VISIONS OF THE NORTH

HBC Film from 1919-20 restored

2012-01-22T07:49:00.000-08:00

The news is out about newly-restored footage from a travelogue film made in 1919 at the behest of the Hudson's Bay Company, Romance of the Far Fur Country. Although the actual prints of the film as shown in 1920 are lost, much of the source footage was uncovered in an HBC deposit at the BFI by historian Peter Geller, who wrote about the film in his book Northern Exposures: Photographing and Filming the Canadian North, 1920-45. Now, thanks to Winnipeg-based Five Door Films, and funding from the Manitoba Arts Council, a restored version, Return of the Far Fur Country, has been assembled, and is being screened across Canada, including in Nunavut where many of the scenes were filmed.

It's certainly historically significant footage, although as a commissioned film designed to show the HBC in a good light on the occasion of its 250th anniversary, it can't quite be considered a documentary in my mind (although the same might be said of Nanook of the North, which was paid for by the Révillon Frères fur company, which similarly expected that its activities be seen as benign and even beneficial). It's not by any means the earliest Arctic footage -- there were at least a dozen earlier "factual" films shot in the Arctic -- but since only a tiny proportion of this earlier footage survives, much of it in poor condition, this relatively pristine film is surely the earliest extensive view we have, or are likely to have, of the Arctic from the early twentieth century. I'm planning to see about getting some screenings down here in the U.S. closer to where I live, and if followers of this blog from other parts of the world are interested, I hope that they too will contact the producers.

Lady Franklin's Ancanthe Under Threat

2012-01-14T06:13:00.000-08:00

In 1839, during the time that Sir John Franklin was serving as Governor of Van Diemen's Land, Lady Franklin bought 130 acres of land near Hobart Town with the intention of setting up both a large botanical garden and an associated library and collection of natural history (many items of which she had collected). The museum building was fashioned after a Greek temple, and it and the surrounding gardens were to be known as "Ancanthe." Sir John Franklin himself laid the corner stone.

Alas, after the Franklins' departure, her Ladyship's plans languished; in 1853 all the collections and the library were removed, and the temple used to store apples and potatoes. Fortunately, the museum building itself was returned to the City of Hobart in 1936, with the stipulation that it not be moved, and be used in a manner consistent with Lady Franklin's intentions. The Art Society of Tasmania uses it for exhibition space, and that's surely something of which Jane would have approved.

Yet since then, the gardens and estate surrounding Ancanthe have been reduced again and again, with even the central ten acres facing incursions. And then, just recently, they have fallen under threat from a proposed subdivision whose backer, David Crean, has managed to avoid review by the full Hobart City Council. Concerned over the threat to this historically significant and beautiful property, local citizens have recently expressed their views, urging to City to purchase and permanently preserve the area adjacent to the original Ancanthe estate as public lands. They have established a Facebook page, the Save Ancanthe Group, and are urgently seeking donations and support. I urge every reader of this blog, and everyone with any interest in the vital historical ties between Sir John and Lady Jane Franklin and Tasmania, to support this cause, and let their views be known.

Strange Graves

2011-12-30T14:39:00.000-08:00

When the New York Times ran a blog post on its Dot Earth blog about the ballad "Lord Franklin," they chose as an illustration a curious engraving. It comes from a June 1881 issue of the Illustrated London News, and was one of many large plates showing scenes from Schwatka's search for Franklin. This one was captioned: "THE AMERICAN FRANKLIN SEARCH EXPEDITION: GRAVES OF THE COMRADES OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN." So it would seem an ideal illustration for blog about the famous ballad lamenting the lost of Sir John and his "gallant crew," except for one detail: the graves shown here are certainly not those of Franklin or his crewmembers. The only graves, in the sense of organized burials with grave markers, are those found on Beechey Island; there were only three, until an unlucky crewman aboard the "North Star" joined them to make a party of four. And yet here we see what appear to be sixteen graves, three of which feature enormous columns that would seem to be made of wood or stone -- two obelisks and one cross.

So where is this graveyard -- with a village of igloos and an ice-bound ship near at hand? I think I have a likely answer, but rather than offer it here, I thought I'd "crowd source" the question: whose graves are these, and how did they end up being depicted in such a lovely but mistitled engraving?

(p.s. the version here is scanned from my own personal copy, not from the Times or the collection credited there).

Repost: Christmas in the Frozen Regions

2011-12-25T05:32:00.000-08:00

At this time of year, many of us are seeking a bit of Christmas past by revisiting Charles Dickens's "A Christmas Carol." There are innumerable local productions, dozens of film versions (I'm most fond of the one starring Alistair Sim, or else the Muppet Christmas Carol, which I actually feel is the best recent adaptation), and of course the book itself is always available. But most today are less acquainted with Dickens's other Christmas tales -- at one point he was writing a new one every year -- or with the many special Christmas numbers of his magazines Household Words and All the Year 'Round, which Dickens personally selected and edited with great care. It was, in fact, in 1850 -- the very first year of his first magazine, Household Words -- that Dickens, hoping to revive the fading hopes that Franklin and his men might yet live, selected a piece describing an Antarctic Christmas aboard the "Erebus" and "Terror" -- the very ships that Franklin had taken on his expedition a few years later. Making this connection was important enough that Dickens wrote a fresh introduction to the article, as well as a brief coda, himself, and his words are animated with all his usual spirit:

"THINK of Christmas in the tremendous wastes of ice and snow, that lie in the remotest regions of the earth ! Christmas, in the interminable white desert of the Polar sea ! Yet it has been kept in those awful solitudes, cheerfully, by Englishmen. Where crashing mountains of ice, heaped up together, have made a chaos round their ships, which in a moment might have ground them to dust; where hair has frozen on the face; where blankets have stiffened upon the bodies of men lying asleep, closely housed by huge fires, and plasters have turned to ice upon the wounds of others accidentally hurt; where the ships have been undistinguishable from the environing ice, and have resembled themselves far less than the surrounding masses have resembled monstrous piles of architecture which could not possibly be there, or anywhere; where the winter animals and birds are white, as if they too were born of the desolate snow and frost; there Englishmen have read the prayers of Christmas Day, and have drunk to friends at home, and sung home songs."

The account that follows is by Robert McCormick, who had recently served under James Clark Ross as surgeon and naturalist aboard HMS "Terror," and describes the first Christmas of their Antarctic voyage. McCormick seems to have been an excellent writer, and this account is all the more notable as it's his earliest publication; he found himself unable to write up the expected naturalist's report for the Ross expedition, and his own account of his career, Voyages of Discovery in the Antarctic and Arctic Seas, was not published until 1884. As Dickens hands the narrative off to McCormack, the mystery and anxiety then surrounding Franklin's name is directly evoked:

"In 1819, Captain Parry and his brave companions did so ; and the officers having dined off a piece of fresh beef, nine months old, preserved by the intense climate, joined the men in acting plays, with the thermometer below zero, on the stage. In 1825, Captain Franklin's party kept Christmas Day in their hut with snap-dragon and a dance, among a merry party of Englishmen, Highlanders, Canadians, Esquimaux, Chipewyans, Dog- Ribs, Hare Indians, and Cree women and children.

In 1850, some commemoration of Christmas may perhaps take place in the Frozen Regions. Heaven grant it! It is not beyond hope ! and be held by the later crews of those same ships ; for they are the very same that have so long been missing, and that are painfully connected in the public mind with FRANKLIN’S name."

You can read McCormack's account in full here. Of course, much of the resonance of his story is how it shows the explorers keeping the traditions of home, evoking an elaborate Victorian Christmas even in the most desolate regions of the world. On this occasion, the ship was redecorated as a "hotel," and the drinks were kept cold by being served atop an enormous block of solid ice. McCormack, oddly, says very little about the food, but other explorers were far more voluble; you can follow the links here to read of a feast of "Banks Land Reindeer" in "Christmas-Keeping in the Arctic Regions, 1850-51," relish Elisha Kent Kane's Christmas on the Second Grinnell expedition, at which mere "pork and beans" were disguised as all manner of delicacies by the men's scurvy-fed imaginations, or devour A.W. Greely's luxurious first Christmas with the Lady Franklin Bay Expedition at Fort Conger, which featured mock-turtle soup, salmon, tenderloin of musk-ox, plum pudding with wine sauce, dates, figs, cherries, egg-nog, and an extra ration of rum -- a sad contrast with the meals of the last few survivors three years later, who endeavored to support life by fishing for brine-shrimp through a sieve.

Wherever readers of this blog may find themselves this Christmas, I hope that your evening meal is enriched by all the warmth and spirit of domestic tranquility that these men's meals -- whether in reality, or in their imaginations, or both -- sought to evoke so far away from home.

Tima and Chimo

2011-12-04T18:48:00.000-08:00

The first use of "Chimo" as a greeting is in Drage 1748, in Hudson Strait: "The Person in the Canoe... shewed a Piece of Whale-bone, repeating Chimo, and moving his Left-hand circularly upon his left Breast..." Andrew Graham in 1768 wrote that the Eskimos "rub their breast with their open hand, calling in a pitiful tone, 'Chimo! Chimo! which is a sign of peace and friendship. Hearne records "Tima" in 1795: "Tima in the Esquimaux language is a friendly word similar to 'what cheer.'" Edward Chappell in 1814 wrote that "Chymo" meant to barter.

These words each derive, in my opinion, from words that have their own discreet meaning, but in this context of being used as a greeting they have merged. George Back (1836-37) suggested as much when he referred to the men he met "vociferating their accustomed 'Tima' or 'Chimo'..." And McTavish in the 1880s wrote, "I bade the majority of the Esquimaux 'Timah,' generally written as 'Chimo'"

Taima (the modern correct spelling of tima - teyma - timah) today means - that's all, that's enough, it's over.

Chimo (which I think traditionally was pronounced Saimo - like Sigh-moe) comes from a root "saimak" which means blessing or peace. Saimaqsaiji means peacemaker. Saimati in northern Quebec and southern Baffin is "flag" - because after conversion Inuit stuck white flags into the snow beside their snowhouses to show that they were Christian and therefore peaceful. The phrase "saimugluk" (used between two people) today is always accompanied by a handshake, but derives from the same root, so it can be thought of as once meaning "Let's be friends," "Let's be in peace."

So the Taima and Chimo of the early white explorers and traders converged. The meaning was one of friendship and peace, with overtones of barter at the time.

None of this helps us understand "Mannik toomee."

Mannik toomee

2011-12-03T14:39:00.000-08:00

The image is almost a cliché of nineteenth-century Arctic explorers' narratives: the Kabloonas approach the "Esquimaux" carefully, and the natives, weapons in hand, crouch nervously, never perhaps having encountered white men before. And then, with a cry of "Teyma," "Mannik toomee," or "Kammik toomee"-- all words thought at one time or another to mean "Friend," "Peace," or "Welcome" -- the two parties instantly relax; handshakes are exchanged, and trade goods soon follow. Thank goodness the white people knew what to say!

But of course they didn't know what to say. Most British and American explorers did not know a single word of Inuktitut; if they had phrasebooks, these were often in the wrong dialect, and if they had interpreters these were often Greenlanders whose dialect was -- quite literally -- thousands of miles off. The Brits, and the Americans who followed them, also had a habit of taking any word or phrase spoken to them, interpreting it by context and gesture, and using it in return as a greeting.

Which brings us to "Mannik toomee," subject of part of my last posting. This phrase or something close to it is in the journals of many Arctic explorers, each of whom heard it a little differently; McClintock heard it as "Kammik toomee," Schwatka as "Munnuk toomee," and Hall as "Man-nig-too-me." Taken literally, it seems to be made up of either manik ("here") or kamik ("sealskin boot"), which is followed with tumiq ("tracks"?). In an agglutinative language such as Inuktitut, this could be construed as anything from "there are tracks here" to "here we stand" -- but my knowledge of the language is extremely limited, so I'd leave that to those who speak it, or linguists. The one thing I can say with some certainty is that it doesn't mean "Welcome," which is what the explorers thought it did.

It appears that this is one of those phrases, heard by white men at one point in time, and then re-used as a greeting. Since white men wrote down what they heard, later explorers might well re-use the term. "Teyma," assumed to mean "friend," was noted by Sir John Franklin in 1821, who remarked that it was "used by Esquimaux when they accost strangers in a friendly manner." Later explorers used it too, though at some point they seem to have switched to a variation of "Mannik toomee" -- so the question is, who first heard this expression, and made the assumption it was a friendly greeting?

Here things get sticky. I have a clear recollection that I'd read it was spoken by the angekoq or shaman who, in 1833, tried to keep the kabloonas led by George Back -- who, unbeknownst to Back, had earlier killed three Inuit -- from coming too close. But it's not in Back's, or in King's narrative. It does, however, feature in Inuit oral tradition. Dorothy Eber heard this phrase in a story about nervous Inuit approaching white men, and wrote about it in The Beaver and again in her most recent book. Her informant even offered a gloss on its meaning:

The shaman told his people, 'Maniktumiq' - do it smoothly, not aggressively. The Inuit stood together and said the same word - 'Maniktumiq' - do it smoothly. It was sort of a prayer to a great power, the spirit. All together they began walking gently and smoothly, not agressively.

Eber believed the word was a specialized, "magic" or shamanistic word, used for its symbolic rather than literal meaning -- like, say, the English word "abracadabra" -- and that it may well have been the kind of word used only by a particular band, or even one specific shaman.

I believe this phrase may have been specific to the Utjulingmiut. This was the band Back met near the mouth of the river that would later bear his name, the band whose hunting area was nearest the site of the last Franklin ship, and the band which, due to famine and hostile neighbors, was dispersed to the winds, its survivors often finding refuge with other bands. Eber believes the testimony just quoted referred to Ross -- and indeed a similar scene happened at his first meeting with the Inuit. But where then is any reference to the man with one leg, sent ahead as the most expendable member (and later given a welcome wooden replacement by the ship's carpenter of the Victory)? No, I think this account is a worn-down version of the Inuit encounter with Schwatka's searchers in 1878; here is his version:

They formed a line with bows, arrows, and spears or knives, and, as we moved up to within a few feet, they began a general stroking of their breasts, calling "Munnik toomee" (Welcome).

The association of this gesture with the phrase is noted elsewhere -- but what is significant here is that this band, although from another area, had as its head-man one of the last survivors of the Utjulingmiut diaspora.

Incidentally, this also gives us another reason to suppose that "Too-loo-ark" may have been Franklin -- it was Franklin who picked up on "teyma," and according to Kok-lee-arng-nun, it was "Too-loo-ark" who added that phrase to his greeting:

Too-loo-ark would say "Ma-my-too-mig-tey-ma." Ag-loo-ka's hand shaking was short and jerky, and he would only say "Man-nig-too-me." After the first summer and first winter, they saw no more of Too-loo-ark.

Kok-lee-arng-nun's Tale

2011-11-30T13:48:00.000-08:00

One of the most remarkable pieces of Inuit testimony was that given the Charles Francis Hall by a native in Pelly Bay whose name Hall transcribed as "Kok-lee-arng-nun." This old man, nearly blind, had two spoons of Crozier's, and happily volunteered his tales of visiting white men on ships. There was one boat which had been near where they were speaking (this must have been Ross's Victory) and two boats out near "Oot-joo-lik." His tale of visits to these two boats, at first, seemed very clearly to describe Franklin and Crozier, under the names "Too-loo-ah" and "A-gloo-ka."

