Chapter 15 Chapter 15 Franklin

Seventy degrees five minutes north latitude, ninety-eight degrees twenty-three minutes west longitude June 11, 1847 On the day Sir John died he had almost recovered from the shock of seeing the Eskimo girl naked. It was the same young woman, the same teenage Yellowknife Indian whore.On his ill-fated first expedition in 1819, the Devil had sent her, the fifteen-year-old green sock of the womanizer Rob Hood, to entice him, Sir John was quite sure.The woman who seduced him now had the same brown skin that glowed in the dark, the same height, the same girlish round breasts, the same brown areolas, and the same black crow-feather darkness above the sex organs pubic hair.

The same banshee who seduces men in her dreams. Captain Sir John Franklin was momentarily frightened when he saw her lying naked in the bed-area on McDonald's doctor's table, on board his ship.But Sir John was sure that during the seemingly interminable bewildering remainder of the day he did not let the ship's doctors and the other two captains perceive him. Lieutenant Goer's funeral was held late in the day on ### Friday.It took a large engineering team twenty-four hours to dig through the ice so that his body could be buried in the sea.To complete the project, they had to blast away the top ten feet of rock-hard ice with black dynamite, and then use picks and shovels to dig a wide-mouthed hole so that the remaining five feet could be removed. Left and right ice pierced.By the time they finished their work at noon, Mr. Vikis, the carpenter of the Erebus, and Mr. Harney, the carpenter of the Terror, had made a fine wooden platform over a ten-foot-by-five-foot opening into the dark sea.Workers with long pickaxes stayed in the pit, keeping an eye out for the ice below the platform to freeze again.

The temperature on board was high, and Lieutenant Guoer's body began to decay rapidly, so the carpenters first made a very strong coffin with mahogany, and lined it with a layer of fragrant cedar wood. A layer of lead was added between the two layers of wood, instead of two iron balls usually placed in a canvas burial bag, to ensure that the body would sink into the water.Mr. Smith, the blacksmith, cast, hammered, and carved a handsome memorial bronze, which was screwed to the mahogany coffin.Because this funeral has the nature of both a shore burial and a general sea burial, Sir John specifically requested that the coffin must be heavy enough so that it would sink immediately.

At the stroke of eight bells, shortly after the first part of the Evening Watch began--four o'clock in the afternoon--the crews of both ships assembled at the burial site a quarter of a mile from the Erebus.Sir John ordered that everyone on board, except the basic number of guards, be required to attend the funeral.He also stipulated that no other clothing could be worn over the uniform.So when the time came, more than a hundred officers and sailors, formally dressed but trembling all the time, gathered on the ice. Lieutenant Goer's coffin was lowered onto the ice from the side of the Erebus, then strapped to a large sled that had been reinforced for today's tragic mission.Sir John draped his own flag over the coffin.Then thirty-two sailors, twenty from the Erebus and twelve from the Terror, slowly pulled the coffin sleigh for a quarter of a mile to the place of burial.Four of the youngest were cadets on the crew list: George Chambers and David Younger of the Erebus and Rob Godin and Thomas Evans of the Terror, in black A slow version of the march was played on Bu's drum.This solemn procession was escorted by twenty men, including Captain Sir John Franklin, Lieutenant Colonel Fitzjian, Captain Crozier, and other officers and adjutants (except those who remained on board the two almost empty ships).Everyone is wearing formal military uniform.

At the burial site, Royal Marines musketeers in red jackets stood and waited.They were led by Thirty-three-year-old Sergeant David Bryan of the Erebus, and included Corporal Pearson, Private Harpque, Private Pikindon, Private Healey, and Private Zed, all of whom From the Nether.Only Private Blanney was absent from the flagship Marines, for he had died the previous winter and was buried on Beach Island.Then there were Sergeant Toots, Corporal Hedges, Two Weggis, Two Blackmon, Two Heller, and Two Dudley, all from HMS Terror. Although Mercury was about to set, Sunday dawn was quite clear and thirty degrees colder than the previous day, with a temperature of minus nine degrees at noon.Sir John announced that all would be attending Sunday service on the Erebus that day.

