hunter had been talking about that first day last Spring at the depot. David had learned that some of Eskimos had even travelled to Repulse Bay and knew about white men - kablunaat - from the people who sometimes wintered there. Yes, David would be an real asset. He felt ashamed to think how harsh he had been trying to convince Sir John of David’s folly of wanting to live with such primitive people when he had duties on board the Erebus. Now that Sir John was gone, he would have to speak with Fitzjames and Crozier and re-evaluate David’s status. But first he would have to break the news of Sir John’s death to David. They had become very attached to each other during the past two years the expedition had run. It would not be easy bringing the subject up. He’d have to think about a suitable way to let David know about Sir John, which would spare him too much pain.
His boot again serviceable, Fairholme signaled to the others and they continued on their homeward walk back to the magnetic observation post which had been established at Cape Felix during the previous fall and then, from there on they would head westwards over the rough ice where they’d eventually come to the ships lying still firmly beset in the ice about 15 miles offshore.
That evening, approaching Fairholme as he stood alone outside his tent fussing once again with his boot, David explained he would not be continuing on to the ships. Francis Pocock, one of the seaman had told him of Sir John’s passing and the difficulties which had become commonplace on the ships. David was surprised to hear about how badly the summer hunting had gone and the fact that food rations had been reduced by a third. By comparison he had eaten well all summer. They had cached both seals and fish during the summer as Agayuq had far more than he could use. David explained as well as he could that he no longer wished to return to the deprivations on the ships. Besides, he continued, there was no urgency anymore. In fact, he bluntly told Fairholme that he no longer felt welcome on the Erebus without Sir John’s protection and care for him. He had been almost a father to him.
In a way, this was a perfect out for Fairholme. He could declare David a deserter which would solve the problem his disappearance had created among the crew and at the same time relieve him of the responsibility of knowing where he was all the time. One less mouth to feed, one less soul to worry about also made the decision easier as well. Furthermore, he had the information regarding King William Land being an island as well as the news that the ice in which the ships were stuck only broke up on rare summers and not as a rule. Still, David was a British member of the expedition and to it he owed his loyalty, and this point bothered Fairholme.
“That may be your wish, Mr Young, but your duty is to the Expedition. I will consider your request and give you my answer in the morning. In the meantime, I expect you to assist the others as usual.” Fairholme, David could see, had not expecting his decision and insisted on treating it as a request, which it was not. This position made it harder on him, but his mind was made up. Just listening to Francis and the other men talking behind Fairholme’s back about how life on board the ships had changed, how their food was reduced and suspected of being bad, how their morale had broken down completely, with the men divided into cliques and full of petty jealousies, often fighting among themselves over little things. Worst of all was the revelation that more and more men were coming down with some mysterious illness much like scurvy, but worse, was proof enough. He couldn’t return no matter what his duty might be. It would be wiser to stay with Agayuq and perhaps eventually make his way to Repulse Bay or somewhere to the east and return to England that way. Surely there was little hope in remaining here until a rescue ship from England arrived. No doubt people back in England were already wondering why no word had been heard from the Expedition. They had been expected in the Pacific this summer, not stuck in the unrelenting ice. By next summer, their third out from England, a rescue ship would most likely be sent to find them, but given the bad news aboard the ships, would any of them still be alive when it arrived?
David left before any of them awakened the next morning, although he did shake Francis and thank him for the many kindnesses he had done for him over the past two years. He told him to head south and find the Inuit, as he called the Eskimo people, if conditions on the ships got worse. They would take care of him and perhaps together they could both get to Repulse Bay where people saw white people and English ships now and then. Francis declined. He believed the ice would free them and they would be on their way shortly. He still looked forward to becoming a hero when he got home to England, just like they said he would be as they left the docks in Greenhithe. David knew his mind was made up. He turned away and quickly ran inland along the ridge before finally heading southwards towards Agayuq’s camp. Hopefully they would all still be there...