He described "Too-loo-ah" as "an old man with broad shoulders, thick and heavier set than Hall, with gray hair, full face, and bald head. He was always wearing something over his eyes (spectacles, as Too-koo-li-too interpreted it), was quite lame, and appeared sick when they last saw him. He was very kind to Innuits -- always wanting them to eat something." With this man was his second officer, "Aglooka" -- Kok-lee-arng-nun showed how Too-loo-ark and Ag-loo-ka used to meet him. They would take hold of his hand, giving it a few warm and friendly shakes, and Too-loo-ark would say "Ma-my-too-mig-tey-ma." Ag-loo-ka's hand shaking was short and jerky, and he would only say "Man-nig-too-me." After the first summer and first winter, they saw no more of Too-loo-ark."

There are difficulties with this tale -- much of it seems to match up with Franklin's ships, but other parts of his stories seemed to relate more to Ross's expedition aboard the Victory. Hall himself, after his initial enthusiasm, decided that everything the old man had told him was nothing but memories of Ross. But this, of course, can't be true, for all kinds of reasons (Ross had one boat, not two, he had a full head of hair and was not short and squat, he did not die during the expedition, and many other details, as Dave Woodman has noted in his books). Yet assuming it to be Franklin's vessels leads to problems as well -- most notably that, since as Woodman notes, the Netsilik Inuit had no idea that Franklin's ships or men had been in the northwest of King William Island until they learned of this from McClintock in 1859, it seems impossible that such visits as Kok-lee-arng-nun described took place prior to the 1848 landing. This would date them to some following season, long after the death of Franklin. So who was the bald, lame man with spectacles?

I believe it was, after all, Sir John Franklin himself. First, let us remember the circumstances under which Hall met Kok-lee-arng-nun -- they were nearing an area where they had been warned about hostile Inuit, possibly Netsilik, and known locally as the See-ne-mun-ites. Hall at first worried that Kok's band was one of them. In fact, not long after the meeting Hall would be forced to turn back, mainly due to the fact that Ebierbing, his trusty guide, was too worried about hostile Inuit to go further. There were stories of some Inuit, originally from the area of Utjulik, who had returned home only to be murdered in cold blood. Clearly, the Utjulingmiut had been displaced by these hostilities, as they turned up in all kinds of places far from their home hunting ground; some were among Rae's informants who had passed Franklin relics to him in Repulse Bay in 1854, and I think that Kok-lee-arng-nun, though himself an Arvlingmiut from Pelly Bay -- must have been on good terms with the Inuit of Utjulik, since he had visited there. Both bands likely suffered from the hostile Netsilik, their near neighbors. That at least one of Franklin's ships ended up in this area we are fairly certain -- and yet, up until this meeting, McClintock and other searchers had met only with Netsilik. It seems likely to me that the astonishing wealth left in and near an abandoned ship might well have been the source of the violence between bands, and in the context of that violence, the reason why Kok-lee-arng-nun's group would not have shared their knowledge with any Netsilik. They knew of Franklin's ships, but would not have had the opportunity to return to the place of their meeting him, as it was now controlled by hostile Inuit.

The physical description of Franklin given by Kok-lee-arng-nun matches that of no other explorer known to be in the region. Franklin's expedition was the only one whose commander died, and whose replacement was a man already known to the Inuit. And there is a final reason why I am convinced that Kok-lee-arng-nun's tale relates to Franklin himself, and it is the greeting he described Too-loo-ah and A-gloo-ka using: "Man-nig-too-me." This is not, from what I understand, a very typical Inuit greeting, and in fact the belief that it was one can be traced very specifically to Back's expedition to rescue the Rosses. It was during this journey that, though Back did not learn about it until later, two Inuit were killed by his party. When he met later with other Inuit from the area near the mouth of the Fish River, he could not understand why they were so nervous, or why their head man kept repeating "manik toomee." His recorded this in his published account, a copy of which would surely have been aboard Franklin's ships. John and James Clark Ross could not have learned of this phrase until long after their sojourn in the Arctic, and could never have used it; that the two men described by Kok-lee-arng-nun did is further evidence to me that they must have been Franklin and Crozier.

Woodman feels that this tale could apply to Crozier and Fitzjames -- but unless Crozier was bald under that cap of his, and put on considerable weight, injured his leg, and had started looking "old" -- I just can't see it. It seems more likely by far to me that Kok-lee-arng-nun's band, under threat by hostile Netsilik, would of course have had neither the opportunity nor the inclination to talk to them about their earlier visits with Franklin.

New theory on the Boat Place

2011-11-28T05:56:00.001-08:00

Ron Carlson has just posted a very thoughtful item on the possible reasons for the abandonment of the boat later discovered by M'Clintock to have been facing what he considered the "wrong" direction -- back toward the presumed location of the ships. I think it raises some good questions as to the wyas in which we reconstruct both the physical evidence and our sense of the state of mind and morale of the men. I recommend that anyone interested in this question have a look at Ron's blog, and post their thoughts.

Hiatus

2011-10-03T20:25:00.001-07:00

I wanted to let everyone who's been following this blog over the years know why posts have been a bit less frequent of late, and why I'm taking a brief hiatus from new postings. My novel, Pyg: The Memoirs of a Learned Pig, is about to be published in the UK by Canongate books; editions in the US, Italy, and other countries will soon follow. Like everything I've done, the novel is a labor of love, and right now I plan to spend most of my energies helping to get it launched. I have a new blog for the novel, and have even done something I thought I'd never do, and started a Twitter account.

But I will not -- and never shall -- leave these regions of thick-ribb'd ice -- the Arctic is in my blood. I will still make periodic postings, and will certainly follow all of those who are out there keeping the polar torch alight. I hope those of you who have followed me here may consider picking up the novel, with the assurance that you will find therein something of the same quality of writing you've enjoyed here.

The Sword of a "Great Officer"

2011-09-28T12:07:00.000-07:00

The story is the stuff of old chivalric romances: in gratitude for helping him and his companions survive the winter, an officer of the Franklin expedition presented an Inuk hunter with his most valuable possession: his sword. And then, years later, this same hunter, now grown elderly, presented this same sword to a trader at a Hudson's Bay post, saying it had been given to him by a "great officer." And then the kicker: this sword is still in the archives of the Hudson's Bay company.

But who was this officer? Or was he an officer at all? The details are caught up in the web of interconnected, contradictory stories about "Aglooka." In the tale of the meeting at the 'crack in the ice,' there is a mention of exchanging a piece of seal meat for a "knife." Could this knife have been exaggerated in later re-tellings? In the tale of the "Aglooka" who was sheltered for a winter by Too-shoo-art-thariu, this man offered his rifle in thanks, but Too-shoo was reluctant to accept it, not sure how it worked, and so the man offered his "long knife" -- a word that Tookoolito, Hall's interpreter, believed meant "sword" -- along with "nearly everything he had." The first tale is associated with Washington Bay on King William Island, and must date to an earlier time; it's possible that the later tale may be a garbled or slightly fanciful version of the first.

As to the provenance of the sword in the HBC's collections, it was given by an elderly Inuit man to Robert MacFarlane, the chief factor of the Athabasca district in the 1880's. The date, some thirty-odd years after the Franklin expedition, is sufficient for the description of "elderly" to be given to a man in his prime in 1850. Their archival record reads as follows:

HBC 1226 A,B : MILITARY SWORD; 1830s  This ornate sword is documented as having been retrieved by Chief Factor Roderick MacFarlane from an Inuit man who claimed that the sword had been presented to him in 1857 by an officer of the Franklin expedition. The letters"W IV" appearing on the blade and hilt refers to King WilliamIV, 1830-1837. "Moore, late, Bicknells & Moore, Old Bond Street,London," have been engraved on the brass ferrule and chape.

This last detail has given rise to speculation that the "great officer" might have been Fitzjames, who obtained his Mate's passing certificate (the prerequisite for the rank) in 1834, well within the reign of William IV. But the promotion itself would have to wait on additional service; he came close in 1837, and finally obtained the rank on 26 January 1838, more than six months after the death of William IV. The dates for most others of Sir John Franklin's officers, however, are even further off the mark (Crozier, 1826; Le Vesconte, 1841; Fairholme, 1842; Hodgson, 1842; Irving, 1843). Graham Gore was promoted in 1837, but was then in the Arctic serving with Back; King William died prior to his return. The only other candidate would be Edward Little, whose promotion in December of 1837 is just barely prior to Fitzjames's. It's possible, in these last three cases, to imagine that the officers' swords might have been purchased at a time when blades stamped "William IV" were in stock, and new ones with Queen Victoria's name were not yet available.

The date of "1857" is certainly remarkable as well -- could an officer have survived that long?

And yet what evidence do we have that the sword was presented to the Inuk by its original owner? None at all -- and indeed, given that so much of the officers' silver plate had been distributed to the men, the idea of a sword being passed to a subordinate -- possibly with the idea of bringing it home as a memorial -- has to be considered. The sense of mission in a man who was charged to return the sword to the family of its owner might account for its being retained so late in the time after the ships were abandoned -- and yet again, why would such a man suddenly give the sword away? Was it in the hope that the Inuk might return it himself someday? Lastly, we have to consider the possibility that the sword was never given at all, but simply taken from a dead body or a cache, traded from hand to hand, and eventually returned with the statement that it was from one of Franklin's officers.

As with so many other elements of the Franklin mystery, this sword -- which at first presents itself as a brilliantly specific piece of evidence -- turns out to be of uncertain provenance and significance, save in the way it has fired the imagination of those who seek answers to the many enigmas surrounding the expedition's disappearance.

Aglooka

2011-09-27T08:26:00.001-07:00

Who was "Aglooka"? There's been a great deal of chat about this eternal question over on the Facebook page on the Franklin Expedition, with quite a few new voices. And so, although I'd caution that I don't think that we will ever have an absolute or complete answer, I thought I'd take the opportunity here to ask the question.

Aglooka -- aglukaq in Inuktitut -- means roughly "long strider," and from the point of view of the Inuit, it's a term that could be applied to almost any of the white explorers who sojourned among them. It's been associated, at various times and by various conjectures, with Sir John Ross, Frances Crozier, and Dr John Rae, and in Inuit oral histories, there are stories which -- depending in large part on when one decides the events recounted took place -- could apply to one or more of these main candidates. Some, like Charles Francis Hall, were convinced "Aglooka" was Crozier, and held fast to that belief even in the face of contradictory evidence. Some, like the eminent Franklin expert David C. Woodman, believe it more likely that "Aglooka" was not one of the senior commanders of the Franklin expedition, but rather a minor officer or even and ordinary seaman who took on a leadership role in a small group of survivors. So -- if everyone is ready -- let's review the evidence.

First there is the question of contact with the expedition while aboard their ships. Inuit testimony given to CF Hall tells us of an encounter with an expedition of two ships, one commanded by a bald man who wore spectacles (little pieces of ice) over his eyes, and who suffered some infirmity. He was called Toolooah, and his second-in-command was Aglooka. Some time after the Inuit had visited them, they told Hall that they heard that Toolooah had died, and that Alglooka had become the Esh-e-mut-ta (Hall's phonetic spelling for isumutaq or leader). Such a scenario corresponds only with the Franklin expedition, as that of the Rosses -- the only other British voyage to the central coastal area in the period -- had only one ship (The Victory, unless its small coal-tender Kreuzenstern is counted), suffered no death of a commanding officer, and both Rosses were possessed of vast and healthy heads of hair.

Nevertheless, there's a problem when one connects this account to Franklin and Crozier and the Erebus and Terror: During the time they were off the NW coast of King William Island, they apparently had no contact with Inuit, since later Inuit did not, by their own account, know of ships abandoned in this area until they learned of it by way of McClintock in 1859. It's possible that the Inuit who did visit the ships did not, for some reason, communicate their visit to other Inuit bands -- there was some hostility, apparently, between the Netsilingmiut of the Boothia Peninsula who were McClintock's main informants, and the Utjulingmiut whose territory near Queen Maud Gulf put them closest to the final locations of Franklin's ships. Still, on the basis of this discrepancy, Woodman discounts the idea of any contact between Inuit and Franklin's men prior to the ships' abandonment.

We also have Inuit testimony as to witnessing the funeral of some important person near the ships. It's tempting to think this was Franklin's funeral, but when he died the ships were far offshore, separated from KWI by several miles of hummocky old ice. Woodman thinks it was, more likely, the funeral of a different, senior officer, and took place some time after at least one of the ships was re-piloted further south; this would explain the fact that the Inuit who saw it were still unaware of the Victory Point cache or any ships near there. He thinks it may well have been Crozier's funeral, a conjecture which, if true, eliminates him as a candidate for "Aglooka."

Curiously, after these accounts, our next tales of an encounter with a possible "Aglooka" seem to deal with the party of men who left the ship or ship and travelled south and then east along the coast of KWI. Somewhere along that trek, there was an encounter at the crack in the ice, where the white men traded a knife for some seal meat, and "cooked the meat with the aid of the blubber (a foolish waste of good, caloric blubber from the Inuit viewpoint). The Inuit named two of these men -- "Aglooka" was one, and the other "Doktook," the latter possibly an Inuit attempt at "Doctor." They described how Aglooka made notes in a little book, and tried to tell them what had happened to the ships by pantomime. This is perhaps a significant detail, as we know that Crozier, during his time with the Inuit of Igloolik on Parry's second expedition, was said to have learned the Inuit language better than any of the officers -- so why would he resort to pantomime? Then again, the officer did say that he was trying to get to "Iwillik" -- the area near Repulse Bay -- so maybe his vocab was just a little rusty.

We next hear of the finding of "Aglooka" at the Todd Islets, in the form of the body an officer with a gold chain around his neck. Yet the Inuit who made this identification seem to have used the name because they thought this man was Ross!

The last accounts of an "Aglooka" have to do with a man who was an excellent hunter -- so good that he shared food with the Inuit. The description matches Rae, and it's hard to rule him out as a source of some of these stories. Old Ook-bar-loo's cousin, Too-shoo-ar-thariu -- according to her at any rate -- had hosted a group of four men, including this "Aglooka." Aglooka was weak and ill, apparently because he refused to eat human flesh. The others were stronger. Too-shoo allowed them to stay in his igloo and hunt with him for a season, nursing Aglooka back to health. One of the men, not Aglooka, died early the next season, and the other three headed south, apparently planning to skirt the western coasts of Hudson's Bay and make it to Fort Churchill. They never made it; according to Hall's later informants near Marble Island, they may have been killed by sub-Arctic Indians along the way. Before they left Aglooka, who was described as a "great officer," gave Too-shoo his sword.

Hall was, of course, thrilled to think that this Aglooka was Crozier, and always referred to him as such in his diaries. He faced two disappointments: first, that Too-shoo-ar-thariu, when he finally met him in person, denied his aunt's account. Further queries seemed to indicate that Too-shoo was among the men who'd met at the crack in the ice, and that he and his fellow hunters had packed up and left, even as Aglooka ran from his tent begging them to stop. This shattered Hall's faith in the Inuit. Then, hearing the account of the possible murder of Crozier on his way south to Fort Churchill, Hall lost faith that there were any survivors of the Franklin expedition.