The crew and officers of Sir John's ship had to attend Sunday service every week.During the dark winter months he presided over the services in the main cabin.However, only the most devout of the Terror's crew cross the ice plain to attend worship.Because Sunday worship is a requirement of the Royal Navy--not so much a rule as a tradition--Captain Crozier also arranges a Sunday service, but since there is no priest on board, the service becomes a formality, sometimes just reading To read the ship's regulations, and only for twenty minutes, instead of Sir John's eagerness to let the service go on for ninety minutes or two hours.

But this Sunday, everyone has no other choice. For the second time in three days Captain Crozier came across the ice with his officers, adjutants, and crew, this time wearing great coats and gloves over their uniforms.When they arrived on the Erebus, they were surprised to find that the service was to be held on deck, and Sir John was to preach from the quarterdeck area.Although the sky above is pale blue and there are no golden domes of ice crystals and no symbolic parhelia today, the wind is very cold and the crew huddled together below the afterdeck area, trying to comfort themselves with and the officers of both ships, like a whole line of squires in great coats, stood behind Sir John, on the weather-beaten side of the deck.The twelve Marines lined up again, standing on the lee side of the deck, Sergeant Brian at the front, and the NCOs gathered forward of the mainmast.

Sir John stood on the compass box, which was covered with the flag which had previously covered the coffin of Lieutenant Gore, in keeping with the "sacred pulpit". He only spoke for an hour or so, so no one was freezing toes or fingers. It is Sir John's nature and inclination to prefer the Old Testament over the New Testament, so he took everyone to review the prophecies of several Old Testament prophets.At one point his sermons focused on the prophet Isaiah's prophecy about the earth: "Behold, the LORD has made the earth empty and desolate; he has turned it over and scattered its inhabitants." As more and more scriptures and explanations appeared, Even the slowest of the crew on the main deck in their overcoats, scarves, and mittens slowly began to understand that the Commander-in-Chief was talking about this expedition to find the Northwest Passage and the current entrapment at 70°5' N, The dilemma of ninety-eight degrees and twenty-three minutes west longitude.

"The earth shall be utterly empty and desolate; for the Lord has spoken," continued Sir John, "the fear and the pit and the snare are near you, O inhabitants of the earth.... Whoever hides from the voice of fear shall fall into the pit; He who comes up out of the pit will be caught in a snare. For the windows of heaven are opened, and the foundations of the earth are shaken... The earth is utterly broken, and everything is split open, and the earth shakes. The earth will topple to this side, like a drunken man..." As if to confirm this tragic prophecy, a loud whimper suddenly came from the ice field around the Nether, and the deck under the crew's feet also began to move.The icy-framed masts and yards seemed to vibrate, spinning slightly against the pale blue sky.No one left the line or made a sound.

Sir John jumped from Isaiah to Revelation to show them that there are still more tragic scenes awaiting those who turn away from God. "But what if they...we...don't break our covenant with the Lord?" asked Sir John. "Look at the example of Jonah." Several crew members breathed a sigh of relief for a moment.They were familiar with Jonah's story. "God sent Jon to the city of Nineveh to rebuke aloud against the people of that place, for they are full of wickedness," said Sir John aloud, his voice, which had been too weak, suddenly growing louder, with a intensity and cadence that could even match the The God-inspired Anglican pastor compared, "But Jonah -- you all know this, fellows -- he ran away from the mission the Lord gave him, and from the presence of the Lord, and went instead to Joppa, where he jumped On board the first ship to leave, which happened to be heading for Tarshish, beyond the end of the world at that time, Jonah foolishly thought that he could take this ship far from the kingdom of God.

