SIR JOHN FRANKLIN
Young Franklin--His Dreams of Adventure--He becomes a Sailor--His
First Arctic Expedition--Fails to get through Behring
Straits--Explores Baffin's Bay--The 1845 Expedition--The _Erebus_
and _Terror_--The "Good-Bye" at Greenland--Wellington Channel--They
select Winter Quarters--Discovery of the North-West Passage--Death
of Franklin--Prisoned in the Ice--The Crew Abandon the
Ships--Defeat and Death.
Sir John Franklin was born at Spilsby, in Lincolnshire, on April 16,
1786, and was one of a family of ten. It is said that his father
originally intended him for the clergy, but the boy had too restless and
roving a nature to look with contentment upon a quiet, uneventful life.
Nelson was the idol of his heart, and although a hundred years ago boys
were not quite so well provided with books and stories of their heroes
as they are to-day, young Franklin managed to acquire enough knowledge
of the doings of Nelson, and the other great British Admirals, to make
his heart thrill with enthusiasm for them, and for the element upon
which their greatness had been achieved.
His home was not so many miles away from the coast but that he had a
personal acquaintance, from early boyhood, with the scent of salt water
and the sight of the open sea. That, combined with what he learned of
Nelson, and the romantic yarns spun to him by any old sailor he chanced
upon, exerted over him the spell which, in all ages, has so powerfully
influenced British boys. The long stretch of moving water, which rolled
between him and the skyline, was the home of all that was wonderful and
glorious; the ships which sailed over it were, to his enthusiastic mind,
palaces of delight, journeying into realms of mystery, adventure, and
beauty. Over that sea lay the lands where the coco-palms grew, where
Indians hunted and fought, and where mighty beasts of strange and
fantastic shapes roamed through the palm groves. Over that sea, also,
lay the realms of ice and snow, of which more marvellous tales were told
than of the golden islands of the Southern Seas. And to sail over that
sea a great yearning came upon him. The life on shore, in peaceful,
steady-going Lincolnshire, was too dreary and hopeless for him; nowhere
could he be happy save on that boundless ocean, with room to breathe,
and surrounded by all the glamour of romance.
Fortunately for the glory of British naval history, the elder Franklin
did not shut his eyes to the attractions the sea had for his son, but,
as a wise parent, he regarded the wish to follow the sea as merely a
boyish whim. It would be better to let the boy have a taste of the
realities of the life at once, and so cure the fancy which threatened to
interfere with the paternal desires as regards the clergy. Every one
knew how attractive a sailor's life looked from the shore, and most
people knew how much more attractive life on shore looked from the sea.
If John wanted to see what a sailor's life was like, he should have his
opportunity, and the father, in arranging for his son to sail in a
trading vessel to Lisbon and back, probably felt satisfied that the
rough fare and hard work he would experience would effectually cure him
of any desire for more. But the future Arctic hero was made of sterner
stuff than to be turned away from his ambition by such trivial
circumstances. He returned from the Lisbon trip more enthusiastic than
ever for a sailor's life. His father gave way before so much
determination, and young Franklin shortly afterwards entered the Navy.
His first ship was H.M.S. _Polyphemus_, and he was present on board at
the battle of Copenhagen, under the supreme command of his idol Nelson.
His first Arctic experience did not come until 1818, when he had reached
the rank of lieutenant and was second in command of an expedition sent
out to find a way through Behring's Straits. Two vessels formed the
expedition--the _Dorothea_, 370 tons, under Captain Buchan, and the
_Trent_, 250 tons, under Lieutenant Franklin, the latter carrying a crew
of ten officers and twenty-eight men. Their instructions were to sail
due North, from a point between Greenland and Spitzbergen, making their
way, if possible, through Behring's Straits. The ships, which would
to-day only rank as small coasting craft, were soon imprisoned in the
ice and so severely crushed that as soon as the winter passed and escape
was possible, they were turned towards home. The practical results of
the expedition were valueless, and only one circumstance in connection
with it saved it from being a failure. This was the introduction of
Franklin to that sphere of work which, during the remainder of his life,
he was fated so brilliantly to adorn.
The following year, 1819, saw him again facing the North, this time in
company with Captain Parry, and with a well-arranged plan of operations.