Aglooka, or "aglukark" as it is more often spelled, is still a common Inuit surname. The great Inuit singer Susan Aglukark was born in Fort Churchill, the place that Hall's "Aglooka" had sought to reach. And, more recently, when the Inuit of Gjoa Haven retained the services of a lawyer in their quest to protect the contents of the (later found to be empty) box under the cairn near their town, the lawyer they hired also had the last name Aglukark.

So who was this man -- who were these men? The world may never know...

BBC Story on Franklin

2011-09-08T18:14:00.000-07:00

I wanted to put up a link to a news account of the Franklin story and modern interest in the same, written by Kate Dailey for the BBC's News Magazine. Ms. Dailey interviewed a number of the regulars from this and other online Franklin sites, including myself , William Battersby, and Tedd Betts -- and I think that the resulting story is accurate, well-written, and informative. It includes not only an account of the Parks Canada search, but of the attempted search using thermal imaging by Ron Carlson. Have a look here to read the full account. Congrats especially to William Battersby, whose distinctive voice narrates the associated slideshow, with great élan.

Still Missing: Erebus and Terror

2011-08-26T18:22:00.001-07:00

The news has begun to trickle out that this year, the final year of the three-year long Parks Canada search for the lost ships of Sir John Franklin, has ended without result. Apparently, the special remote-controlled underwater probe brought to the search was unable to be deployed, though the reasons for this have not been made public. Of course I am disappointed, though I am also grateful to Marc-Andre Bernier, Parks Canada's chief of underwater archeology, and all the rest of the team for their efforts.

It's all too easy to give armchair advice -- but I do hope there will be further searches. My own view is that, in addition to whatever government efforts may or may not be funded, the Canadian government, as well as the territorial government of Nunavut, could and should do more to promote searches. The permitting process, under CLEY, should be streamlined in every way possible. A number of promising avenues, such as that proposed by Ron Carlson and discussed on this blog, were turned down due to technicalities, most often the absence of a government-credentialled archaeologist. So why not make such archaeologists available? In Carlson's case, he brought -- and essentially donated to the effort -- his own plane and imaging equipment; why not, instead of simply crassly denying him a permit, the territorial government helped find and place a qualified archaeologist to work with him? The cost to the Nunavut and Canada would be minimal, many times less than that of any of the state-sponsored efforts of these last three years. Another bone I have to pick is that I cannot understand why, given his work over many years on the Franklin mystery, David C. Woodman, has not been invited to participate in any of these recent searches. I believe it's unfair, and wrongheaded, to exclude the one person who knows the Inuit testimony better than any man living.

Lastly, I would observe this: in many human endeavors, it's been found that "crowd sourcing" -- the open and free participation of many in tackling a task -- is by far the most efficient way to solve many problems. If (say) the National Archives at Kew, the Maritime Museum at Greenwich, the Arctic Institute of North America, The Scott Polar Research Institute, Parks Canada, and the National Library of Canada got together, put all their resources on one wiki, including high-res imagery of every document and artifact, and a wiki-editable tag map of the search area, I'd wager that enormous progress could be made. Six very expensive days of federally-funded searching are all well and good, but in my experience, historical puzzles of this level of complexity require many voices -- experts and amateurs, Qalluunat and Inuit, historians and archivists, archaeologists and pilots -- the more voices the better.

(Image of the Muster book of HMS "Erebus" courtesy David Malcolm Shein, from the original at the National Archives, Kew)

Tragedy in Nunavut

2011-08-20T18:52:00.001-07:00

I was greatly saddened today to learn of the crash of the First Air Boeing 737 near Resolute, Nunavut earlier today. The plane, one of six 737's in the First Air fleet, apparently encountered some sort of trouble on approach to the runaway at Resolute on a flight from Yellowknife; of 15 passengers and crew, 12 were killed; the other three are in hospital in Iqaluit as of the latest reports.

Nunavut is a vast land. But its population is only around 30,000, making it in many ways more like a town when it comes to who knows who. When I heard the news of the crash, I had that sickening feeling that someone I knew, or was connected with someone I knew, was probably aboard. And this turned out to be true; among the passengers were two granddaughters of Aziz "Ozzy" Kheraj, proprietor of the South Camp Inn in Resolute; one of them is among the survivors. Also on board, and apparently among the dead, was Randy Reid, the longtime cook at the South Camp Inn, whose wonderful cuisine was a great feature of the place. I was a guest at the South Camp in 2004, and enjoyed both the excellent food and the delightful, irascible presence of Ozzy, a true northern character whose career has taken him from the tropics to the Arctic. Word on others aboard has not made it through to the news services, but I have a feeling and the fear that, when the list is released, there may be other familiar names. My thoughts and feelings go out to all those affected in this vast, outspread town known as Nunavut.

Library of the Erebus and Terror II

2011-08-01T06:56:00.000-07:00

I've written here before about the mystery surrounding the library of books taken aboard HMS "Terror" and "Erebus" on the Franklin expedition. As to the exact number of books, sources vary, and there are few precise descriptions. A copy of the Book of Common Prayer for each seaman was donated to the Expedition, and documents also mention the inclusion of a standard "Seaman's Library," though exactly what that meant in 1845 is not entirely clear. A number of the officers, particularly Fairholme and Fitzjames, mentioned their reading in their letters sent home from Greenland; Fitzjames mentions making a catalog of their books, but this, alas, is lost. Our other evidence comes from books recovered by Franklin searchers, most of which are held at the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich; here the proof would seem to be definitive, but a number of these books are in such a fragmentary or mutilated condition that positive identification is difficult.

Nevertheless, it may well be possible that this library could, at least to some extent, be reconstructed. Copies of the official narratives of previous polar expeditions would certainly have been included; a standard nautical ephemeris and other reference works surely have been provided. Evidence may be lurking in all kinds of places, and Google Books and WorldCat could help us track down specific editions.

And now there is a perfect venue for such a collective undertaking: the LibraryThing Legacy Libraries project. They already have a catalog of the books aboard HMS Beagle, as well as several other vessels, and I've now created a catalog page for the lost library of Franklin's ships. It's fairly easy to add books -- the system will even look them up in the British Library or other catalogs and automatically fetch details. The criteria for inclusion should be (1) Books mentioned as being aboard by crewmembers or visitors to the ships at any time from their outfitting to the point at which the last letters were sent home from Greenland; (2) Books actually recovered by McClintock and other Franklin searchers; and lastly (3) Books which it can be reasonably inferred were aboard based on period evidence -- e.g. the statement that they had aboard all the previous printed narratives of British polar explorers. You can see that I've started to tag the books.

If anyone is interested in contributing, just drop me a note and I will send you the details so that you can log on, edit, add, and contribute.

New Images of HMS Investigator

2011-07-30T15:23:00.001-07:00

Parks Canada recently concluded its new mission this year to photograph and gather information about the Franklin search ship HMS Investigator in the icy waters of Mercy Bay. There doesn't seem to have been any big press release or fanfare, but a number of images such as the one here have quietly made their appearance on the PC website. The quality of these images, when compared with those taken by the remote camera last summer, is remarkable; one can see every nail in the copper sheathing, and it's apparent that the roman numerals were not painted upon this surface, but were cut out of sheet metal and nailed on. There's nothing, at least yet, of the 3D laser telemetry they had planned to gather, nor -- alas -- any images of the interior of the captain's cabin which, the initial announcement implied, might be photographed if it proved possible to insert a camera through a nearby hole in the ship's planking. But I'm sure what we can see is just the tip of the iceberg of the images they've made.

For those who enjoy the immediacy of an audio report, you can get a series of podcasts on their site which give weekly updates on the dives and the progress of their research; I haven't yet had time to listen to all of these myself, but they've provided some interesting evidence which William Battersby discusses on his blog, and if other have listened and found items of interest, I'd certainly be glad to hear about them.

White Snow and Red Tape

2011-06-30T07:15:00.000-07:00

Every government has its bureaucracy, and to rail against them collectively would be absurd. All the same, for those of us who celebrated the creation of Nunavut in 1999, it's disappointing to find that the territorial government's bureaucracy can be just as complicated and slow-moving as any office in Ottawa. Good intentions for Inuit cultural self-determination have been translated into regulations, and in some cases the process has ended up delaying or defeating even the kinds of historical or archaeological research that have the support of local Inuit communities and elders.

As Ron Carlson has explained on his blog, the process for applying for any kind of archaeological work in Nunavut is particularly labyrinthine. One has to have one's request signed off on by a wide array of interested parties, including local Inuit hamlets in the vicinity of the proposed work. Mr. Carlson, to his great credit, has taken the process seriously, working closely with local Inuit leaders, and taking care to provide all the requested information. Since his project, which proposes taking aerial photographs using a thermal camera, is totally non-intrusive, one would think that approving it would be a straightforward matter -- but this is far from true. Nunavut's regulations are very strict -- even taking an ordinary photograph of a possible archaeological site without a permit -- as Bear Grylls' team did last summer -- is technically illegal. In Carlson's case, he satisfied all the various entities who had to sign off on his proposal, and had the support of the Hamlets as well -- and yet his permit was denied. The reason given was his lack of archaeological qualifications! Now, if his proposal involved putting spade into soil, or even a foot upon the ground, that would be understandable, but in this case, I personally feel the rationale borders on the absurd. His proposed search is totally without impact on the ground, undertaken at his own expense, and would produce data which he would share with any and all professional archaeologists an scholars who were interested -- a great many of whom have not the means to get up to King William Island -- and they would have been enormously grateful (I know I would). And yet, apparently, unless he can locate an archaeologist to sit in the passenger seat, this potentially valuable research won't be allowed.

Ron, to his credit, plays absolutely by the book, and he hopes to return next year with the support and/or presence of qualified archaeologists. But it's a real shame that the government of Nunavut has not seen fit to approve this year's search, which I know all of us here were very hopeful could shed new light on the Franklin mystery. Fortunately, Franklinites are very patient people -- we certainly wish Ron the best and I know we'll be there to support, and to follow, his proposed mission next year.

Rumors of Parks Canada Franklin Search

2011-06-19T07:04:00.001-07:00

It's that time of year again when -- despite what has been for the most part a more open, accessible, and timely release of materials from the Parks Canada teams involved with the Franklin search -- we once again must strain to garner what faint rumors we can as to the nature and extent of this year's activities. Fortunately, we have the good reporting of Randy Boswell to rely upon; in a recent article posted to canada.com, Boswell outlines what he's learned so far. By his account, quiet preparations are already underway for a search this year, although PC haven't released any details yet as final agreements with private partners, as well as permits and (one supposes) funding have not yet been worked out. The logistics of sending a government expedition are daunting, and the relative expense of getting a team up there and in place during what is still a fairly small window of time, don't augur well for major progress -- it all seems to depend on whether, in the limited search area identified, searchers have the good fortune to find what so many have sought for so long without result.

There are, however, some hopeful signs; I have heard from a couple of Franklin buffs about the possibility that the Canadian government may be considering the use of LIDAR telemetry to narrow the range of targets, or (possibly) even locate the ships themselves, without having to dispatch a ground team at all. LIDAR (the name is an acronym for Light Detection and Ranging) uses lasers to create detailed maps of the surface or near subsurface features; NASA has already done some impressive work with its EAARL (Experimental Advanced Airborne Research LIDAR) in creating highly detailed 3D models of coastal features, including underwater topography. Such a system could, in theory at least, be used to obtain imagery from the region of King William Island which could include submerged features such as ships or debris fields. At the very least, it's an intriguing possibility.

In the meantime Ron Carlson -- assuming some co-operation from weather, local officials, and permits -- will soon be in Gjoa Haven making final preparations for his fly-over of key KWI sites using thermal sensing technology, in hopes that he may be able to identify the site of Franklin's grave. It could be a very interesting year indeed.

Ron Carlson's Franklin Search

2011-06-16T20:49:00.001-07:00

Over the years, as readers may imagine, I've been in touch with all kinds of people who've had ideas about searching for traces of Sir John Franklin. I've heard from psychics, conspiracy theorists, supposed "direct" descendants, pathologists, poets, and glaciologists -- each with their own angle on the Franklin mystery. But until now, I've rarely known a Franklin searcher as ready, as able, and as determined as is Ron Carlson. Carlson, by his own account, first caught the Franklin bug from my late friend Chauncey Loomis's book on CF Hall, Weird and Tragic Shores. Many who have read Chauncey's book have wondered about the loose ends of the search for the elusive "Aglooka," but as the Wizard of Oz might have put it, Mr. Carlson had one thing the others hadn't got -- an airplane. With his DeHavilland Beaver, one of the legendary workhorses of the North, and his many hours of flying experience, Carlson has set out to do a fly-over of King William Island equipped with thermal sensing cameras to detect potential Franklin burial sites. He has even, in a move reminiscent of Hall's practice camp near the Cincinnati Observatory, constructed a mock-grave in his own backyard to see whether his thermal sensing equipment could detect it -- and it could.

I retain some skepticism, of course: any Franklin grave, 160+ years later, could have receded into the background radiation of thermal imagery, much as the grave of Lieutenant Irving receded back into the visual static of rocky scree and boulders. Nevertheless, given the enormous size of the area to be searched, it seems a very sensible approach to use any sort of visual or scientific telemetry to identify worthy targets in a (frozen) ocean of possibilities. Dave Woodman did much the same with his magnetometer search, and Parks Canada have tried the same approach with side-scan sonar. Even if, on examination, most of the targets proved to be natural features, we certainly need something to limit the size of the haystack in which we are to search for this needle.

Ron has an excellent blog in which he's detailed his progress so far, including landing at Arctic airstrips in adverse wind conditions, relocating an abandoned HBC post, and visiting a church in Churchill whose stained-glass windows were donated by Lady Franklin -- I urge everyone who follows my blog to follow his! There's also just been a great article on Ron's efforts in the Lakeland Times. I'm sure that the best wishes of all Franklin buffs go with him on his search this season!

Japanese duo retrace Franklin's steps

2011-05-22T18:00:00.000-07:00

Faithful readers of this blog will recall, perhaps, my posting from back in February about a previously unknown Japanese adventurer, Yusuke Kakuhata, and his bold plan to retrace Franklin's footsteps across some of the most barren areas of the Arctic, unsupported and on foot. At the time, I was doubly skeptical -- first, that the attempt was real, given that its only mention was on a relatively unknown English-language Japanese news site -- and second, that such a journey, undertaken as it appeared to be by a man whose previous experiences were all on guided expeditions, seemed foolhardy. It now appears I was mistaken on both fronts -- according to this new posting at the ExplorersWeb site, Mr. Kakuhata and his fellow traveller, the more experienced Yasunaga Ogita (both pictured above) have indeed completed the most difficult leg of their planned trip, making the more than 1,000 kilometre trip from Resolute Bay to Gjoa Haven, Nunavut, in 60 days. Having left Resolute on March 15, they are now resting in Gjoa before departing on the final section of their journey toward the Baker Lake region. This would seem to evoke the route supposed to have been traversed by the mysterious Kabloona known only as "Aglooka," and supposed by Charles Francis Hall to have been Francis Crozier -- for he and his two or three companions (depending on the source) are the only members of Franklin's party said by the Inuit to have headed out in this direction. Ogita and Kakuhata plan to start their journey taking sleds, then switch to backpacks when the snow withdraws and the tundra begins to thaw. The article also mentions that Mr. Ogita has been posting updates to his blog -- it's in Japanese, and didn't see a translation link, though you can auto-translate it and get the general gist.

