Finding John Rae Read online

  Through Ouligback, I described my heavy rifle’s function and purpose: for hunting and protection against unwelcome advances by predators. I told him the story of when I had been alone in a clearing during a solitary hunting excursion some years earlier. Silently, a band of wolves, more than a dozen of them, emerged from a cluster of bushes, and trotted — as if they were one body — directly towards me, then suddenly stopped, forming a silent, semi-circular formation around me. The largest one had slowly advanced, evaluating the prospects of bringing me to ground for a meal. I remained still, knowing there was no chance of surviving an attempted run for it. I slowly dropped to one knee and raised my rifle, praying that I would be able take the huge beast down with one well-aimed shot. Pulling the trigger with a shaking finger, I fired. The wolf let out a yelp, and jumped sideways. My heart sank when I realized that I had merely grazed him. I thought of grabbing the large knife in my pocket if the confrontation came down to a full-on battle. The knife was a last resource, but I would fight to the bitter end.

  There was no time for me to perform the impossible task of reloading the rifle and pulling the trigger again. I had my knife at the ready in case the pack became more aggressive, but before I could reach for it, a miracle occurred. Instead of springing forward and running me down, the pack turned around and trotted off in the direction of the bushes, followed by the wounded male. The sharp report of the gun and the clipping of the lead wolf must have caused them to change their minds about attacking me.

  In-nook listened to my story with keen interest. We laughed when I explained that even with such a powerful weapon as a rifle and my extensive experience with knives, I was aware that I would have stood little chance against twelve wolves. I confessed that my entire body shook from head to toe for what felt like a long time after the wolves’ sudden departure.

  I picked up my rifle, explaining to In-nook that it was the same weapon which had grazed the wolf and changed the pack’s notion of attacking me. I emptied the barrel of powder and lead before holding it out to him. At first he drew back, but I could see that he was curious to know how it worked. He held it for a few moments, moving his fingers along the grooves in the polished oak stock, feeling the smooth, metal barrel, curling his index finger around the crescent of the trigger. He rolled the ammunition around in the palm of his hand, assessing the weight and shape of it, while I explained through Ouligback how the firing mechanism caused a small amount of gunpowder in the pan to ignite, which in turn caused the powder in the barrel to ignite. In-nook was intrigued to hear that these two sequential explosions resulted in the bullet being shot out of the barrel at a high rate of velocity.

  “If In-nook wishes to fire off a few test shots with the rifle, I will show him how to use it,” I offered. Our guest smiled. Yes, he would like to do that. We returned to the discussion at hand. While Ouligback translated, In-nook resumed his story about the marching Kabloonans. I felt almost hypnotized as I watched the flames rising from the campfire and listened to the soft, rhythmic sound of our companion’s voice. In that setting, it seemed to me as though I was dreaming the news of the naval men’s suffering, or hearing the conversation from a distance. Finally, after what seemed like hours, I turned to Ouligback.

  “Mar-ko, we must ask two more questions.” I held up two fingers for In-nook to see.

  “One, can he tell me approximately when these Kabloonans were seen?”

  In-nook gestured and replied: “Four winters past.”

  I was further taken aback to hear that if the marching men were, indeed, from the Franklin Expedition, a group of them had still been alive as recently as 1850, while search parties were scattered everywhere looking for them. When the expedition left England in 1845, the British Admiralty declared the ships were equipped to sustain life for three years, perhaps four if it became necessary to impose severe rations upon the crews. I wondered when the men had made the decision to abandon at least one of the ships, and how any of them could have survived for up to five long years in one of the harshest climates on earth.

  “Two, would In-nook be willing to trade his shiny cap-band for one of my tools, so I may show it to the families of the men who died?”

  There was a long pause while our visitor considered this proposal. It was abundantly clear from his melancholy expression that he was very attached to it and feeling conflicted about giving it up. Finally he gave Ouligback his answer.

  “Our guest is disappointed to part with the band, but he has agreed to trade with you for it. For the families of the men who died.”