"Right now, friends, we're suffering from the Leviathan taking the form of a hostile Ice Bear. But that thing is just an Ice Bear, and no matter how loyal it may be to our enemies, it's just a mindless The Beast. Like Jonah, we must pray to the Lord that this horror will leave us, and we can be sure that the Lord will hear our prayers. "Kill that which is but a beast, my fellows, and on the day it succeeds, whichever of us kills it, I swear I will pay each of you ten gold pieces out of my own pocket." The crew, huddled around the waist of the boat, began to whisper. "Ten gold pieces each," repeated Sir John, "not just for those who slay the wild beasts as David slew Goliath, but there is a prize for everyone, and everyone has a share, and gets the same reward." A lot. In addition, you will continue to receive the salary of the Royal Exploration Corps, and I promise to pay you as much allowance as your signing bonus in the future, just to repay you for being willing to stay one more winter here to eat delicious food food, turn on the heat, and wait for the snow to melt!" If you can laugh at church, someone will laugh.But in reality, the crew just looked at each other's pale, almost frostbitten faces.Ten pounds of gold coins per person, and Sir John also promised to give an additional allowance as much as the signing bonus after returning.Many people participated in this expedition because of the high signing bonus points at the beginning, and most of them could get twenty-three pounds!A person's rent at that time was only sixtypence a week, and twelve pounds for a whole year.This is just a benefit added to the annual salary of 60 pounds for the average sailor of the Royal Exploration Corps, but it is more than three times the salary of any worker on the shore.A carpenter's salary is seventy-five pounds, a bosun's salary is seventy pounds, and an engineer's salary is exactly eighty-four pounds. The crew smiled and stomped furtively on the deck to keep their toes from freezing. "I have ordered Mr. Digger on the Terror and Mr. Wall on the Nether to prepare a festive dinner for us today, to wish that we will overcome the misfortune, and this expedition will be successful." Sir John said from Shout down from the pulpit adorned with flags. "I also allow the people on both ships to drink an extra rum tonight." The crew of the Erebus could only look at each other with slack jaws.Sir John Franklin would allow a drink on Sunday, and an extra? "Come and pray with me, fellows," said Sir John. "Dear God, turn your eyes to us again, O Lord, give grace to your servant. Please fill us early with your mercy, so that we may rejoice and rejoice all the days of our lives. "Give us joy, according to the days of your affliction and the years of our affliction. "Let your deeds be seen to your servants; let your glory be seen to their children. "May the Lord our God be upon us; may the work of our hands be established; the work of our hands shall be established. "Glory to the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. "In the beginning, now, and forever, Amen." "Amen." One hundred and fifteen voices responded. For four days and four nights after Sir John's sermon there was a June blizzard from the North West, which made visibility very poor and movement difficult, but there was occasional shotgun banging on the frozen sea The gunshots and the dada of the muskets.Everyone who could find a reason to be out on the ice (hunting party, fire-hole maintenance crew, messenger between two ships, carpenter testing a new sled, sailors allowed to take Neptune, the boat's dog, out for a walk) was armed and Shoot at anything that moves or looks like it will move in snow or fog.No one was killed by mistake, but three people had to go to Dr. McDonald or Dr. Goodser to get the ship's doctor to help extract the shotgun fragments in the thigh, calf and buttock. On Wednesday, a hunting party actually brought back a white bear carcass -- strapped to two linked sleds -- and a cub the size of a calf. Some started yelling and demanding ten gold pieces for everyone, but even the man who went a mile north of the ship and shot the beast had to admit that it was too small.They had two muskets and three shotguns and it took them a dozen shots to bring down the bear, which was less than eight feet long on the bloody ice and too thin for a female.They killed the mother bear, but left the cub alive, and brought her back behind the sled. Sir John disembarked to examine the dead animal, and praised the men for having found food for them all.While everyone hates cooked bear meat, and the skinny bear's meat certainly looked more stringy and tougher than it used to be, he pointed out that it wasn't Leviathan who killed Lieutenant