I for one would certainly want to congratulate these two travellers -- their undertaking, although not unprecedented (the American Express Franklin Memorial Expedition followed much the same route in 2003) is certainly remarkable in its being undertaken by such a small, unsupported party, and commencing so early in the season. I hope we'll soon have more details of their journey.

Art from the Arctic

2011-05-14T12:11:00.000-07:00

The Arctic has spurred the creativity of artists for centuries, marking as it does the border between the known and the unknown, the visible and invisible worlds. As historian Robert McGhee so eloquently put it, they are, in many ways, the "last imaginary place" on earth. Most of the time, artists relied on the sketches and accounts of explorers, reconstructing this unearthly country by borrowing the witness of those who sojourned there; some of the most astonishing works -- Friedrich's "Sea of Ice," or Landseer's "Man Proposes, God Disposes," were painted by men who had never approached within a thousand miles of the Arctic Circle. And yet, even in the nineteenth century, there were artists -- sometimes a whole shipload of them -- who headed north to see this singular landscape for themselves. The Armerican artist William Bradford chartered annual excursions for photography ice-painting nearly every year from 1861 to 1867. In 1869, aboard the Panther, with the explorer Isaac I. Hayes as their guide, Bradford and his fellow artists journeyed father north than any such party had managed before, venturing deep into Melville Bay before being turned back by the implacable barrier of pack-ice at about 75º north. In his quest to make the most of his northern sojourns, Bradford regularly brought along hired photographers to take studies of every scene. Two of these, John L. Dunmore and George P. Critcherson, accompanied him on the Panther, making hundreds of wet-plate collodion images, from which Bradford later drew from to assemble the massive elephant-folio volume, The Arctic Regions.

Such a thing, I had until now thought, was a curiously nineteenth-century notion: putting artists on a picture-making cruise seemed somehow both bold and quaint. And yet just today, just by chance, I stumbled across a documentary, Art from the Arctic, which describes a series of voyages made between 2003 and 2005, with British filmmaker David Buckland taking the role of Bradford, and the passenger-artists including sculptors Anthony Gormley and Rachel Whiteread, choreographer Siobhan Davis, and the writer Ian McEwen. The film documenting their journeys is, happily, available to watch free online, both at Hulu and at SnagFilms (I recommend the latter, as it's free of adverts for insurance companies). The film itself isn't terribly remarkable, though there are some lovely shots of Svalbard, including calving glaciers and a polar bear which -- thanks to a telephoto lens -- looks dangerously close to a boatload of defenseless artists. Nevertheless, the story it tells is a remarkable one; in this day and age of virtual visits and Skyping sociality, it's somehow encouraging to see artists and writers actually enduring the rigors of a sea voyage -- and, in one case, a wintering-over -- simply to gain that ineluctable thing that we still can call "experience." I recommend it very highly, and hope that perhaps this sort of thing may happen again -- if it does, I'll put in for a ticket.

Who's in that Grave?

2011-03-20T06:49:00.000-07:00

To riff on an old American joke, it turns out that it may not be Grant in that tomb. According to a forensic facial reconstruction, the skeletal remains reburied with great ceremony in 2009 in Greenwich may not have been those of Henry Dundas Le Vesconte, but rather those of Harry Goodsir, surgeon-naturalist of the Franklin expedition. On one level, it matters not; any honors bestowed upon the remains by sonorous ceremony, with the blessings of the Bishop of Woolwich and the speech of the Canadian Chargé d'affaires would be no less deserved if performed over the bones of any of Franklin's officers or men as had they been made for Le Vesconte. Nevertheless, the identity of this curious skeleton -- brought back to England's shores by way of the eccentric explorer Charles Francis Hall -- remains a bone of contention.

There are questions, of course. How accurate is a facial reconstruction, when it comes to making a positive identification? The technique was originated in the 1890's, but was not widely known outside forensic circles until Wilton W. Krogman popularized it in the 1960's. A particularly well-publicized case was that of German forensic scientist R.P. Helmer's identification of the skull of Nazi "Angel of Death" Josef Mengele in 1985. Helmer looked at photographs of a cross-section of the skull and compared them with known photos of Mengele while alive; by "merging" these two images and looking at specific points and proportions, Helmer felt he could make an identification with a fairly high degree of certainty. Another technique, building up the muscles and skin tissue on a skull or a cast of a skull, came somewhat later; originally used to reconstruct the probable appearance of primitive humans, it was later extended to modern remains. This technique depends upon the reconstructor's knowing something of the age, race, and gender of the subject, and involves a certain degree of interpretation.

The photo distributed with the news of this fresh view of the remains brought back by Hall suggests a blend of both techniques: a facial reconstruction model photographed and then superimposed on a photograph of the candidate. There are questions: given that we only have photographs of perhaps half of Franklin's officers, and none of his men, there might be matches that could be missed; given the limits of this procedure, results would be far stronger if corroborated by other sorts of evidence.

Happily, having had the opportunity, with thanks to one of its co-authors, to see the actual study, "New light on the personal identification of a skeleton of a member of Sir John Franklin’s last expedition to the Arctic, 1845" (Journal of Archaeological Science) I can say that there is substantially more to this identification than facial reconstruction. The jury may still be out, but we have some remarkable additional clues: The skeleton is definitively male, and was of a man between 23 and 59 years of age; he was probably tall and slender, and an isotope analysis of his tooth enamel shows that this individual almost certainly did not grow up in Devon, as did Le Vesconte. Moreover, whatever the precise accuracy of the facial reconstruction, the proportions of the skull and jaw are inconsistent with those of Le Vesconte. Lastly, there is the gold tooth filling -- a very gracefully inserted bit of metal, hardly the "plug" described by its first witnesses, in a tooth showing signs of careful filing -- which suggests someone who had very advanced dental care, in nineteenth-century terms.

And as it happens, Goodsir answers excellently to all these features: he grew up in Scotland, and had never served on a naval vessel prior to his service with Franklin; his face shows the basic features present in the skull, and his eldest brother -- John Goodsir, a scientific pioneer renowned for his medical teachings -- had commenced his career with a careful study of dentistry, with an eye to reforming and refining a hitherto rather brutal practice imposed upon its poor sufferers by ill-trained barber-surgeons. Indeed, John Goodsir's portrait in the Dictionary of National Biography reveals a nose that looks almost the exact match of the facial reconstruction, a helpful additional clue given that the nose of the younger Goodsir, his face turned three-quarters from the camera's eye, is less easily measurable than it would be in a head-on shot.

But there is one remaining issue. If DNA was collected from these bones, then it should be possible to find a match in Goodsir's collateral descendants. As one of several successful brothers, it would seem likely that there would be many candidates, but research so far has not located any. A DNA test would make the identification definitive, or (possibly) rule it out completely, but this would depend on finding a suitable candidate -- preferably someone descended via the female line, where mitochondrial DNA would be passed on unaltered.

But does it matter? Not for the memorial, certainly, which would stand as proudly whichever Franklin officer it honored (and indeed, it honors all of them). But possibly, for the understanding of the last months of the Franklin expedition, it does. Was Goodsir sent along with an advance party of some kind? As a surgeon-naturalist, would the presence of his remains indicate that science was still taking the lead, or rather that circumstances were dire enough that he was sent to perform ordinary medical duties with some party of last survivors? More needs to be done, but if the identification of this body is in error, perhaps the remains supposed to be those of Lieutenant John Irving -- the only other skeleton brought back to England -- should be examined as well.

Franklin Projections in Hobart

2011-03-15T07:25:00.000-07:00

The statue of Sir John Franklin in Hobart, Tasmania, has doubtless seen its share of strange things, but those who visit in the next few weeks will see something stranger still. As part of a series projecting art all over Hobart, the pedestal of Sir John's statue, as well as several of the surrounding trees, have become the canvas for an art installation inspired by the story of Mathinna, the young Tasmanian girl adopted for a time by Lady Jane Franklin, and then left behind at an orphanage on her departure.

According to a recent article by Carol Raabus which appeared on the ABC Hobart news site, these installations, by Craig Walsh, are but the first of many planned for the "Ten Days on the Island" festival, which opens officially on March 25th. Those at Franklin square are the first, and bound to be among the most compelling, as they transform an area which -- by day at least -- has a staid and solid feeling into one which evokes a story that has crept out from between the bloodied floorboards of the "standard" histories, and which many feel redounds poorly on Sir John and Lady Franklin's character.

Mathinna's story has been told several times in recent years -- most powerfully in a radio play by Carmen Bird, "In Her Father's House," which was broadcast on ABC Australia in 2003, and again by Richard Flanagan in his 2009 novel, Wanting. Lady Franklin apparently thought she could "improve" the child, and by so doing demonstrate the capability of the Aboriginal population of being educated. She was given a place at Government House, and educated at Lady Franklin's expense -- and yet, when she experienced difficulties, there was always the threat, implicit or explicit, of her being turned out. When Sir John was recalled to England, Lady Jane sent Mathinna back to the orphanage whence she had plucked her; not surprisingly the young girl did poorly after this, being found dead in the street some years later, apparently of acute alcohol intoxication. Perhaps most poignantly, there survives a lovely portrait of Mathinna, made in 1842 by the painter Thomas Bock, whose pathos depends on our awareness of a fateful truth unknown to the artist.

As conceived here by Craig Walsh, Lady Jane has become a tree, overlooking with strange, sad passivity both the statue of her late husband, and the ghostly image of Mathinna projected upon its pedestal. It's a haunting image to see online, and must surely be more so when seen in person.

Japanese Writer Searching for Franklin

2011-02-23T17:10:00.000-08:00

Until today, I had not heard the name Yusuke Kakuhata mentioned in the context of the Franklin expedition. His plan sounds almost absurd in its ambition -- to travel overland from Resolute to the Baker Lake area on foot, without either a satellite phone or a GPS transponder.

Mr. Kakuhata, a former newspaper reporter who has received the Takeshi Kaiko award for his nonfiction writing, says he is seeking the answer to the question "What does it mean to travel through an unexplored land?"

I would caution him that, first off, the area he'll be traveling through is not unexplored -- but it is extremely remote, and temperatures in February can be harsh -- at the moment of this posting, it's 13 degrees below zero Fahrenheit, with a predicted low of -29, and blowing snow. He plans to travel in the company of Yasunaga Ogita, who has visited the Magnetic North Pole in 2010, and the Geographic North Pole in 2011, so at least he will have an experienced companion, although it remains unclear what kind of support crew, caches, or other provisions for the unexpected have been made. According to the Daily Yomiuri Online, Mr. Kakuhata says that he "wants to experience the extreme situations the lost team faced and will solve any problems through trial and error." It seems a curious determination -- I only hope that his trek does not place other people -- rescuers -- at risk. It is one thing to seek the mystery at the heart of a lost expedition, and quite another to seek to lose one's self.

Franklin's Arctic Voyageurs

2011-02-19T08:49:00.000-08:00

Although best known for his final, fatal voyage of 1845, Sir John Franklin's initial fame rested upon the near-disaster of his expedition to the Polar Sea in 1819-1822. It was this journey, which ended in starvation, cannibalism, and murder, which earned Franklin the lasting sobriquet "the man who ate his boots," proving once again that, when it comes to Arctic exploration, risk is everything.

Not that the Royal Navy was opposed to outsourcing some of that risk -- indeed, they did so quite readily -- and, since they were sticklers for paperwork, we have the contracts to show it. My thanks to Laurent Veilleux for sending along links to these contracts, which have been preserved in the Bibliothèque Nationale du Québec. They are part of the documentation for Franklin's third Polar expedition, not his disastrous second -- I had to do a double-take at first, since one of the more notable names here is that of Solomon Bélanger, a man who, considering that he saved Franklin's life on one occasion, and suffered being berated by his employer on another, might understandably have been reluctant to sign up for another tour. The pay was good, though -- and why not? -- and this time, Franklin guided his men through their voyage without major loss of life.

As it happens, Bélanger was to survive Franklin by nearly 16 years; he died in the parish of St. Jacques de l'Archigan, Québec, in April of 1863, having traversed the route to the Polar Sea twice, though without any memorials having been erected to his name.

New Canadiana Portal

2011-02-13T06:56:00.001-08:00

Looking for information relating to Arctic history in Canada has always been a bit of a task; aside from Library & Archives Canada, many of the other notable institutions -- the Hudson's Bay Archives, the Glenbow Museum, the Canadian Museum of Civilization -- each had their own online archives, all with different search systems. That's all about to change now, though, thanks to the new Canadiana Discovery Portal, where dozens of institutions have begun to share their online materials, making them available at a single click. You can also limit your search by collection, if desired, as well as other parameters. Right now, the system is still in its beta version, and most of the contributing collections have placed only some portion of their digital material in the new system. Nevertheless, just this morning, I made use of the portal and came upon the following:

A hitherto unknown 1861 poem about Sir John Franklin.
A rare photo of a "Sundial Erected by Sir John Franklin at Fort Simpson"
A beautifully-reproduced copy of Karl Hagenbeck's memoir, Von Tieren und Menschen.
A photo of L.T. Burwash with a group of Netsilingmiut near Gjoa Haven in 1929.
The White World, a scarce book published in 1902 with illustrations by Albert Operti.

From my initial experience, I would say that, in its present form, the value added is largely that of convenience, although further searches in individual archives would still be needed. And yet as the project progresses, I'm certain it will soon have the breadth and flexibility to be a truly world-class archival search, and the go-to site for anyone interested in the history of the Canadian Arctic.

P.S. -- my thanks to the Bioscope blog for first alerting me to this service!

Beechey in Fractals

2011-02-03T07:25:00.000-08:00

What are the odds that this tiny rock, which I picked up at random from the gravel at Beechey Island, would happen to be shaped almost exactly like Beechey Island? Common sense would seem to suggest that it's incredibly unlikely, but -- as a friend to whom I showed this rock remarked, seen in terms of fractal geometry, the odds of such a thing are actually far closer to one than to zero. Fractal geometry often exhibits this property of "self-similarity," and there is even a mathematical formula for it. Like a glass hologram shattered into bits, each shard of a fractal form contains within it the same patterning forces and tendencies that shaped its parent. Of course, my Beechey rock has not been subject to erosion, ice-scour, tides, or other larger-scale forces; it's a bit more angular and rough. It appears to be a sort of igneous rock, and is pocked with little round holes that look like the craters on some irregularly-shaped moon. Nevertheless, the signature of nature lies within it; what I had picked up as a casual souvenir turns out to have a connection with its source that is anything but accidental.

These patterns were first noted by the mathematician Benoit Mandelbrot, after whom the 'Mandelbrot set' is named. His 1983 book, The Fractal Geometry of Nature, shows the prevalence of such forms in all manner of realms, ranging in scale from microscopic particles of dust to entire galaxies in space. His ideas were at first received with considerable skepticism, but have since been widely accepted and better understood; their combination of widespread applicability and mathematical elegance sets them as a remarkable leap in the understanding of the world around us.