Parry was to remain in the ships and explore at sea, while Franklin was
to push along the shores of Baffin's Bay, making as complete a survey as
possible. For three years the work was continued, until, by 1822, the
party had travelled over 5550 miles of previously unexplored country
along the North American coast. Returning to England, Franklin enjoyed a
well-earned rest, until, in 1825, he was placed in charge of an
expedition to complete the surveys of the coast along which the
North-West Passage was supposed to run. With the experience of his
former expedition, he was able to work more rapidly on this occasion,
and by 1827 he was back again in England with his task completed. Not
alone had all the surveys been carried out, but he had demonstrated his
qualities as a leader of Polar expeditions by returning with the loss of
only two men.
[Illustration: W. E. PARRY'S ATTEMPT TO REACH THE POLE, 1827.]
In spite of this, however, nearly twenty years were to elapse before he
was again entrusted with a command in the Arctic regions. He was sent,
meanwhile, to be governor of the colony of Tasmania, or, as it was then
called, Van Diemen's Land, a large island to the south of Australia.
Here in the metropolis, Hobart, a statue of Franklin stands in Franklin
Square, and it is curious to think that the man whose work in the
Northern Hemisphere is an immortal monument of his name in the region of
the North Pole should have his memory perpetuated by a statue nearer the
South Pole than any in the Southern Hemisphere. Verily, a world-wide
reputation.
In 1845 the expedition started which, more than anything else, tended to
make Franklin the popular hero he has become. The _Erebus_ and _Terror_,
which formed the fleet, had already proved their capacity for
withstanding the strain and pressure of the ice-floes. They each carried
a crew numbering sixty-seven officers and men, and while Franklin took
charge of the _Erebus_ with Captain Fitz-James, the _Terror_ was
commanded by Captain Crozier. The ships were provisioned for three
years, and the task set them was to discover and sail through the
passage from the Atlantic to the Pacific Oceans. The intention of the
Government was to ascertain whether or not this passage existed, and
Franklin was instructed to go by Lancaster Sound to Cape Walker (lat.
74 deg. N.; long. 98 deg. W.) and thence south and west to push through
Behring's Straits to the other ocean.
Franklin was full of enthusiasm as to the outcome of the expedition.
That it would prove the existence of the passage he had no doubt, and
subsequent events justified him. But he had bigger notions than merely
proving the passage. "I believe it is possible to reach the Pole over
the ice by wintering at Spitzbergen and going in the spring before the
ice breaks up," he said before starting, and no one would have been
surprised had he returned in the three years with a record of the
journey. Public interest was thoroughly aroused in the enterprise, and
when the two vessels set sail from Greenhithe on May 19, 1845, they had
a brilliant send-off. On June 1 they arrived at Stromness in the Orkney
Islands, and on July 4 at Whale Fish Island, off the coast of Greenland,
where the despatch-boat _Barreto Junior_ parted company with them to
bring home Franklin's despatches to the Admiralty, reporting "All Well."
Later on came the news that Captain Dannett, of the whaler _Prince of
Wales_, had spoken to them in Melville Bay.
Then the months passed and grew into years, and still no sign or token
was received from them. Public opinion, stimulated by the interest taken
in the departure of the expedition, began to grow anxious at the
prolonged silence; but the last despatches had been received and the
last tidings direct from the ships had come to hand. Over their
subsequent actions and adventures the heavy veil of the Frozen North
hung until intrepid searchers raised it and learned the sad but gallant
story of how the North-West Passage was discovered and the route to the
Pole marked clearer.
When the _Erebus_ and _Terror_ parted company with the despatch-boat on
July 4, they shaped their course through Baffin's Bay towards Lancaster
Sound. Continuing their way, they passed Cape Warrender and ultimately
reached Beechy Island at the entrance of the then unexplored waters of
Wellington Channel. They passed through the channel, taking such
observations as were necessary as they went, until they had sailed 150
miles. Further progress being stopped by the ice, they passed into
another unexplored channel between Cornwallis Island and Bathurst Island
which led them into Barrow's Straits, nearly 100 miles west of the
entrance to Wellington Channel.