Gore. monster.Sir John explained that all those who witnessed the death of the Lieutenant were certain that, just before dying, the heroic officer had fired his pistol into the chest of the monster.Although the she-bear was riddled with bullet holes, she had no old pistol wound on her chest, and no bullets from the pistol could be found.A true polar bear, said Sir John, would be recognized by such features. Several crew members wanted to keep the cub as a pet because it was weaned off the defrosted beef, while others wanted to kill it right away.Sir John, on the advice of Marine Sergeant Brian, gave the order to keep the cub alive, attaching it to a stake in the ice with a collar and chain.On Wednesday night, June 9th, Sergeant Brian and Toots, together with First Mate Edward Cowch and the only remaining sailmaker of the voyage, old John Murray, the sailmaker, requested to report to Sir John's stateroom. "We're not doing it right in this matter," said Sgt. Bryan, a spokesman for the small group. "I mean hunting wild animals." "What's wrong?" asked Sir John. Judging by Brian's gestures, he was referring to the she-bear being slaughtered on the bloody ice outside. "The crew ain't hunters, Sir John, and we don't have half a real hunter on either ship. Our hunters used to hunt small birds occasionally when we were on land, not big game. Well, maybe we could shoot a deer, or An arctic caribou, if we ever come across one. But the polar bear is a formidable foe, Sir John. We've been able to shoot the polar bear before, more because of luck than skill. The skull of the polar bear is thick enough to stop a musket He is protected by a great deal of fat and muscle, like an ancient knight protected by armor. He is a mighty animal, even a bear of a smaller size, you have seen yourself, Sir John, shot with a shotgun Shooting it in the stomach, or shooting it in the lungs with a rifle, won't make it fall over. Also, it's hard to find their hearts. This scrawny female bear needs a dozen shotgun and Mauser shots combined, and both It takes a close-range shot to bring it down. Even then, it has a good chance of escaping, if it hadn't stayed to protect its cubs." "So what do you suggest, Sergeant?" "Build a hideout, Sir John." "The hiding shed?" "As if we were duck hunting, Sir John," said Sergeant Toots.The Marine has a purple birthmark on his pale face. "Mr. Murray knows how to make it." Sir John turned to the old sailmaker of the Erebus. "We can take some of the extra iron rods that were meant to replace the drive shaft, Sir John, and bend them into the shape of the parapet we want," said Murray, "for a light frame for the shelter, like a tent. You know." "Only it's not pyramidal like our tent," continued John Murray, "but long and low, with a projecting canopy almost like a canvas trellis at a suburban fair, sir. " Sir John smiled. "Wouldn't our bears notice an extra village fair canvas trellis on the ice, gentlemen?" "No, sir," said the sailmaker, "I'll cut the canvas, sew it up, and paint it as white as snow before evening, or the twilight we call night. The shed rested on a low ice ridge, so that they blended into one. Only the slender gun-firing slits would be slightly visible. Mr. Vikis would fit a bench inside the shed from wood from the platform at the funeral, so that Shooters can sit warm on the bench with their feet off the ice and wait." "How many shooters do you expect to have in this... bear hunting shelter?" asked Sir John. "Six, sir," Sergeant Brian replied. "We'll need to fire volleys together to bring down the beast, sir, like at Waterloo, it took thousands of men to bring down Napoleon's men." "What if this bear has a better sense of smell than Napoleon at Waterloo?" asked Sir John. Some snickered, but Sergeant Toots said: "We've thought about it, Sir John. The wind blows mostly from the north-north-northwest these days. If the hideout was placed near where poor Lieutenant Gore is buried on the low ridge, sir, and we can treat an entire empty ice field to the northwest as a kill zone, with nearly a hundred yards of open space. Polar bears are likely to climb down the higher ridge upwind, Sir John. When it gets where we set it, barrage after barrage of Minie bullets will go into its heart and lungs, sir." Sir John was thinking. "But you have to tell everyone not to walk around casually," said Second Officer Edward Couch. "If there are a lot of people hanging around on the ice field, and they and sentries can be heard shooting randomly at the seracs and gusts at any time, it will not be a problem. Any sensible bear would come within five miles of the ship, sir." Sir John nodded. "What are you going to use to lure bears into the kill zone, gentlemen? Have you considered baiting?" "Yes, sir," said