Ilatsiak - 31

Their tents seemed to rise so naturally out of the ground they were all but invisible against the muted reds and browns of the low vegetation and the similiar colours of the stoney ground viewed in the weakening sunlight of mid-August. Fall was returning to the arctic once again. Each day the sun seemed to set earlier and earlier. Ice would form a skim on the little ponds overnight. The summers seemed so short; a month at best. People had begun to find ice now forming on the bay each evening whenever the ocean waters were calm.
Perhaps it was the sudden movement of the children running towards their parents that revealed the presence of people at all. Lt. Fairholme could pride himself at last. He had been leading the men at the moment they had topped the slight rise and came once again into view of the sea. And now, here between them and the beach were four tents made of brownish coloured skins, arranged in a haphazard fashion near the water’s edge. Holding up his hand and indicating the others to remain behind, Fairholme began walking down the slope to the nearest tent.
To his amazement, Fairholme watched as a young man crawled out of the tent, stood up, turned and cried out “Lt. Fairholme, sir!”
“Mr Young? Is that truly you, Mr Young? My god, man... We took you for dead... along with Shanks.” Fairholme was obviously taken aback seeing David long haired, dishevelled looking, but very much alive after having been missing and presumed dead for nearly three months.
“Yes, sir. It’s me,” David turned to view his Inuit friends who now began to relax somewhat. “I was meaning to head back to the ship... soon, sir. Have you been able to move at all this summer? I was wondering because people here say the ice seldom melts on the west coast.”
“A few miles, that is all. However it is time you returned - returned to civilization you might say, Mr Young. I think this adventure of yours has gone far enough if we’re to get you back to England in one piece. Whatever are you doing here with these... ah... people? What’s going on? And whatever happened to Shanks? Is he here as well?”
“England, sir? When will that be, sir?” asked David already knowing the answer would not be anytime soon.
“In good time, Mr Young. In good time. In the meantime, there is much to discuss. Is Mr Shanks here with you?”
David froze. “Mr Shanks, sir? No sir, he... he’s dead. Back at the Terror’s supplies. Did you not find him?”
“No body was found, Mr Young. How did he die?” There seemed to be a twinge of guilt in Lt. Fairholme’s voice.
“He fell through the ice, sir. Must have got pneumonia or something. He caughed terribly for a few days. He couldn’t move and then he died.”
“It was our fault, Mr. Young. We were unable to return for several weeks... much longer than we planned. Finally the supplies were ferried out by ship’s launch last July, but we found neither you nor Shanks. I’m glad to have found you alive, at least. Thank God! Your disappearance has been a considerable worry to us all.”
“I suspect it has, sir. I’m sorry to have abandoned the supplies, but these people came and I more or less had to go with them at least to visit their camp and I wanted to learn their language - I can almost speak it now - and, well, it wasn’t easy to return with all the travelling we’ve been doing... I didn’t know the way...” David stopped. He had run out of words. To see Fairholme again was comforting, yet at the same time, a shock after all this time. Most likely he would be required to return with him to the Erebus and he didn’t really care for that eventuality, at least not so unexpectedly, not like this. He wanted to return and show off all that he had learned in the months since his absence. This would be different.
Fairholme set about getting ready to leave the camp immediately, but David managed to persuade him to remain and eat and sleep before they began the return trek to Cape Felix and thence to the Erebus. As it turned out Fairholme’s party was nearly out of supplies and while the Inuit food was somewhat distasteful to them, they admitted they needed the sustainance it gave them.
It was actually several days later, in fact, on a fine day, with blue skies, very little wind and just a few clouds, as near to autumn as it gets in this strange land, when David, the two officers and the five crew-men set out walking towards Cape Felix, northward along the east coast of King William island. Fairholme and the others had found David and Agayuq’s extended family just north of Cape Norton waiting to cross over to Boothia to begin the fall sealing season. Another few days and they would have missed them completely. Agayuq had already repaired his kayak’s skin cover where some loose dogs had managed to eat some holes. The fact that he had caught a few seals was all that kept the four families from moving further along the coast and over to the Matty Islands themselves to where they would wait to cross over to Boothia.