  I was relieved to have in my possession an object which had probably belonged to a British naval officer, as evidence that a group of men very likely from the Erebus or Terror was seen in an area southwest of Boothia Peninsula. I assured In-nook that his unselfish gesture would mean a great deal to the loved ones of the Kabloonans who had lost their lives in his homeland, so far away from their own homes.

  The next day I kept my promise about showing In-nook how to use my rifle. He was a good student, and after several enthusiastic attempts to hit a target at fifty yards, he was able to relax, take aim and complete his shots with accuracy. He was impressed enough with the weapon to attempt some sort of trade for it, but of course I could not grant his wish. It was essential for Mistegan, Ouligback and me to carry one rifle each, for hunting and safety reasons.

  Boothia Peninsula

  [APRIL 1854]

  We bade farewell to In-nook-poo-zhee-jook, he with one of our axes lashed to his sled, and I with the gold cap-band pressed between the pages of my notebook. We continued our westward journey across the peninsula, through foggy spring air and sticky snow, frequently meeting with rocky obstacles which forced us to reposition our equipment and alter our course. Complicating matters further was the worsening health of our two youngest men. In addition to these physical challenges, there was the near certainty, from what we had just learned, that Britain’s two remaining search ships, piloted by Sir Edward Belcher aboard the HMS Resolute and Captain Richard Collinson with the HMS Enterprise, in addition to another party from America, were looking only for ghosts, not men. It was time for those search parties to find their way home.

  I wrestled with making a decision about proceeding west at all, now that we had acquired such important information and our own travelling power was so diminished. By nature, I have always had a strong aversion to abandoning even the smallest of tasks. Even when great obstacles were presented to me, I was known for being determined to finish every undertaking I had set out to do.

  I had charted the eastern coast of the Boothia Peninsula during an 1846 and 1847 expedition, when I ascertained that it was not an island as previously thought, and therefore unlikely to offer any link from the Gulf of Boothia to points west. Was I being stubborn and selfish, risking the lives of those two young men in my charge by persisting in trying to reach the western coast of the Boothia Peninsula at this time? What was I hoping to find there? I had a hunch; that was all. I asked God to grant me the wisdom and power to reach the edge of the Polar Sea and then return our two infirm men to their families, alive.

  Ouligback and Mistegan never complained, but it soon became clear that we three were exhausted from hauling overburdened sledges across difficult terrain, especially when it blew a complete storm of ice and snow. My forty-one-year-old knees were growing stiff from the exertion, and my shoulders and arms were tight and aching. I had always been able to fall into a deep sleep for short periods of time and awaken feeling refreshed, but now that we had met In-nook and heard his story, my thoughts were racing and cluttered. A quiet mind eluded me.

  During the few times we stopped on this troubled leg of the journey, I drifted into an uneasy half-sleep and experienced disturbing dreams. In one haunting image, I was lying face down on an ice floe in choppy waters, attempting to hold on to the slippery edges with frozen fingers. I saw images of men floating nearby, their vacant eyes open and their faces ghostly white. They were upright and bobbing abou
t on the surface of the water, like tin bath toys. I awoke to the sound of nearby groaning. It was coming from Beads.

  I knew that the two weakened young men in our party would fare better with a few days of absolute rest. I concluded that this could be accomplished if we built a good shelter and left them there with food, warm coverings and other provisions while we travelled only as far as the coast and then returned for them. Based upon previous surveys of the North American coastline and according to my calculations, it would take Ouligback, Mistegan and me two days to get there. Each man expressed relief when we discussed the plan. The boys could rest for a while and we could keep moving. We constructed a small snow hut to house Beads and Johnston, and I promised we would see them again in four days’ time. I intended to keep that promise, no matter what we encountered when we reached the shores of the Polar Sea.