The ice was now forming thickly around them, and attention was directed
to discovering a comfortable haven where they could come to rest and
remain while the ice closed in around them during the long winter
months. A suitable harbour was found on the northeasterly side of Beechy
Island and the ships were made snug. All the spars that could be sent
down were lowered on to the decks, and the rigging and sails stowed away
below before the ice surrounded them, so that when the floes began to
pack and lifted the hulls of the vessels, there should be no
"top-hamper" to list them over. On the frozen shore huts were built for
the accommodation of shore parties, and, as the ice spread around and
the snow fell, the men found exercise and amusement in heaping it up
against the sides of the vessels as an extra protection against the
cold, the thick mass of frozen snow preventing the escape of the warmth
from the inside of the ships. But where there were fires always going to
maintain the temperature of the cabins, the danger of an outbreak of
fire had to be zealously guarded against. With all the ship's pumps
rendered useless by the frost, and the water frozen solid all around, a
conflagration on board a vessel in the Arctic seas is one of the
grimmest of terrors. The safeguard is the maintenance, in the ice near
the vessel's side, of a "fire hole," that is, a small space kept open by
constant attention down to the level of unfrozen water.
During the long winter months there was plenty of time to estimate the
progress they had made, and there must have been considerable
satisfaction on all sides at what they had accomplished. They had
circumnavigated Cornwallis Island and had reached to within 250 miles of
the western end of the passage.
The first Christmas festival of the voyage was kept up with high revel.
If fresh beef was not available, venison was, and there was plenty of
material for the manufacture of the time-honoured "duff." The officers
and men, clad in their thick, heavy fur garments, clustered together as
the simple religious service was read, and over the silent white
covering of sea and land the sound of their voices rolled as they sang
the hymns and carols which were being sung in their native land. Then
came the merrymaking and the feasting in cabins decked with bunting, for
no green stuff was available for decorating.
The first New Year's Day was saddened by the death of one of their
comrades, and the silent ice-fields witnessed another impressive sight
when the crews of both vessels slowly marched ashore to the grave dug in
the frozen soil of Beechy Island. The body, wrapped in a Union Jack, was
borne by the deceased man's messmates, the members of his watch headed
by their officers following, and after them the remainder of the
officers and crew. The bells of each ship tolled as the _cortege_ passed
over the ice, the crunching of the crisp snow under foot being the only
other sound till the grave was reached. There the solemn and impressive
service of a sailor's funeral was said, the mingled voices as they
repeated the responses passing as a great hum through the still, cold
air. A momentary silence followed as the flag-swathed figure was lowered
into the grave, and then a quick rattle of firearms as the last salute
was paid echoed far and wide among the icebergs.
Twice more was that scene repeated before the ships cleared from the
ice, and one of the first signs discovered by the searchers after
Franklin were the three headstones raised on that lonely isle to the
memory of W. Braine, John Hartwell, and John Torrington, who died while
the ships were wintering in the cold season of 1845-6.
By July the ice had broken up and the voyage was resumed and passed
without any exceptional incident, up to the middle of September 1846,
when they were again caught by the ice, but 150 miles nearer their
destination than the year before. Only 100 miles more to be sailed over
and they would be the conquerors--but that 100 miles was too firmly
blocked with ice-floes for them ever to sail over.
The winter of 1846-7 was passed just off the most extreme northerly
point of King William's Land. The ice was particularly heavy, and hemmed
the vessels in completely, the surface being too rugged and uneven to
permit of travelling in the immediate vicinity even of hunting parties.
This was the more unfortunate because the provisions were growing scant,
and supplies brought in by hunters would have been of great assistance.
At the time of starting, the vessels had only been provisioned for three
years. Two had now passed, so that only a twelvemonth's stock of food
remained in the holds. It might occupy them all the next summer in
working through the remaining 100 miles of the passage, and that would
leave them with another winter to face, unless they were sufficiently
fortunate in finding open water when they reached the end. But, on the
other hand, they might not be able to get through in the time, or the
passage might not be navigable. Either possibility was full of very
grave anxiety for those in command, for it was a terrible prospect of
being left, with 130 men to feed, in the midst of the frozen sea, "a
hundred miles from everywhere."