Sergeant Brian, now with a smile on his face. "We're going to lure the murderer in with fresh meat." "We have no fresh meat," said Sir John, "not even a ringed seal." "No, sir," said the sharp-faced Marine sergeant, "but we have the bear cub. When the shelter is up, we'll kill the cub as much blood as possible, sir. Then put the meat on the ice not more than twenty-five yards from the shooting area." Sir John said: "So you think we animals eat the flesh of our own kind?" "Oh, yes, sir," said Sergeant Toots, his face turning red beneath the purple birthmark. "We figured this animal would eat anything that was bleeding or that smelled like meat. When it came, we'd shoot it all over the place, sir, and then we'd get ten quid apiece, and then we'd Finish the winter, win, and go home." Sir John nodded solemnly and said, "Just do it." On Friday afternoon, June 11, Sir John and Lieutenant Visconti went out to inspect the bear hideout. The officers were obliged to admit that even at thirty feet the hideaway was barely visible, its floor and back resting directly on a low ridge of ice where Sir John had read his eulogy a few days earlier.The white canvas overlapped quite perfectly. On the slit where the guns were fired, strips of canvas hung at different intervals, dividing the sturdy horizontal gun frame into several sections.The sailmaker and armourer skillfully fastened the canvas to the iron poles and ribs, so that even if the wind was as strong as it is now, blowing snow across the ice field, the canvas would not move at all. Visconti led Sir John along a slippery path on the backside of the ridge--out of sight from the shooting area--and then over the low ice wall and into the shelter through a slot in the back of the tent.Sergeant Brian and several of the Erebus's Marines--Corporal Pearson, Private Ciri, Zed, Hapque, and Pikindon--were inside.When the commander-in-chief of the expedition came in, several people stood up to greet him. "Oh, no, no, sit down, gentlemen," said Sir John very quietly.On the iron railings on both sides of this narrow rectangular tent, there are some curved iron stirrups, and the fragrant thick wood slats are framed on them, so that the marines can sit and reach the shooting height even if they don't stand beside the narrow shooting slot. .There was also a layer of wooden slats to keep their feet off the ice, and muskets were placed within easy reach ahead.The cramped space smelled of new wood, wet wool, and gun grease. "How long have you been waiting here?" whispered Sir John. "Not five hours, Sir John," said Sergeant Bryan. "You must be very cold." "It's not cold at all, sir," Brian whispered. "The shed is big enough for us to walk around in occasionally, and the wooden bars keep our feet from freezing. Marines from the Terror will be at Toots, under the command of Sergeant Toots, to take over at the second bell." "See anything?" whispered Lieutenant Visconti. "Not yet, sir," Brian replied.The sergeant and the two officers leaned forward until their faces met the cold air blowing in through the firing slits. Sir John saw the dead body of the cub, its flesh red on the ice.They took all the skin off of him except the little white head, let the blood flow out, put it in a bucket, and sprinkled the blood around.The wind blows snow across the vast ice field, and the bright red blood is unsettling against the background of white, gray and light blue. "We shall have to see if our enemies will eat our own kind," whispered Sir John. "Yes, sir," said Sergeant Brian. "Sir John, would you like to join us on the bench? There's plenty of room here, sir." There wasn't really much room, especially with Sir John's big buttocks in addition to the fat buttocks that were already sitting in rows on the plank.Since Lieutenant Visconti was still standing, the Marines moved their bodies as far forward as possible, so that seven people could be squeezed into the wooden bench.Sir John found that from this high position, the situation on the ice field was clear at a glance. Captain Sir John Franklin felt that he had never been so pleasant with any other man.It took Sir John years to understand that he and women - including the artistic, nervous ones, like his first wife, Irina, as well as the strong, indomitable ones, like his current wife, Jane - ―When you are together, you will be much more comfortable than with a group of men.But his officers and crew gave him more smiles, nods and sincere looks after Sunday worship last Sunday than at any time in his forty-year military career. Yes, he had agreed to give everyone ten quid in gold on a whim, not to mention double the signing bonus of a fairly average sailor's five months' salary.Sir John's means were abundant, and even if they had