  Our group of three pushed ahead on our snowshoes at a brisk walk, taking turns pulling my scientific equipment on one sledge. Not a minute was to be wasted. We consumed dried pemmican as we moved, pausing only briefly to rest. On the second day, the two guides suddenly stopped in their tracks and lifted their faces to the air.

  “What is it, Mar-ko?” I asked.

  “A little bit of a salty smell, Ablooka,” he replied, using his Esquimaux name for me. He then said something to Mistegan, who nodded in agreement. “The coast is not far away.”

  A white veil of spring fog obscured our vision, making it difficult to ascertain our exact position, but according to my compass we were still on course and the coast should, in theory, lie due west and ahead of us. I sent Mistegan forward. He returned less than an hour later, reporting that visibility was poor, but the salty smell grew stronger, convincing him that we were close to our destination. He led us to where he had marked a spot with a pile of small rocks. We dropped the ropes of the sledge and sat down to rest. Now I could smell salt in the air as well. I pulled out my notebook and summarized the previous week’s events, including our chance meeting with In-nook and his proffered information about the fate of the Franklin Expedition.

  I was disappointed that our mission to map the west coast of the Boothia Peninsula would not be completed this year, but all was not lost. According to the custom of explorers in these northern regions, we constructed a cairn of rocks to mark our location, and cached some provisions within it. To this, I added a piece of paper with the date, my name and a description of the dual purpose of our expedition.

  Once the cairn was sealed, something remarkable happened, and our sagging spirits were lifted. A sharp wind suddenly arose from the east and drove the fog away, revealing an excellent view to the west, all the way across the Arctic tundra. I sent Mistegan a few miles north in search of game, while Ouligback collected moss to build a cooking fire on the rocks.

  With visibility improved, I was able to observe the area and take proper readings with my surveyor’s instruments. I stood up and stretched. “Mar-ko, I am going to take a walk, climb that hill and see what’s out there.”

  “All right, Ablooka. Fire looks good.”

  I picked up my telescope, rifle and shot bag. The wind was freshening; I tugged my sealskin cap down over my ears. When I reached the crest of the hill, I discovered that we were on a cape, jutting westward from the land and curling inward again. We were many hundreds of miles above the tree line; land elevations similar to this one appeared to be randomly strewn, as far as the unaided eye could see.

  During a survey expedition a few years earlier, I had ascertained that King William Land was not attached to the North American continent, and was therefore a large island. I wondered what kind of channel existed between the two masses of land. Would it be completely blocked by centuries-old pack ice, that glacial colossus constructed of compressed layers of snow, ice and sediment? Pack ice descends and retreats with the changes of the polar seasons, but it never truly melts.

  My heart skipped a beat when I looked down from my vantage point and noticed a long white strip separating two coastlines. A wide ribbon of ice snaked from the south and far out of sight, trending northward.

  I dropped my things and scrambled down the hillside onto the rocks. Fresh snow covered everything. When I reached the shore and wiped some of it away, I saw that the ice was rough, fragile and young, the age of one winter season. This was indeed a channel, and its wind-driven waves had been frozen in a heartbeat of time with their crests still in place. The ice squeaked and muttered as the slow spring thaw broke the crystal bonds holding it together; I could see that its tenuous grasp on the rocky shoreline was giving way to water burbling up from beneath.

  How far north was this channel’s reach? Could Franklin’s Erebus and Terror have come close to this area? Were they on the floor of the Polar Sea somewhere out there, or beset in pack ice and still visible? I had heard of the British government’s recent decision to officially declare all of the men dead, but it came as no surprise to hear that Lady Franklin and her many supporters refused to believe it was true. In a letter from my sister Marion, I learned that upon hearing the announcement Lady Franklin donned gay, colourful clothing and declared that there was no reasonable basis upon which to make such a dreadful assumption. Word had it that Lady Franklin and Sir John’s niece, Sophia Cracroft, appealed tirelessly to public sentiment to exert pressure on the Admiralty and prolong the search. They also raised funds to support a private expedition to ascertain what had really happened to Sir John Franklin and his men.