In passing, I'd like to note that this is the 100th post on this blog since I began it in February of 2009 -- I'm still finding new things to write about, and I look forward to many more posts and responses to come. Since the start, we've had 34,833 pageviews, from all around the world -- over 4,000 from Canada, 3,000 from Australia, 1,800 from Poland, 1,500 from Germany, more than 1,000 from Ireland, the Netherlands, Itay, and Hungary, and even 409 from India!

My thanks to everyone who has read and posted on the site.

Polar Follies

2011-01-16T16:19:00.000-08:00

Longtime readers of this blog know that I rarely editorialize -- I know that those with an interest in the history of polar exploration come from a wide variety of social and political backgrounds, and are of all ages and persuasions. I would hesitate to say anything here which might limit the appeal of this seemingly inexhaustible subject, but this article in today's New York Times about planned excursions to the South Pole on the upcoming anniversary of the Amundsen and Scott expeditions of 1911-12 has got my dander up. The idea of dropping off tourists -- many with no polar experience, no prior training, and (in some cases) even novices to skiing, at a cost of $30-$40,000 a pop -- is wasteful, irresponsible, and quite likely to lead to some serious injuries or deaths.

I can, to a degree, speak to this issue from experience. When I was in Resolute, Nunavut in April of 2004 for the filming of the Channel 4 documentary Search for the Northwest Passage, there was another group in town -- they consisted of the participants and organizers of the 2004 Fujitsu Polar Challenge, as well as a BBC film crew sent to cover the event. In teams of three, these Arctic novices were to "race to the magnetic pole" --- sort of. The problem was that the Pole had moved out into the polar icecap, which led the event's planners to shift the goal to an abandoned mine site located where the Pole had been in 1996. The members of these teams were young people, many between 18 and 25 years of age, who had raised money through their schools and various fundraising events back home to pay for their journey. Their "training" -- much like that of one of the persons preparing for the 2011 Antarctic events -- often consisted simply of dragging tyres around by a rope. Many of them had never been north of 60 in their lives, and had little cross-country skiing experience.

The events of that year were sobering. At the Resolute airport, I talked with some of the backup and rescue staff assigned to protect the teams during the race. Two racers had had to be brought out by rescue teams when they collapsed from exhaustion. A third young man was the least fortunate of all; because he had not vented moisture properly from his wind coveralls, water had condensed inside his crotch area. He lost sensation, and later that day became incontinent; his urine also froze. By the time rescue teams reached him, profound frostbite and necrosis had set in; he had to be flown out in a helicopter and the word "amputation" was muttered by the medics who'd treated him.

The "winning" team was a British one, and among their other privileges was to plant the Union Jack out on the ice of Resolute Bay, between two Fujitsu company banners. The fact that their victory was an artificial one, possible only through enormous and expensive logistical support from experienced persons, and came at the expense of injuries which were 100% attributable to lack of experience, was ignored as they posed for photos and chatted with the BBC crew.

On the fight back from Resolute to Iqaluit, I chatted with the BBC's cameraman, who recounted how he'd just read a book on R.F. Scott which attributed his death and that of his comrades to unusually bad weather conditions. And surely this may have been a factor -- but Scott and his men, at least, had undergone considerable training and preparation. How might a party of novices have fared under such conditions? Who would have had to pay for the cost of rescuing them?

Such exploits as these tourist "races" to the South Pole are only possible at enormous expense and risk, and offer no new discoveries, perform no scientific work of any value, and confer only the most artificial sense of achievement. Like the paid tourist guides to the top of Mount Everest documented by Jon Krakauer, these kinds of "expeditions" have no business being in business. They are profit-making sham operations, and it would do much more to honor the memory of Scott and Amundsen to have them banned by the international authorities who administer the Antarctic continent.

Tom's a-Cold

2011-01-11T17:55:00.001-08:00

To the annals of dramas inspired by the plight of Sir John Franklin's men in the last stages of their fatal Arctic expedition -- a noble list that begins with Wilkie Collins and Charles Dickens's "The Frozen Deep" of 1857 -- one can now add another play: Canadian playwright David Egan's "Tom's a Cold." The play, which takes its title from the storm scene in King Lear, embodies the psychological drama of two men in a boat -- a boat which any follower of Arctic history will recognize as that found by Sir Leopold McClintock with two skeletons aboard -- in their final extremities of cold and despair. It might seem a grim subject -- but here in the twenty-first century, with Samuel Beckett known to us, it gives the word "endgame" a curious new twist. The play opened in London this summer, where the reviewer for TimeOut London, while he thought the play a bit overlong, praised the last portion of the performance, declaring that "Egan conjures a devastating end stretch, poetic and stomach churning."

The play now comes back to its literal and metaphorical home turf -- Canada -- where it is now appearing as part of the Factory Theatre's Next Stage Festiva l. But if you want to see it, you'd better hurry -- the last performance will be just a few days from now, on Sunday, January 16th.

Trafalgar Chronicle 2010

2010-12-20T19:39:00.001-08:00

Following our notice of NIMROD, there's one other annual publication that's often a treasure trove for Franklinites and other Arctic aficionados -- the Trafalgar Chronicle, Year Book of the 1805 club. Although its main focus is on all matters involving the British Naval campaign against Napoleon, along with Naval memorials and Nelsoniana in general, the "TrafChron," as it's known around here, has often included material on Franklin, since he was present at the battle of Trafalgar and is thus considered a campaigner, albeit one who was far better known for his later career. Under the able editorship of Dr Huw Lewis-Jones, there have been a number of recent articles of interest, most prominent among them that on Lieutenant Henry Le Vescomte, which appeared in the 2009 number.

This year's issue sees a number of scholars whose names will be familiar to Arctic history buffs, among them Dr Lewis-Jones himself, along with Glyn Williams, Andrew Lambert, E.C. Coleman, and myself. And, although my article is the only one that deals specifically with Franklin, these other contributions will surely be of value to anyone with an interest in Naval affairs of this period. Lewis-Jones offers a remarkably vivid and engaging account of the career of Lord Nelson's star of the Order of the Bath and the role of such relics in the cult of naval history; Williams has an account of Patrick O'Brian's early novels, set prior to the Napoleonic era; Coleman contributes an account of the career of George Vancouver; and Lambert an essay on the Royal Navy's White Sea Campaign of 1854. My own contribution, "Some Unresolved Aspects of the Franklin Expedition," is based on the talk I gave on that subject at last year's Shackleton Autumn School in Athy, Ireland. In it, I give an overview of a variety of still-unresolved questions about the final fate of Franklin's last expedition, with notes on recent discoveries, including that of Robert McClure's HMS Investigator just this past summer.

The astute reader will also discover two other articles with Arctic connections: James Davey's piece on the career of Sir James Saumarez, who was a key mentor to and supporter of Sir John Ross, and Barry Smith's "Gone Aloft: Some Maritime Memorials at Kensal Green Cemetery," a delightful guide that would have been of great use when, last October, I visited the cemetery with Dr Lewis-Jones, Kari Herbert, and Kenn Harper; it clears up the issue of the legal care of each plot, the shape and extent of the catacombs, as well as the actual location of each of the deceased, including that of Lady Jane Franklin in Catacomb B, 12059, Vault 61, Compartment 1. Even the "Notes on Contributors" provides matter of interest, not the least by mentioning E.C. Coleman's recent book, The Grail Chronicles, in which he claims to have discovered the Holy Grail in Lincoln Cathedral. As with every number of the TrafChron, it's an annual that no historian worth his or her salt will want to be without.

New issue of NIMROD

2010-12-01T07:35:00.000-08:00

Although I wasn't able to attend the Shackleton Autumn School in Athy, this past October, I'm delighted to report that the latest issue of NIMROD, the school's journal, is now available. Editor Seamus Taaffe has brought together a fine and representative array of papers, most of which are drawn from talks given at last year's meeting.

In addition to an excellent overview of the school's many highlights over the past 10 years by my good friend Joe O'Farrell, this issue offers some impressive examples of the kinds of high-quality, wide-ranging papers presented at last year's meeting. It would be false modesty not to mention an essay on which well-known Arctic author Kenn Harper and I collaborated; it details the remarkable history of very early Arctic films -- all made in or before 1920 -- featuring Arctic scenes and Inuit people, particularly Nancy Columbia. Kenn was able to present a few clips from these rare films at last year's meeting, while others were shown in a programme arranged by Dr Huw Lewis-Jones and myself; this article gives the remarkable backstory to how these films -- including 1911's "Way of the Eskimo," the first Inuit-written, Inuit-cast dramatic film in history -- were produced. The essay is richly illustrated with stills, adverts, and on-set snapshots, many of them never before published, from Kenn's extensive collection.

Another highlight for me is Michael H. Rosove's "The Great Books of Shackletonia"; as was his talk last year, it too is richly illustrated with covers and title pages of the books he describes, many of them extraordinarily rare. Bob Headland also contributes a fine piece on "Historic Huts of the Antarctic from the Heroic Age," and Jim McAdam gives his account of Shackleton and Fur Sealing on the Falkland Islands. Three informative book reviews by Paul Davies, Kevin Kenny, and Robert Stephenson round out the volume, which is well-printed on good, heavy-weight stock and stoutly bound. At just €12 each, it's an extraordinary value; copies may be ordered online here.

Next up: the new issue of the Trafalgar Chronicle, also just published, offers a trove of articles, many of them looking to the Franklin expedition. Watch this space for a full account.

Talk on James Fitzjames at Durning LIbrary

2010-11-30T16:34:00.000-08:00

On Monday, 17th January, the Victorian-era splendor of the Durning Library will host a talk by William Battersby on the life and career of James Fitzjames, based on his research for his recent book James Fitzjames: Mystery Man of the Franklin Expedition. For those who may not be familiar with this remarkable venue, it's in the borough of Lambeth and readily accessible from central London; the address, for Google and GPS users is 167, Kennington Lane, London, SE11 4HF, a brief walk from the Kennington tube station on the Northern line.

Mr Battersby's talk is hosted by the Friends of the Durning Library; it begins at 7:15 p.m.; according to the description on his blog page, "The Friends will provide light refreshments and there is no admission charge, although a £2.00 donation is suggested." Among the many other aspects of this fascinating subject, Mr Battersby promises to touch on "the intriguing links between Kennington and James Fitzjames himself." It's certainly an event which I would very much want to attend, were I to be anywhere in the greater London area on that evening; for those who are unfamiliar with Mr Battersby's book on Fitzjames, I recommend it highly -- there's much within that has never been guessed at by earlier Franklin researchers.

[Photo of the Durning Library by Derek Harper]

Franklin Curiosities: Ron Toelke

2010-11-21T17:50:00.000-08:00

A few months ago, in one of my installments on Franklin Curiosities, I mentioned the small toy replica tins of Goldner's Patent Provisions crafted by Ron Toelke. Since then, I was very pleased to be able to get back in touch with Ron, and visit his new website, which showcases his many artistic creations. Among the most remarkable of these, without doubt, are the portraits in his series A Sorrower on the Sea of Doubt. Based upon the famous Franklin daguerreotypes taken by Beard and his assistants in 1845, these portraits each incorporate Toelke's hand-cut portrait of the sitter on metallic paper, along with four lines from the poem, Lady Franklin's Appeal to the North, first published in the New York Times on October 18, 1851. Each portrait is framed on tombstone-shaped marbled paper, surmounted with an image of the Arctic Medal with the north star at its peak. The cover glass of each portrait is treated with a special finish that crystallizes into its own unique icy pattern. Although I have not seen one of these works in person, I can say from seeing the images on Toelke's webpage that they are among the most remarkable contemporary versions of the portraits of Franklin's men that I know. The collection takes its name, "Sorrower on the Sea of Doubt," from the last line of the poem.

Toelke's many other projects are no less commendable; he has another toy set, Battleships of the World, which are wonderfully crafted of wood, paper, and paint. He is also at work on a set of Arctic playing cards, which will be based in part on similar souvenir decks produced in the 1850's, with illustrations taken from the books and illustrated papers of the day. To my mind, this is just the sort of artistic endeavor which brings together the fascination with the old with a new sense of what craft and care can produce; no Franklin collection would be complete without something of his work.

"Echoes in the Ice" at Canada Science and Technology Museum

2010-10-25T09:07:00.001-07:00

Canada's Science and Technology Museum is hosting an exhibition, "Echoes in the Ice: History, Mystery, and Frozen Corpses," which runs from now through March 20, 2011. This exhibition had its origins in a series of collages by artist and filmmaker Rik van Glintenkamp, illustrating various aspects of the search for the North Pole and the Northwest Passage. The idea was to combine these images with an array of original relics of Franklin's last expedition, educational videos, and the evidence for cannibalism. The resulting show offers an impressive array of set-pieces -- my favorite is a replica of John Hartnell's original grave-board on Beechey Island with a full-size image of his exhumed corpse -- along with a judicious selection of actual artifacts. A boot-heel, modified with nails, was once worn by one of Franklin's men, who -- never supplied for overland travel -- had to improvise their footgear and garments from materials on board their ships. Other artifacts include tins of Goldner's provisions and a barrel lid on loan from the Prince of Wales Northern Heritage Centre, along with period instruments such as sextants and maritime compasses. Texts and photos from the 1993 excavation of the site known as Ng-Lj2 were prepared with assistance from Margaret Bertulli and Anne Keenleyside, two of the lead archaeologists on that survey. Photos of skeletal remains, many of them showing the cut-marks made by men in their last, desperate moments, complete the grim picture.

As the press release describes it,

"The stories are told using images, audio-visual presentations, and artifacts. With the mandate to observe everything from “flea to whale,” the Franklin Expedition relied on the scientific and technological instruments of the day during their search for the Passage. Instruments and objects dating from the same period as the Franklin Expedition are on display, including navigation tools, and a brass-bound mahogany case containing a set of surgical instruments used for post-mortem dissections."

It's certainly an exhibit that will hold enormous interest for anyone who has been following the continuing story of our effort to understand the final days of this ill-fated expedition.

Franklin Fictions

2010-10-12T08:40:00.000-07:00

From the first moment his ships were missed, the lost expedition of Sir John Franklin has fired the imagination of poets, dramatists, and (especially) novelists. At last count there were no fewer than twenty-four novels, ranging from Jules Verne’s The Adventures of Captain Hatteras in 1864 to Dominique Fortier's On the Proper Use of Stars, which just appeared in English translation last month. Essays by writers as diverse as George Eliot, Joseph Conrad, and Margaret Atwood, have tackled the Franklin fascination, and a full collection of all the historical studies, monographs, and illustrated books on the expedition would easily fill a room (my own collection, which is very far from complete, already fills one). There have also been at least five full-length documentary films, although not yet a feature film of a purely dramatic sort (although I know of at least three screenplays for proposed films). For this entry, I’ll focus on the fictions – and the differing ways they draw upon the basic outlines of the Franklin story.

Franklin himself has fared rather unevenly in this body of work; he has been portrayed, variously, a sort of saint of “slowness” (Nadolny), a neckless nabob fleeing from a domineering wife (Flanagan), a dim-witted leader known to the Indians as “Thick English,” a snowbound abbot of a shipload of polar monks (MacEwen), and the first victim of a bloodthirsty Wendigo (Simmons). To some, he was a hero – but to some (to paraphrase Johnny Cash) his score was ‘zero’ (or perhaps one should say, sub-zero).