dwindled during the three years or more since he had been away from home, he was sure that Lady Jane's private estate would pay the new debts in honor. At any rate, Sir John considered the promise of a bounty and the unexpected permission of the crew to drink on board his prohibition ship to be divine acts.Sir John, like everyone else, was devastated by the sudden death of one of the expedition's most promising young officers, Lieutenant Gore.The bad news that there will be no unfrozen water on the ice sheet, combined with the tragic fate of spending a dark winter on the ice, is a heavy blow for everyone.But he overcame the difficulty for the time being by promising ten pounds in gold each, and allowing the two ships to feast. Of course there was another problem, which the four ship's doctors had only told him last week: more and more canned food had spoiled, probably because the cans were not welded firmly enough.Sir John could only put the matter aside for the time being. The wind was blowing snow across the vast ice field, making the little body flickering in its coagulated and frozen X-shaped blood.Nothing came from nearby ice ridges and seracs.Those to Sir John's right sat relaxed, one of them chewing tobacco, and the others resting their mittened hands on the muzzles of their bristling muskets.Sir John knew that as soon as their Avenger appeared on the ice, the mittens would fall off in an instant. The icy water temporarily stopped Sir John's beating heart.He tried to scream, but only sucked in the salty water. I am in the sea.For the first time in my life I was in the sea.How wonderful! Then he waved his hands and turned over and over again, feeling his great coat being torn, shreds and rags being ripped from him.Now he can't feel his legs at all, his feet can't step on anything in the freezing water.Sir John was catching and paddling desperately with arms and hands, not knowing whether he was trying to swim to the surface in the terrible darkness, or pushing himself deeper into the black water. I'm drowning.Jane, I'm drowning.Over the years I've been on the expedition, I've considered various ways of dying, my dear, but I've never seriously thought about drowning. Then Sir John hit his head against something hard and nearly knocked him unconscious.His face was pushed below the surface again, and the salty water filled his mouth and lungs again. Then, my dear, God help me to the surface, or at least let me breathe the inch of air that is between the surface and the ice fifteen feet above. Sir John's hands were flailing wildly, his body turned on his back, his legs still useless, his fingers scraping the ice above him.He forced himself to calm his heart and limbs, he needed to restrain his movements so that his nose could find a slight gap between the ice and the cold water.He is breathing.He raised his chin, coughed out the water, and breathed through his mouth. Thank you, dear Jesus, Lord... Sir John fought back the urge to scream.He crawled along the bottom of the ice as if climbing a wall.The bottom of the ice was irregular, sometimes protruding down into the water, leaving him without a breath of air, and sometimes rising five or six inches or more, and he could almost lift his face out of the water. Although there were fifteen feet of ice above him, there was still a faint light—blue light, the light of the Lord—refracted in the rough ice cut just inches from his eyes.Part of the daylight came in through the hole - Guo Er's burial pit - into which he had just been thrown. The only thing I have to do, my dear ladies, my dear Jane, is to find my way back to the narrow hole in the ice, that is, to locate myself, but I know I only have a few minutes... Not minutes, but seconds.Sir John could feel the icy water freezing him to death, and his feet were clearly in serious condition.Not only was he unable to feel his feet, he felt they weren't there.The water smelled of his blood. Then, ladies, God Almighty, I saw the light... on his left.The opening was ten yards or less to his left. Here the ice was higher than the black water, and there was room enough for Sir John to raise his head, panting with his bald cold brow against the rough ice, water and blood streaming from his eyes, and seeing the radiance of the Redeemer at hand. to ten yards away. Something huge and dank rose between him and the light, and it was completely dark.The few inches of air he could have breathed were suddenly taken away and replaced by a foul, rotten breath. "Please--" began Sir John in an exasperated voice, coughing as he spoke. The stench of damp then engulfed him, the huge teeth closed on the sides of his face, the sides of his head, the bones just in front of the ears, and the skull were crushed whole.