  I climbed the hill again and took up my telescope. To the north, at a distance of around thirty miles, I saw a high mound of land jutting into the channel, dwarfing everything else in view. The map depicted the mass as part of the mainland, but I suspected this was not the case. If my hypothesis was correct, the land mass was in fact a large island. Its crescent shape and bulk acted as a sentinel and barrier, protecting the channel from the invasion of descending pack ice, thus explaining why the ice lying before us had been recently formed. A notion concerning the general location of a navigable link in the Northwest Passage began to take shape in my mind.

  Excited, I returned to the temporary camp where a kettle of snow water was coming to a boil on Ouligback’s fire. Mistegan had arrived from his hunting expedition with six adult Arctic hares for skinning and cooking.

  “I’m sorry, Ablooka. No caribou.”

  I approached the men, waving my hands. Our tea and food would have to wait while I showed the men my remarkable discovery. “The hares will make a fine meal for us, Thomas. Men, come with me!” They followed me to the top of the hill; I pointed to what lay beyond.

  “What do you think of this?” I asked, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. There was a moment of silence, a brief discussion between the two men in Cree, and then Ouligback replied.

  “This ice is young, Ablooka. It travels from north to south, and it looks to go far. When it is warmer and the birds have arrived, maybe winds and currents can move a boat on its waters, to join with the rest of the Polar Sea.”

  My laughter erupted and spilled down the cliff onto the rocks below.

  “By God in Heaven, it is young ice, fellows!” I cried, clapping them both on the back. “There is a very good chance that this is the waterway the British Navy has been trying to discover for over a hundred years. I suspect this may be part of the missing link in the Northwest Passage!”

  I knew my discovery could not be verified until the channel was ice-free and fully navigated by a ship, next year at the earliest. I would have to be patient. In the excitement of the moment I wondered if my employers and the Admiralty would agree to equip me, so I could organize a two-pronged expedition to navigate the channel — both overland and by sea — to map the western Boothia coastline, and continue the search for the missing Erebus and Terror. I wondered again if the ships or at least some remains could still be found, and if by some miraculous twist of fate, any living British souls remained in the area. Was it possible that a sympathetic Esquimaux group had taken in some wandering Kabloonans?
Perhaps we would find more answers at Pelly and Repulse Bays if In-nook was successful in finding people who were willing to come and speak with us.

  “Mar-ko, explain to Mistegan that we must eat soon, take a short rest, pack up and retrace our route from the east. We should have about sixteen hours of daylight ahead of us. The wind may slow us down, but we’ve got to get back to Beads and Johnston. I will take readings now and make notes, while you prepare our meal and Thomas reloads the sledge.”

  As we worked I realized that with all the excitement of a fresh discovery, I had forgotten to give the cape a name. First, I logged the coordinates of the location in my notebook: Latitude 68°57’72” N, Longitude 94°32’58” W. I took temperature, wind and barometric pressure readings and so forth. Then I sketched my closest approximation of the elevations, contours and surroundings into my book so I would have my own copy when I produced the maps for the Hudson’s Bay Company and the Admiralty in London. I pondered what a suitable name might be for the hill and the promontory adjacent to it.

  “Point de la Guiche,” I said to no one, recalling a fellow I had met on a train a few years earlier when I had been travelling from Hamilton in Canada West, to Detroit and New York. The strange little man wore smart-looking clothes and looked aristocratic enough, or so I thought at the time. Holding a monocle to one eye, he had introduced himself as Count de la Guiche. The journey had passed quickly because he turned out to be an amusing travelling companion, but I soon suspected that he was not a count at all. I am still not sure why I named that important place after such a frivolous person. Perhaps it was because the moment of discovery reminded me that things are not always as they first appear to be.

  While we consumed our meal, we had a brief conversation about the fact that we had changed our travel plans because of Beads and Johnston. Mistegan shook his head, disappointed that we would be unable to continue our northward journey along the Boothia coast.