Franklin’s officers, too, have proven attractive subjects for fiction; Fitzjames has most frequently been singled out, as in John Wilson’s North With Franklin: The Journals of James Fitzjames, and Crozier has proven an equally attractive figure, bringing with him as he did the shadow of a failed romance with Franklin’s niece Sophy Cracroft. At the same time, some of the poetry and fiction deliberately takes a different tack, as with Rudy Wiebe’s A Discovery of Strangers, which is told largely from the view of the Dene peoples who witnessed Franklin’s first land expedition. Time-travel stories, in which characters from the present are transported to Franklin’s ships, have served as the premise for books as diverse as John Wilson’s young-adult novel Across Frozen Seas and William T. Vollman’s postmodern epic, The Rifles. Those who have searched for Franklin have sometimes ended up with their own novels, as do Charles Francis Hall and his Inuit guides in Steven Heighton’s Afterlands. Polar potboilers such as Dan Simmons’ Terror and Elizabeth MacGregor’s The Ice Child round out the list.

So what is it about Franklin that appeals to such a wide array of authors? Was it his strange and tragic loss, along with two great ships and 128 men? Was it the abundant confidence and hubris his officers expressed as they sailed to their doom? Or was it the surreal setting of the endless fields of ice and snow, hundreds of miles from the nearest outposts of so-called civilization, that struck a chord in the imagination. All of the above, I would say.

The first Franklin “fiction” – if the term applies here – was a fantastical narrative which appeared in 1851 under the capacious title, The extraordinary and all-absorbing journal of Wm. N. Seldon one of a party of three men who belonged to the exploring expedition of Sir John Franklin, and who left the ship Terror, frozen up in ice, in the Arctic ocean, on the 10th day of June, 1850 ... together with an account of the discovery of new and beautiful country, inhabited by a strange race of people ... As had Edgar Allan Poe with his Arthur Gordon Pym, Seldon deliberately evoked all the language and apparatus of an actual sea-story, while retaining a wry and winking eye to the gullibility of his audience; the book was prefaced with a “Life of Sir John Franklin,” and sprinkled with lurid illustrations of men wrestling with ice, polar bears, and each other. Ultimately, alas, it was a fairly conventional piece of frozen melodrama, written to cash in quickly on the current fascination with Franklin’s fate – and of this species, it would not be the last.

Our next candidate is a work by that master of the fantastic, Jules Verne. Those familiar with his other “extraordinary voyages” – Journey to the Center of the Earth and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea – may be forgiven if they’ve never heard of this work, which appeared under various titles including The Field of Ice, The English at the Pole, and The Voyages of Captain Hatteras. The book had been out of print until a new translation by William Butcher was published by Oxford University Press in 2005. And yet despite its lengthy hiatus, the book reads as well as Verne’s better-known classics, and includes many of the same elements – a half-crazed captain, a mad quest to some unobtainable goal, and a mixture of known and imaginary technological wonders – as do they. The “Captain Hatteras” of the title does not himself encounter Franklin or his men, but he retraces their steps with reverence, making the same pilgrimages to King William Island and Beechey Island that, a few decades later, Roald Amundsen would make in fact. Verne’s conclusion, however, owes little to Franklin or to any other history, save for the old chimera of the “Open Polar Sea.” Verne’s sea is open because it has at its center an active volcano – one can imagine the rest.

From Verne’s novel – which first appeared in English in 1865 – to the next is a gap of nearly a hundred years. And yet it is not entirely without surprise that a descendent of James Fenimore Cooper – he whose books Mark Twain derided as the “broken twig series” – who brought this subject to the fore. With Island of the Lost (1961), Paul Fenimore Cooper laid out the basic elements which would feature in many subsequent fictions: the desolate island, the last march of the starving men, and color commentary on the faded glory and misplaced confidence of the men who sailed so bravely into an icy wilderness. The book has been out of print for some years, although a used copy may be found with an ease that suggests it sold reasonably well.

Four years later, the Australian novelist Nancy Cato entered the field with her book North-West by South. The particular importance of Franklin to Australians is hardly coincidental; as a crewmember on Matthew Filnders’ first circumnavigation of the continent, as well as one of the early governors of Tasmania, Franklin looms nearly as large in the history of Australia as he does in that of Britain or Canada. A prominent member of the “Jindyworobak” movement which sought to promote Australia’s indigenous cultures and histories, Cato deliberately chose subjects for her fictions which evoked the southern continent’s complex histories. Her portrait of Franklin is neither heroic nor anti-heroic, but rather iconic; he ends up representing all the crooked histories of his several pasts, even as his crew inters him in an immense tomb of translucent ice in the midst of the Victoria Straits.

Cato’s was the last word on Franklin in fiction for nearly a decade, until Caroline Tapley’s 1974 young adult novel John Came Down the Backstay. Just as would John Wilson’s YA novelAcross Frozen Seas twenty years later, Tapley focused on one of the cabin “boys” aboard the Erebus and Terror, and the natural fears such a lad would have on embarking on such a perilous voyage. The perspective of a young person makes for compelling storytelling, and yet is not quite consistent with the facts, since all four of the “boys” entered into the muster rolls for Franklin’s ships were at least twenty-one years of age upon sailing.

Perhaps the most daring, resonant, and influential of all Franklin fictions, Sten Nadolny’s Die Entdeckung der Langsamkeit, appeared in German in 1983. Under the title “The Discovery of Slowness,” a brilliant English translation by Ralph Freedman appeared in 1987, and for the first time British and American readers could experience a book which, among other things, launched a televsion series, an opera, and a business philosophy whose seminars dominated the executive suites of German corporations throughout the 1980’s. The keu concept here was “langsamkeit” – slowness – a word whose previous associations had been with mental retardation. Nadolny imagines Franklin as a “slow” child, but sees this not as an impairment but a brilliant gift. The same boy who stood by the schoolhouse wall, unable to catch a thrown ball because he always reached for it after he arrived, found his perfect career in the ice, in a region of the world where being “slow” was just what was called for. Nadolny's novel is notable for the way it combines the carefully-researched actual life of Franklin with the strange conceit of Franklin's "slowness" in such a way that, fanciful though it is, one at times feels as though one is reading his true life story -- or even a truer one.

A lively sense of humor and historical irony were melded in the next Franklin-flavored yarn, Canadian author Mordecai Richler’s sprawling and inventive Solomon Gursky Was Here(1990). In Richler’s playful animadversion on all that has come before, one of the frozen bodies of Franklin’s men excavated by archaeologists turns out to have been given an Orthodox Jewish burial. In the ensuing ruckus, the arrival by sledge of a mysterious man named “Toolooah” (a westernized spelling of the name given Franklin by the Inuit) in the outlands of northern Ontario passes almost without notice – until someone realizes who he might actually be. Although both characters eventually are absorbed within the crazy quilt of the Gursky family, the Franklin connection brings a distinctively Canadian twist to the tale; Richler admitted having been inspired in part by the exhumations of the graves on Beechey Island by Owen Beattie.

The year 1994 saw two ambitious new Franklin fictions: Rudy Wiebe’s A Discovery of Strangers, a provocative historical novel based on Franklin’s first land expedition of 1819-21, and William T. Vollmann’s postmodern pastiche, The Rifles. Wiebe’s book takes a new tactic in having almost the entire tale told from the view of the indigenous peoples and animals of northern Canada; his portrayals of Keshkerrah and Greenstockings are particularly poignant. Wiebe did extensive research on the Tetsot’ine people of the Dene confederation, a group with which his own ancestors, early Mennonite settlers in the area, had enjoyed friendly relations. He was criticized in some quarters for romanticizing his First Nation narrators, and demeaning Franklin, who is known by his Dene nickname “Thick English” throughout the novel. And the same time, the less-famous members of Franklin’s party, particularly midshipman Hood and ordinary seaman Robert Hepburn are sympathetically recalled, and Hepburn takes a turn as the novel’s central narrator.

Vollmann’s The Rifles, published as the sixth of his “Seven Dreams” novels which cover different historical aspects of the colonization of the Americas, is perhaps the most unromantic of all Franklin fictions. The book’s main narrator, like all of Vollmann’s antiheroes loosely based on himself, is a northern vagabond with an Inuk girlfriend, Reepah. The novel hints that they are the reincarnations of Sir John and Lady Jane Franklin, though if true, this must mean that there must have been a considerable karmic debt to be paid off, as these new lives are fraught with poverty, bad teeth, and a profound aimlessness of purpose. Woven in are small sections which halfheartedly re-create the events of the Franklin expedition, as well as a somewhat narcissistic postscript describing Vollmann’s self-arranged sojourn at an abandoned military base on Ellesmere Island. The overall effect is, for me, far from satisfactory, though sprinkled throughout are the usual Vollmann moments of scattershot genius.

The last few years of the twentieth century witnessed several new fictions with elements of the Franklin disaster at or near their center, among them Andrea Barrett’s The Voyage of the Narwhal, Brian Hopkins’s Cold at Heart, and John Wilson’s North With Franklin: The Journals of James Fitzjames. For my purposes, Wilson’s is the most intriguing of these, since it attempts something hitherto untried – the extension of an existing historical document. Fitzjames’s last letters home to his sister, posted from Greenland in 1845, were published in part in the 1850’s, and Wilson tracked down the originals. Together, the form a sort of diary, and Wilson imagines in rich and evocative detail how that diary might have been continued, in letters Fitzjames never lived to post. A beautifully written and produced book, it is still well-known in Canada, though less so here in the US; it’s a volume worth tracking down.

The next great moment in Franklin-related fiction is drawn from the lives of those who searched for him in vain. In his 2006 novel Afterlands, Steven Heighton, with what Kenn Harper has called “powerful descriptive talent,” re-imagines the experience of the crew of C.F. Hall’s ship the “Polaris” after Hall’s death and the stranding of much of her crew on a southward-drifting icefloe. Drawing from the recollections of George Tyson, the party’s nominal leader, and adding in elements from the lives of Hall’s Inuit companions Tookoolito, Ebierbing, and their daughter Panik, Hieghton manages to be both lyrical and clear-headed in his paean to human folly and human endurance, and does so in a historical novel whose factual backgrounds he meticulously researched.

From Heighton’s heights, we descend quickly into the world of Dan Simmons, known for writing historical potboilers in which everything – not excluding kitchen sinks, officers gone mad, and cannibalistic Wendigos scratching at the door – is tossed in for maximum dramatic effect. His Terror (2007) may be both the biggest and the best-selling of Franklin-inspired fiction, and has clearly brought a great deal of pleasure to his devoted fans, despite historical inaccuracies and the heaping of the impossible on top of the improbable. The Wendigo – a legendary spirit of the Canadian north whose bite confers an appetite for human flesh – is of course perfectly fitted to the Franklin expedition, evoking the Inuit testimony given to John Rae and the cut-marks found on the bones of his men, so although it’s highly fantastical, it’s not entirely without historical antecedent.

Last year, with Wanting, Richard Flanagan returned to a chapter in Franklin’s life largely ignored in fiction – his time as the Governor of Van Diemen’s Land, now Tasmania. Flanagan, a Tasmanian writer with a long resumé, is particularly interested in Mathinna, an aboriginal girl adopted by Sir John and Lady Jane. For a time, this young girl was lavished with attention, given a room in Government House and sent to a private school. On the Franklins’ departure, however, she was essentially abandoned, and returned to the poverty and outcast status which were the natives’ allotment in those times. Flanagan interweaves the Tasmanian story with that of Charles Dickens, always a fervent follower of Franklin and Arctic exploration. In one of those historical coincidences which, on examination, seems anything but accidental, Dickens has at the same time just lost his daughter and become estranged from his wife. In an endeavor to dramatize the Franklin tragedy, and raise funds for the newly-widowed wife of his old friend Douglas Jerrold, Dickens and Wilkie Collins wrote and staged The Frozen Deep, a play about lost love and lost explorers which was the toast of London. In assembling a cast for a Manchester performance, Dickens cast Ellen Ternan, a young professional actress who would soon become his – possibly platonic, possibly not – companion for the rest of his life.

Like Wiebe and Heighton, Flanagan’s story is marked by lyrical nuances and judicious interweaving of historical research, both of which are also hallmarks of the newest Franklin fiction, Dominque Fortier's novel, On the Proper Use of Stars. Fortier juxtaposes a wide variety of sources -- ship-board plays, historical documents, recipes, and even an excerpt from Eleanor Porden's poetry -- with a series of finely wrought epiphanies in which, like ghosts in an icy mirror, we see flashes of Crozier, Fitzjames, Lady Franklin, and Sophia Cracroft. It's an impressive tour de force, and in many ways the most all-encompassing of Franklin fictions -- but it will surely not be the last.

[Editor's note: this is a revised and updated version of an earlier post on this blog]

Arctic Box Bait-and-Switch?

2010-09-29T05:59:00.000-07:00

News that the box unearthed from under the Gibson memorial in Gjoa Haven did not contain any Franklin records came as no surprise to those of us who have been following the story -- least of all to Kenn Harper, whose research clearly showed that all that had ever been buried there was an Amundsen record and photograph. But these, too were missing, as was the white marble slab which was supposed to have been incorporated into the monument. This puzzled us all, until I read this post on Ken McGoogan's blog, in which he recounts his conversation with Louie Kamookak, Gibson's grandson. According to this posting, the Amundsen record, as well as the marble block, had been removed from the cairn a few years after their deposit by another party of HBC employees, and had been deposited in the Yellowknife archives.

I was stunned to think this was possible, and this morning searched the online archives of the Prince of Wales Northern Heritage Centre; prior to the establishment of the territory of Nunavut in 1999, this is where all such artifacts would have been deposited). And, although I didn't find a listing for the Neumayer photo, the marble slab (or at least a photo of it) is indeed there. Its description, complete with a spelling error, makes its identity clear: "White marble plaque place by Amundsen in 1903 at Gjoa Haven. The plaque is 1/2 mile east of the settlement. Amundsen left many records under this."

That the stone could have ended up at PWNHC would not, in other circumstances, be a surprise; they have many such artifacts, including the original grave-boards of the Franklin crewmen buried at Beechey Island (the ones on Beechey are replicas with bronze nameplates). But that the Government of Nunavut, the Porter family, and a bevy of lawyers would have taken the time, the trouble, and the expense to dig up a box whose contents were not only known, but safely on deposit in a government archive, boggles the imagination. The official press release states that "despite the fact that the box did not contain the objects originally thought to be inside, this was an important project to undertake given the potential significance of these items and their importance to the local community." Well, if that makes sense, I've got some "Franklin" records buried in my back yard that I'd love to have the government help me re-landscape.

No public word yet on how or why this non-story ever got the funding and attention it did -- and my experience tells me not to hold my breath.

UPDATE: Kenn Harper has pointed out that the photo at PWNHC appears to be from the 1940's, prior to either the stone or the record having been moved to the Gibson monument -- so there's no clear confirmation as of yet whether they have either of the actual physical items.

UPDATE II: I have just had confirmation from the Prince of Wales Northern Heritage Centre that they do hold items "related" to the Gjoa Haven find -- they won't be specific, though they confirm they have "a photograph" and a "small bit" of the marble slab, saying these items are now part of the Archives of Nunavut, and under its jurisdiction.