Fairholme and the others had welcomed the chance to feast on fish and caribou meat during their short stay with Agayuq’s family and the others, although, having run out of cooking fuel for their little spirit stove, they were obliged to eat it either sun-dried or raw which did little to give them much satisfaction. The hunting had been so poor prior to their finding David that Fairholme had determined they would only last one more day before they would be forced to retreat northwards again or face possible starvation. Finding David like this was a miracle, to be sure in more ways than one.

Ilatsiak - 30

Lt. LesVisconte didn’t arrive at the Observation Site that day or even the next as expected. Lt Fairholme on hearing the news about Sir John’s health decided his duty lay in returning to the Erebus to be with his Commander. It was possible his illness was what was keeping LesVisconte at the ship. Fairholme realised he would surely be of more service there than here at the site where the only activity was the regular recording of the magnetic variations each day. Accordingly, he packed his gear again, repaired his boot for the umpteenth time and, accompanied by a Marine from the ship named Pvt. Joseph Healey, he set out over the ice. Even though the path was well trodden, it was by no means smooth. The recent snow had made walking difficult. Each step sunk down about 4 inches into a water-logged layer just above the ice itself. The warm weather, while vastely more bearable than the cold endured during the winter, also had its less welcome side - soaked feet. In any event, the two men trudged on. By noon, Healey estimated they were about half way to the ship, having walked about 10 miles altogether. They found a place to rest and ate their lunch cold, not having brought a stove with them. As they began to get ready to set out once again, the ice suddenly made a loud cracking sound. It made Fairholme jump, as if a cannon had suddenly discharged behind him. Healey, smiled, “I should have warned you, Sir. The ice has been making a lot of noises this past week. Good sign. It will be sending us on our way soon, if it doesn’t crush us first!”
“God willing, Private. I’ll be none too happy to have water under the keel again and be homeward bound.”
“Yes Sir. That’s everyone’s wish. It has been a hard winter, this one.”
With that the two men walked silently on, both dreaming of the ones they had left at home nearly two years ago.
“Would you look at that, sir?” Healey pointed downwards as he came up over the last hummock of ice. “It’s all water.”
Fairholme got his first look as he came to the top of the ice. The crack in the ice had allowed water from beneath to come to the surface and flood the path and the surrounding are, making a mini-lake about 100 yards in diameter. There was nothing to do but make their way over the jagged ice mounds which formed the lake’s sides. Half an hour later, they regained the trail and for the first time could see the Erebus laying at a slight list about two miles ahead.
Finally coming close to the ships, Fairholme found a number of the crew out on the ice beside the Erebus milling about. The previous winter he would have more likely seen a ball game underway with one watch playing another, the third watch acting as spectators, waiting to take on the winner. The scene was quite different now. Groups of men had formed more often more for the purpose of grumbling about something or other. The cheeriness had all but disappeared. Fairholme made a note to remind Sir John of the promise to get the men out hunting as soon as possible. Hunting always seemed to raise the spirits, and King William Land had offered good hunting in the fall and was bound to do so again with the summer solstice only a week or so away.
He climbed aboard, but no one greeted him as he pulled the canvas winter deck cover aside and looked along the ship. The deck was empty. He swung open the hatch cover, descended to the lower deck, turned to his left and then opened the door to his tiny cabin on the port side of the ship. All was as he had left it. He began to feel the warmth of the steam heating system installed in the ship. It felt good. He had almost forgotten what it was like to be warm again. Removing his heavy coat, his boots and socks, he dried himself off, pulled on a couple of dry socks and slipped into his homemade felt slippers. he then headed aft to the mess to inquire of the news. It was not good. Glum faces told the news without asking. Sir John was not expected to live through the day. It was June 11, 1847.