The anxiety felt was shown by the despatch, as early as May, or two
months before the first flush of summer was due, of a specially selected
party of quick travellers to push forward over the ice and spy out the
prospects ahead. Lieutenant Graham Gore, of the _Erebus_, commanded the
party, which consisted of Charles des Voeux, ship's mate, and six
seamen. They carried only enough stores to last them on their journey,
and each one had to contribute his share to the labour of hauling the
hand-sledges over the jagged ridges of broken ice. Skirting along the
coast of King William's Land, they arrived at a point from the top of
which they were able to discern the mainland coast trending away to the
horizon, with a sea of ice in front. It was the long-dreamed-of end of
the North-West Passage.
To commemorate the fact the little party built a cairn upon the summit
of the point, which they named Point Victory, and enclosed in a tin
canister they deposited, under the cairn, a record of their trip and its
result. Twelve years later this record was found, and by it the honour
due to Franklin for the discovery of the passage was confirmed. But the
manner of its finding must be told later on.
Elated with the success of their efforts, Lieutenant Gore and his
companions retraced their way back to the ships, for with the end of
their journey so near at hand, all fears of the provisions running short
were at an end. As soon as the ice broke up they would be away into the
sea they had seen from Point Victory, and sailing home with their
mission accomplished, their task completed, and nothing but honour and
glory waiting them at home. As soon as they came within sight of the two
ships, perched up among the ice ridges, they shouted out to their
comrades to let them know of the success achieved. Round about the ships
they saw men standing in groups, but instead of answering cheers, the
men only looked in their direction. Unable to understand why so much
indifference was displayed, Lieutenant Gore and his companions hurried
forward, and, as they came nearer, some of the men separated themselves
from the groups and came to meet them with slow steps.
Soon the cause of their depression was made known to the returned
explorers. The leader of the expedition lay dying in his cabin on board
the _Erebus_.
Lieutenant Gore, his enthusiasm at his success sadly damped, went on
board the flagship at once, hoping that the news of victory might still
be given to Sir John before he died. He was led into the cabin and
briefly told the story of his journey, and how, from Point Victory, he
had looked out over to the coast of the mainland. The news, the last
which Sir John Franklin was to hear on earth, was perhaps the sweetest
he had ever known, for it meant that he had triumphed and had won a
lasting name and memory for his services to Sovereign and State. On June
11, 1847, his life ended at the moment of his brightest achievement.
Captain Crozier, of the _Terror_, assumed command of the expedition,
and as summer was at hand, everything was made ready against the time
when the ice would break up. Ice-saws were fixed ready to cut passages
through the floes when they began to separate, and ice-anchors were run
out so that the vessels could be warped along whenever an opening
occurred. Daily the crews mustered on board and looked over the ice for
some sign of the breaking of their imprisonment, for some loosening of
the iron grip of the ice round their vessel's sides, but all in vain.
The two ships were wedged in a vast mass of ice, through which it was
impossible to cut their way. Instead of breaking up in lesser fields and
floes of ice, the mass remained packed, creaking, crashing, and
straining by night and day as it slowly made its way nearer the coast of
the mainland, carrying the ships with it until they were within 15 miles
of Point Victory, and 60 miles of the mainland coast.
Soon the short summer months had passed and the dark period of winter
was upon them again, with the provisions daily growing scarcer, and the
hope of getting their ships out of the ice fainter. Another evil came
upon them when among the members of the crew scurvy, the dreaded enemy
of the early Polar explorers, broke out. By the following April twenty
of their number had succumbed to it, nine being officers, one of whom
was Lieutenant Gore.
On April 22, 1848, the remaining 105 officers and men gathered on the
ice around the two ships. They had with them sledges laden with what
provisions were left, and two whale-boats. Slowly and sorrowfully they
bade farewell to the vessels which had been their homes for nearly three
years, and set out to march over the ice to the mainland. Their plan was
to push on until they reached the Great Fish River, where they might
obtain succour either from travelling bands of Indians or at some
outlying station of the Hudson Bay Company. Travelling at the rate of
five miles a day, so rough and difficult was the route, they arrived on
April 25 at the cairn where Lieutenant Gore had left the record of his
journey over a year before. The canister in which it was enclosed was
opened, and round the margin was written this brief, pathetic story:--
"April 25, 1848. H.M.S. _Terror_ and _Erebus_ were deserted on April 22,
five leagues N.N.W. of this point, having been beset since September 12,
1846. The officers and men, consisting of 105 souls, under the command
of Captain F. R. M. Crozier, landed here in lat. 69 deg. 37' 42" N., long.