Grylls' Route

2010-09-22T09:25:00.001-07:00

After a good deal of jiggering around with the route-tracing page on Bear Grylls' site, I managed to get a close-up view of his journey as he passed by the NE corner of King William Island. As you can see in the comparison shot here, he passed almost exactly through the area I'd initially thought, nipping the NE corner of Qikiqtarjuaq Island. It would seem to me that the locality of the "uncharted" islet on which these graves and other remains were found must have been in the immediate vicinity of Cape Sabine, or else possibly near the unnamed bay to the north of Cape Edgeworth. Still no word from Mr. Grylls, but let's hope he continues uploading photos to his page here -- maybe we'll see something of what he has described on his blog.

Where in the World is "Bear" Grylls?

2010-09-21T18:53:00.001-07:00

After numerous attempts, via every e-mail and every journalistic contact I can find, I have been unable to reach "Bear" Grylls. He seems like a nice enough guy -- I truly have nothing against him! -- but he also seems kind of hard to find. There is so much Inuit testimony, maps, and other material I and other followers of this blog could bring to "bear" on his findings, that it seems to me strange that I have not already heard from him. And it's only fair to say that many Inuit and other Arctic folks are mighty skeptical of his claims -- comments to the story about his finds in the Nunatsiaq News include gems such as "He probably found an old baccy tin and a hole where a grizzly bear was digging for sik-siks," and then "This Bear Grylls fellow is a real showman, but doesn’t know squat. It’s all an attempt to hype the show," and finally "What a way to advertise eh. This Bear Grylls person doesn’t know anything, and on top of that saying 'it could relate to Franklin’s expidition' WTF!!!!" And these are only the kinder of the sentiments I'm hearing from Inuit and other northern folks.

So Bear, if you're out there -- toss me a line! As a scholar of this history, I'm happy to share everything and anything I know, but I would appreciate it if you would let the rest of the world know what exactly it is you have found, where it is, and how I can get in contact with you! And if every follower of this blog (there are more than 50 in all) would join with me in this call, I'm sure we could get some kind of news from this latter-day Arctic sojourner. If we can find Waldo, we ought to be able to find him.

New Franklin Find Claimed

2010-09-19T11:59:00.000-07:00

In a story first noted on William Battersby's blog, adventurer and television presenter "Bear" Grylls has claimed a new Franklin find off the coast of King William Island in Nunavut. The exact location of the find has not been disclosed, although it appears to be somewhere off the northeast coast of the island. In Grylls' account, on the northern side of a tiny islet they dubbed "Jonesy Island" after their engineer, they found signs of three large fires "on the side of the island abutting Wellington straight [sic]" which they surmised to be signal fires lit to attract rescuers; they also found "part of a mast" blown up on shore, whale-bone pins, stone tent circles, and "human remains buried in western looking graves."

Since their initial description is rather vague (they even describe the area as "uncharted" though that's clearly not true), I can't say for certain whether this specific site is, in fact, previously known. That Franklin survivors would burn scarce wood as a signal seems a bit farfetched, unless they actually believed a ship to be nearby, and if indeed the site dates to the Franklin era, any grave would be "western style" since Inuit of this period did not build permanent graves of any kind. The tent circles could be Inuit; an expert eye would be needed to tell, and probably a closer site survey; bone pins suggest pre-contact Inuit, and that the site was in use well before the arrival of any Europeans.

On modern charts, the description seems to match the area of the Tennent Islands, the largest of which is Qikiqtarjuaq (not to be confused with the island of the same name off Baffin Island). And there is, in fact, an Inuit account of Franklin materials from this area; the Inuk Hall knew as See-pung-er (the same who was among the first to obtain materials from near Point Victory) said that "he had also seen a monument about the height of a tall man at another point between Port Parry and Cape Sabine." Hall asked him if he had torn down this cairn, and See-pung-er answered "only enough to find something within." This something, Hall was disheartened to hear, was a tightly-sealed tin canister which was "full of such stuff as the paper on which Hall had been writing," and since it was "good for nothing to Innuits" it had been given to the children, or thrown away. See-pung-er went on to say that he and his uncle had camped near the site, wrapping themselves in blankets they found in a pile of white men's clothing; he further mentioned that a "kob-lu-na's skeleton" lay nearby.

So the new "discovery" sounds to me very much like the same site, or one closely related to that seen by Grylls and his party. It's possible that some of the surface artifacts were unrelated to Franklin's men, but the description of the graves certainly sounds telling; they also saw a small scrap of blue cloth, which could be connected to the pile of clothing, or one of the graves. The site should certainly be visited by trained archaeologists, as there has not, in modern times, been any effort to retrace Franklin men's footsteps in the northeast area of King William Island, though it is fairly clear that some of them must have fled there, or paused in their flight elsewhere.

This story has since broken into the public press, with an article in The Independent on Sunday which gives Grylls' account in a way similar to when it was first posted on his own blog; the persons consulted by the reporter seemed to feel this was new news -- but in fact, as in so many cases, it's most likely a site already visited by Inuit early on after Franklin's men perished, and documented in Hall's notebooks.

Alleged Franklin Records in Gjoa Haven

2010-09-03T19:36:00.000-07:00

This is a guest column written by Kenn Harper at the invitation of Russell Potter.

Tomorrow Walter Porter, an Inuk in Gjoa Haven, Nunavut, promises to excavate the logbooks of the lost Franklin expedition from beneath a cairn in his community where, he says, his grandfather buried them over four decades ago. It would, of course, be a fantastic discovery and, like most, perhaps all, students of the Franklin saga, I wish his promise would be realized. But I expect that it won’t be. Here’s why.

In 1958 Eric Mitchell, a Hudson’s Bay trader, dug up records left by Amundsen in Gjoa Haven in 1905. They were, according to Mitchell’s own reminiscences, buried just under the white marble slab that Amundsen had used for his magnetic observations. Paddy Gibson, an earlier HBC trader, had previously unearthed them in 1927, looked at them, made copies, and reburied them in the same spot. Gibson wrapped the records in some old newspapers of the day, before reburying them. He mentions it in an article he wrote in 1940 (“Amundsen in King William Land,” The Beaver, Outfit 271, June 1940, 32-38).

Coincidentally, William (“Paddy”) Gibson was the grandfather of Louie Kamookak of Gjoa Haven, a researcher with a long-standing interest in the Franklin mystery and who doubts that the records that Porter will unearth have anything to do with Franklin.

Eric Mitchell was assisted in his excavation by George Washington Porter, an Inuk. The records were in a rusty tin canister. [Gibson described it as an iron box.] Mitchell took the records out and photographed them. He remembers that the records included a photograph of Dr. Georg V. Neumayer who had taught Amundsen about magnetism. In Norwegian and English there was a message saying to report any finding of this cairn message. But there was also a record in English only, saying that the box and its contents should remain where it was found.

In fact, it seems that the focal point of what Mitchell and Porter found was the photograph of Neumayer and that the rest of the contents of the metal container comprised the message that Amundsen had originally left. In 1940 Paddy Gibson wrote, “In a few moments the iron box was unearthed, and later the photograph carefully removed and exposed to view. It was an old-fashioned photograph of a dignified old gentleman with long silvery locks, bearing the following endorsement in English: ‘With best wishes for success exploring the North Magnetic Pole. To my friend Roald Amundsen, Thursday, 3rd Febr’y, 1902. Georg V. Neumayer.’ On the back of the photograph Captain Amundsen had written in Norwegian the following (the translation is from his own narrative): ‘In deep gratitude and respectful remembrance I deposit this photograph on Neumayer Peninsula. Gjoa Expedition, 8 August 1905. Roald Amundsen.’ A footnote in English requested the finder to leave the box on the spot.”

Mitchell’s reminiscences continued. Paddy Gibson died in a plane crash near Coppermine in 1942. The HBC determined to erect a monument to him in Gjoa Haven. They eventually sent up a plaque that they wanted put on a cairn. The plaque had apparently been in Gjoa Haven for some years but the cairn never erected, perhaps because there was no white man in charge of the post at Gjoa Haven. Mitchell was posted at Spence Bay. Gjoa Haven was run by George Washington Porter, an Inuk, as an outpost of Spence Bay and under Mitchell’s direction. The HBC sent Mitchell a rough plan of what they wanted the cairn to look like.

In the winter – I don’t know which winter - Mitchell travelled by dog sled from Spence Bay to Gjoa Haven and called in at the DEW-Line site at Mount Matheson to get cement for the cairn. But, because it was winter, no cairn could be built at that time. So Mitchell entrusted the instructions for the cairn and the cement and the plaque to Porter, with instructions to build the cairn in the coming summer, and rebury the record that he and Porter had earlier dug up. Mitchell told Porter to make the marble slab under which he and Porter had found the records an integral part of the cairn.

Before Mitchell left, he and Porter put the records in an envelope, then wrapped it in two pages of the Nautical Almanac for that day (the day that winter when they prepared the records for the subsequent burial by Porter). Eric had the Nautical Almanac because he was an avid student of navigation. They also wrapped them in an Edmonton newspaper. Then they took the package to Porter’s wife, Martha, and got her to sew the lot in "rubberized cloth." [Walter Porter, in the recent news report, calls this wax-treated canvas.] Then Eric put it all back in the canister or metal box. They got a wooden ammunition box (the kind of box that HBC shipped ammunition in) and filled half that box with tallow and then placed the cannister in that tallow "bed" in the box, then filled the remainder of the box with tallow, thereby enclosing the cannister in tallow before putting on the wooden lid.

Mitchell left all this with Porter. That summer Porter built the cairn. Mitchell was not there when the cairn was built so he is uncertain as to whether the records were buried and then the cairn built on top of them, or if the records are an integral part of the cairn. But he is certain that Porter, as a loyal HBC employee, followed his instructions and conducted the burial. (To anyone familiar with the company and its relationship with native employees of the time, anything else would be unthinkable.)

All of this is consistent with the elements of Walter Porter’s story - the burial of the records without any white man present. One can imagine George Washington Porter perhaps gathering a few family members together as he prepared to conduct this important task of burying the records that had been entrusted to him by Eric. I don't know how much Porter knew of Amundsen and Franklin, but probably the younger generation who were his helpers and witnesses for this solemn and important task had little understanding of whose records they were. They would have known only that they were important and that the task that Porter had been asked to perform was an important one. Over the years, as the search for Franklin's records and ships became an important subject in Gjoa Haven, this story took on a life of its own. Amundsen becomes Franklin. Or more simply, the buried papers become Franklin's papers.

Walter Porter also refers to a role played by the Roman Catholic priest, Father Henry. He claims that Father Henry had somehow acquired the records and given them to his grandfather. I don't know where Father Henry fits into this, nor can I explain the part about the Inuk who allegedly gave the records to the priest. Perhaps that is complete fiction. It wouldn't be the first time that Inuit embellished a story with fiction after the fact, and then ended up believing it. By the way, George Washington Porter, according to Mitchell, was Catholic; his wife Martha was Anglican.

I expect that when the alleged Franklin records are unearthed tomorrow, they will prove to be what Mitchell and Porter unearthed in 1958. They should contain a photograph of Neumayer, the focus of Amundsen’s original deposit. They may contain some ancillary papers. And they should be found inside a metal canister or box, wrapped as Mitchell described, embedded in tallow in an old ammunition case.

If, on the other hand, they turn out to be Franklin records, then I will be surprised but I will also be as happy as Walter Porter.

Buried Franklin Records to be Uncovered?

2010-09-02T17:31:00.001-07:00

Here's a curious story, which I've known about for over a year, and is finally going public: in the midst of the Inuit hamlet of Gjoa Haven, under a memorial to "Paddy" Gibson, some believe there is a cache which contains lost records of the Franklin Expedition, perhaps even Franklin's diary itself! So now at last I am free to speak of it.

Gjoa resident Walter Porter, whose grandfather helped bury the records, is convinced that they are Franklin's. His own father kept the fact secret until not long before his death, when he confided in his son the details of the burial of the records. The news story today at canada.com says that the cache is to be opened on Saturday, September 4th, so Franklin buffs the world 'round will not have long to wait!

But I myself do not believe these are likely to be Franklin records. For one, had any records of Franklin's been found by Paddy Gibson, he would likely have done what the Porter family hopes to do now: announce the news to the world, and receive the public interest and gratitude such a revelation would almost certainly elicit. No, I believe these are much more likely records of Amundsen's, who was known to have left several chaches in the area, one of which was found by Gibson, buried by him and then uncovered and reburied in the 1950s under the Gibson memorial. Nevertheless, whichever they are, there will of course be considerable historical interest in their recovery, and rightly so.

Having talked very extensively with Walter Porter, I know that, although he is anxious to have these records uncovered, he emphasizes that his interest is not in personal fame, but in bringing attention to the community of Gjoa Haven, and the situation of the Inuit in general. He repeatedly expressed to me his hope that this discovery would benefit the hamlet of Gjoa Haven, perhaps by drawing additional tourists, perhaps through the establishment of some kind of permanent museum. In a town where more than 1,000 mostly young residents must find their way through life when there are only a couple of dozen year-round jobs, it's an understandable desire. At the same time, though the agreement mentioned in the Canada.com article specifies that the documents be returned to Gjoa Haven, it also appears to stipulate that they remain the property of the Porter family -- this seems quite a remarkable agreement, as any records found would seem to be more fittingly regarded as national property.

Curiously, the legal correspondence about this excavation -- some of which I have seen -- was prepared by an Inuk lawyer whose name is Lillian Aglukark. Her surname, as fate would have it, is the same Inuktitut name which the Inuit used to refer to the mysterious last leader of the Franklin survivors -- a name which Charles Francis Hall spelled as "Aglooka."

There is only one way to find out what really lies beneath these stones -- and on Saturday, though I am doubtful, there is no one who would be more surprised and delighted were these to turn out to be some of the long-lost records of the final Arctic expedition of Sir John Franklin.

[photo courtesy of Walter Porter]

No Franklin ships this year

2010-08-30T18:33:00.000-07:00

As the Canadian Press put it in their article today, "Arctic Ship Searchers Come Up Cold this year." It's not the news we had all hoped to hear, but it's not entirely discouraging either. I have always felt that a large part of the difficulty in finding traces of Franklin's ships is that the area is, simply put, too vast to be searched without a significant, concerted effort over a period of time. Compared to the total area in which the ships may possibly be found, only a tiny percentage has ever before been systematically searched; by adding (by all accounts) a significant area to that total, this years's expedition increased the likelihood of success next year. According to the article, the team searched "150 square kilometres of sea floor under the waters near O'Reilly Island on the east side of Queen Maud Gulf." Some of this area, of course, had already been covered by Dave Woodman's earlier magnetometer searches, although that search may possibly have missed non-metallic targets, so in any case the news represents a meaningful step forward. I hold out great hope for next year's survey, and that the Canadian government and Parks Canada will redouble their efforts - and that they may find at least some trace of one of those long-lost vessels.