98 deg. 41' W. The paper was found by Lieutenant Irving in a cairn supposed
to have been built by Sir James Ross in 1831, four miles to the north,
where it had been deposited by the late Commander Gore in June 1847. Sir
James Ross's pillar has not, however, been found, and the paper has been
transferred to this position, which, it is thought, is where Sir James
Ross's pillar was erected. Sir John Franklin died on June 11, 1847, and
the total loss of life by death in the expedition has been to this date
nine officers and fifteen men. Start to-morrow, April 26, for Back's
Fish River."
The record, left as a sign, should it ever be found, of the direction
they had taken, the party resumed their dreary march over the frozen
shores of King William's Land. The men formed themselves into teams for
the purpose of dragging the sledges and whale-boats, and the officers
marched beside them, helping them and encouraging them. Even the snail's
pace of five miles a day became too severe a strain for many of the men,
weakened as they were by attacks of scurvy and reduced rations. Soon it
became evident that if a place were to be reached where help and food
could be obtained before the provisions were absolutely exhausted, it
would be necessary for the stronger to push forward at a more rapid
rate.
A council was held, and it was decided that the strongest should take
enough supplies to last them for a time and push forward as rapidly as
possible, while the remainder should follow at a slower rate and by
shorter stages. The majority were in the latter division, and only a few
days elapsed after the smaller band, numbering about thirty, had left,
before the ravages of scurvy and semi-starvation made it impossible for
even less than five miles a day to be covered. So debilitated were all
the members that further advance was abandoned until they had, by
another long rest, tried to recuperate their energies. But the terrible
bleakness of the place where they were wrought havoc among them, and
every day men fell down never to rise again, until the only hope for the
survivors lay in returning to the ships, where, at least, they would
have shelter. Wearily they staggered over the rugged ice ridges, each
man expending his remaining energies in striving to carry the
provisions, without which only death awaited them. Men fell as they
walked, unnoticed by their companions, whose only aim was to get back to
the ships, and whose faculties were too dimmed to understand anything
else. Blindly, but doggedly, they stumbled onward, silent in their
agony, brave to the last when worn-out nature gave way and they sank
down, one after the other, till none was left alive, and only the still
figures, lying face downwards on the frozen snow, bore mute witness of
how they had neither faltered nor wavered in their duty, but had died,
as Britons always should die, true to the end.
Their comrades who had left them to push forward for help were equally
stolid in their struggle against overwhelming odds. As they were
crossing the ice between King William's Land and the mainland, a great
cracking of the floes startled them with the fear that the ice was
breaking up. Hastily placing their stores in the whale-boat, which they
had been dragging in addition to the hand-sledges, they abandoned
everything else, fearful lest the sudden opening of the floes might cut
them off from a further advance. Harnessing themselves to ropes, they
toiled and struggled onward with the boat. They reached the mainland,
but at a terrible sacrifice, for in their haste they had left much of
their scanty supplies behind. Their food ran out and hope was almost
dead, when they espied a small camp of Eskimo.
Fresh life came to them as they learned that they were nearly up to the
Great Fish River, and they bartered away some spoons and forks, Sir John
Franklin's star, part of a watch and some other metal articles to the
Eskimo for a recently killed seal. Had they waited longer with the
natives, they might have obtained more food and have recovered somewhat
from their fatigue, but in the mind of each was the memory of their
stricken comrades toiling on behind, and hoping from day to day for the
arrival of relief. Personal feelings were forgotten before that memory,
and the gallant little party resumed its way, fighting with all the
dauntless bravery of heroes to win help for their weaker
friends--fighting till their limbs refused to move, till their starving
bodies were numbed and frozen. Then, falling in their own footsteps,
they passed away, one by one, silent and uncomplaining, to the list of
Britain's honoured dead.