New Franklin Drama

2010-08-27T08:23:00.000-07:00

The history of Sir John Franklin on stage and screen is a lengthy one, and goes all the way back to Wilkie Collins and Charles Dickens's stage-play, The Frozen Deep, in 1857. I now hear that there's to be a new, more experimentally-minded Franklin drama put on in Chicago at The Building Stage. Entitled "The Franklin Expidition" (not sure whether this is a typographical error or a sign of the pernicious influence of Inglourious Basterds) it's billed as a "completely unique original production," one which "rather than telling the story of any single expedition ... uses the character of Franklin to get at the heart of exploring, embracing the risk of vulnerability and the unknown, and the universal challenge of connecting our everyday actions with our deepest desires." Well, I'm not sure what exactly this means, but I'm certain it will be worth seeing if you live in or near the Chicago area. I'll keep everyone updated as more details on the production emerge; tickets go on sale September 1st.

The Track of CCGS Laurier

2010-08-25T06:07:00.000-07:00

[UPDATED AUG 29] As noted in a response to an earlier post, the CCGS Laurier's online track shows a route rather different than expected (thanks again to Dave Woodman for alerting me to this possibility). Using sailwx.info, one can get almost hourly updates on the vessel's current location, which shows that, rather than remaining in Queen Maud gulf, it ascended the eastern coast of King William Island as far as Matty Island. Some have inferred from this that the searchers are following up on latter-day Inuit accounts, collected by Dorothy Eber, of one of Franklin's ships being in this area, but although that's possible, I'm not sure how much we can infer from this ship's tracking data. For one, the searchers have the use of two launches, the Gannet and the Kinglett, which could enable them to conduct surveys independently of the Laurier. For two, the Laurier, a multi-purpose vessel with many tasks, may well be moving in response to other needs and obligations -- servicing navigational beacons, search and rescue, and so forth.

The August 19th update from Parks Canada is consistent with this; it indicates that

With the two Canadian Hydrographic survey launches, Gannet and Kinglett readied prior to arrival, the marine search began immediately with a side-scan sonar deployed from each launch. The side-scan sonar is towed from the stern of the launch vessel, offering an acoustic image of the sea floor. During surveys with the side-scan sonar, our team will systematically cover as much of the targeted area as possible.

It's a little frustrating that the update doesn't mention the exact location of the "targeted area," but it's clear that it's in Queen Maud Gulf, as they mention consulting ice charts of that area. I'm relieved to learn that this is indeed the area of their work, and that they're focusing on covering as wide of an area as possible in the available time; I'm certain that's the right approach. After all, readers will recall that, in the search for RMS Titanic, Bob Ballard's team and a rival French outfit were trolling the ocean back and forth in just such a manner; thanks to good luck (and perhaps some historical tips, or intuition), Ballard was the first to locate her.

As of August 29th, the Laurier seems to be retracing its route, which -- if indeed the launches did manage some means of operating independently -- could mean that it is returning to pick them up. Only time will tell.

Investigator Doc Available Online

2010-08-24T14:23:00.001-07:00

For those who may have missed its first airing, you can now get CPAC's new doc on the re-discovery of HMS Investigator on demand here. It's an interesting show, though it seemed to me to have quite a bit of filler (at least from the point of view of someone interested in the discovery of the ship itself); I could have done without the shots of Inuit playing golf (at one of only two golf courses north of the Arctic Circle!) or talking about how much good an oil pipeline would do for the local economy. Nevertheless, the central part of the program is quite gripping, and well-done; you really get the sense of the scene in Mercy Bay, and there's some remarkable new footage from the ROV camera. There's also an excellent segment on the ground search, the cache, and the graves which offers more insight and detail than has appeared in press coverage so far. If you are looking, as was I, for the meat rather than the potatoes, I recommend you skip forward to around 34:38 -- that's when the really interesting stuff begins!

Update from Franklin survey

2010-08-19T15:05:00.001-07:00

There is now an update page from Parks Canada giving some more current information on this year's search for the ships of Sir John Franklin. According to the information there, the search area at present is indeed in the area near the Royal Geographical Society Islands; as of the last date in this posting (August 15th), the CCGS Sir Wilfrid Laurier was located between the RGS Islands and Jenny Lind Island. I'm hopeful that upcoming responses to public questions sent via Twitter may give us some more current information; I will post a link here as soon as there is any news.

CPAC Documentary on HMS Investigator

2010-08-14T16:32:00.000-07:00

The world of new-media "insta-documentaries" is getting more and more "insta" by the minute -- the Parks Canada Twitter Feed now announces a documentary of the rediscovery of HMS Investigator is soon going to be broadcast -- you can see the trailer here -- and will air on August 22nd, 25th, and 28th. From the tone of the trailer, a leading note will be the sovereignty issues related to the ship's discovery ...

HMS Investigator's Copper Sheathing

2010-08-04T07:53:00.001-07:00

The most significant aspect of the recently discovered remains of HMS Investigator is not where the ship was located, nor is it the graves found onshore nearby. Rather, it's the copper sheathing of her hull, so brilliantly visible in the most recently released video, a frame of which I've placed here for reference. Thanks to the low oxygen content of the frigid waters of Mercy Bay, the copper is not completely tarnished; indeed, underwater currents seem to have almost polished parts of it. The individual nails, as well as the Roman numerals used to mark off the draught of the ship during loading, are plainly visible. And, while some parts of the sheathing have been shredded or torn off entirely, in other areas it is nearly intact. This is significant for two reasons: 1) It shows that the ship was not heaved up by the ice in such a manner that the copper was readily accessible for any length of time, or the Inuit would surely have recovered more of it; and 2) We can conjecture, therefore, that less copper was recovered from this vessel than was earlier believed, which makes it more likely that copper found to the south and east near the Adelaide Peninsula came from some other source.

Could that mean the "Erebus" and "Terror"? Possibly, although evidence has recently surfaced which seems to indicate that neither vessel was given copper sheathing (see my earlier blog post here). Nevertheless, many of the ship's boats would have had it, and copper in other forms could have been recovered from the wrecks. Since the theory that the Investigator herself drifted to the area where Franklin's ships were abandoned is now disproved, the copper found there takes on potentially new significance. Of course, the copper could have been acquired by trade, but some bits of it, recovered by Hall, still bore the Royal Navy's "broad arrow" mark. It seems unlikely that this copper would have been traded such a distance without being cut up or reworked. I'm in the process of trying to get some images of Hall's copper; the Smithsonian has recently begun photographing artifacts from his collection, such as this lovely copper arrowhead. If any of it bears additional markings, it may well be possible to trace it further, and now that we can discount the Investigator as its source, it may be much more significant.

Thoughts on McClure and HMS Investigator

2010-07-30T16:56:00.000-07:00

In October of 2009, I was wandering among the tilted and neglected gravestones of London's Kensal Green Cemetery, in very good Arctic company -- my companions were Huw Lewis-Jones, Kari Herbert, and Kenn Harper. We had already found the graves of Sir John Ross and Sophia Cracroft, but time was growing short: darkness was about to fall, and the cemetery would soon be closed. The one further grave we sought was that of Vice Admiral Sir Robert John Le Mesurier McClure, the man officially credited as the first to traverse the Northwest Passage, and the last commander of HMS Investigator.

Was this crooked path between toppled stones "avenue 5"? Whose grave was this? Or this? We criss-crossed the twisted matrix of graves, passing by a placard which read:

DANGER

DANGEROUS STONEWORK

& COLLAPSING GRAVES

KEEP TO THE

ROADS AND PATHWAYS

It was hardly encouraging. And then, just at the last moment, I looked more closely at a sarcophagus-sized slab of pink granite, its edges encroached on every side by insolent grass. I rubbed at it with the toe of my shoe, and pieced out "THE NORTH WEST PASS..." Here it was.

Huw took some time to clear the stone, pushing back the grass and dirt with the help of a pair of borrowed gloves. One might imagine that the grave of the man officially recognized as having achieved the greatest dream of British navigators of the nineteenth century would have received more care -- but, as I found later, every grave at Kensal Green is the private property of the family of the deceased, and receives only such specific care as the family may provide. This grave, surely, ought to have received something more.

I thought about this grave when I heard of the re-discovery of McClure's ship, HMS Investigator, in Mercy Bay. A more remote place in the Arctic Archipelago is hard to imagine, and the sheer endurance of McClure and his men in the face of winter after winter of diminishing prospects is astonishing. That there were only three graves found on the nearby shore, and not thirty, is an enormous testament to McClure's leadership. In April of 1853, at a point well beyond that at which any rational man would have abandoned all hope, the men of the Investigator saw a speck on the horizon. Was it some kind of animal? No, it was a man! And, once it drew nearer, it was a man who spoke. As George Malcolm Thomson describes it,

He called : 'I am Lieutenant Pim, of the Resolute. Captain Kellett is in her at Dealy Island' (a hundred and sixty miles to the east). McClure and the lieutenant rushed forward and grasped his hand. In an instant, the scene on the ship was transformed. The invalids leapt from their hammocks. The artificers dropped their tools. The deck was crowded with wildly excited men.

It is difficult to fully comprehend the joyous ebullition of McClure's men -- and astonishing to think that it is this same deck, once crowded with overjoyed sailors, which we are seeing for the first time in 156 years. She now lies at the bottom of the crystal cold waters of Mercy Bay, almost precisely where she was upon that fateful day.

So, while I am a little annoyed by the very highly choreographed array of press releases, net-friendly videos, and hyperbolic tones of the coverage of this event, I am at the same time very deeply moved, and feel called upon to remember the courage of those men. Although Canada was, as yet, some years in the future, the spirit of that emergent nation was clearly manifest in the cheers that went up from that vessel on that day.

HMS Investigator Found

2010-07-28T15:30:00.000-07:00

The BBC News website has posted a story announcing that HMS Investigator has been found by the Parks Canada team. Of course, it was no great mystery where the Investigator was, but there were a few speculations as to its condition. Some had even argued that the Investigator might, like HMS Resolute, have drifted east and been the source of reported sightings of the Erebus and Terror, or that the mast seen by the men of the Anderson expedition was hers. These theories, at least, can be laid to rest.

According to the Parks Canada team, the ship is upright and in remarkably good shape; according to Canadian Environment Minister Jim Prentice, "You can make out all the planking on the deck, the details on the hull, all of the detail of the timber." Hopefully, it will not be too long before some of this imagery is shared with the public, particularly the Canadian public who have provided the funding and resources used to locate the vessel. No word yet on the copper sheathing. The only other detail is that the archaeologists have relocated the three graves (why do Arctic graves always seem to come in threes?) of members of the expedition who died of scurvy. Apparently inquiries are being made as to the disposition of these human remains, but the plan for Investigator herself is to leave the ship undisturbed.

BBC Coverage of Franklin Search

2010-07-23T06:47:00.001-07:00

The trickle of news stories about this summer's Franklin search continues, this time with a refreshingly well-informed and in-depth piece from the BBC News website. While the article gives some account of the overall plans, the focus is on the search for the remains of HMS Investigator. We learn now that the team will be headed by Parks Canada archaeologist Ryan Burns, assisted by Jonathan Moore and Thierry Boyer. According to this story, the team headed by Harris will head up to Mercy Bay via Twin Otter, where, with the assistance of an unnamed Inuvialuit guide, they will begin their search. It's not quite clear when they will arrive, but I was interested to see that this same team, after its work at Mercy Bay is completed, will by flown to the icebreaker Sir Wilfrid Laurier, and will participate in the search for the "Erebus" and "Terror." This is encouraging, as it suggests to me that both parties will have sea and land search capability. I'll keep readers of this blog posted as I hear of any new developments.

German coverage of 2010 Franklin Search

2010-07-06T07:38:00.001-07:00

In the 1850's, the search for Sir John Franklin captured the attention of all of Europe, with headlines in every language. McClintock's narrative was translated into French and German within a few months of its publication, and international interest in further searches remained strong.

Now, with a renewed search this summer, the Franklin story is once again attracting attention in the EU, particularly in Germany. German interest has always been strong, spurred by the immense success of Sten Nadolny's novel Die Entdeckung der Langsamkeit (English: The Discovery of Slowness) in 1983. A week or so ago, I heard from Gerd Braune, a journalist in Ottawa, that he was preparing a piece on the new Franklin search for several German-language papers. He asked for, and I gave him, permission to use a photo I'd taken of the Franklin expedition graves on Beechey Island.

Just yesterday, he sent me copies of the resulting article. It's available here at Diepresse.com, and you can also see .pdfs of the large, illustrated versions in the Luxemburger Wort as well as Die Rheinpfalz. The articles are informative and well-written (I don't read or speak German, but my daughter has been studying the language for some time, and was able to translate them for me), and contain a few additional details -- my personal favorite comes at the end, where perennial Franklin pointman Louie Kamookak muses laughingly that, if the ships are found based on his information, he may henceforth be known as "Sir Kamookak."

More on this summer's Franklin search

2010-07-01T12:25:00.001-07:00

The CBC has just come out with a report giving some fresh details of this summer's search for the "Erebus" and "Terror," the ships of Sir John Franklin's last expedition. According to this article, the searchers have secured three weeks' use of the CCGS Sir Wilfred Laurier this August. Strangely, Robert Grenier's name is not mentioned, but Ryan Harris, described as a "senior marine archaeologist" is quoted describing the mission, and the inevitable Louie Kamookak is also set to be on board. The search is to concentrate on the "waters southwest of King William Island," a description which could take in any area on the western coasts of the Adelaide Peninsula, or in eastern Queen Maud Gulf. The exact method or area of search are not described, though presumably the hope is to locate some initial targets, and use side-scan sonar operated from the vessel to obtain more detailed imagery. It's not clear whether, as Grenier has in the past done and called for, associated land-based parties will be looking for other physical artifacts.

Expanded 2010 search for Arctic Ships

2010-06-28T08:26:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Kenn Harper (who sent me a link to the story) and Randy Boswell, whose reporting on this issue has always been a great source of updates on the Franklin search, I can report that Parks Canada -- in addition to the continued search for the "Erebus" and "Terror" under the direction of Robert Grenier -- is also planning a summer search for the remains of Robert McClure's HMS Investigator in Mercy Bay.

This story, reported via the CanWest news service, and available at the site of the Saskatoon Star Phoenix, indicates that Marc-Andre Bernier, who like Grenier is an underwater archaeologist with Parks Canada, is hoping to use side-scan sonar to locate the remains of the Investigator in Mercy Bay; there will also be archaeological excavations along the bay's edge, near the site where McClure cached supplies in 1853.

The project will not, according to Bernier, have any impact upon the search for Franklin's ships, which is still planned for "late August." Although the article doesn't say so, I expect that this is because the search for McClure's ship will be conducted from atop the bay ice, drilling and dropping sonar booms, whereas the Franklin search is apparently still counting on open water to conduct its search from aboard a research vessel.

Certainly, it would be of great value to be able to get some visual images of the Investigator, if for no other reason to ascertain the state of the copper sheathing of its hull. This sheathing had already been significantly damaged by the ice before abandonment (McClure reported that it was hanging in ribbons from the sides), but also because there was said to have been significant recovery of this copper by the Inuit. If indeed a substantial proportion of the copper is missing, this would confirm that Inuit did come into possession of this prized resource, and might correlate with the finds of copper in the region, some pieces of which bore the "broad arrow" of the Royal Navy. I'll certainly pass along anything further I can learn about this exciting development.

The Halkett Boat

2010-06-08T17:22:00.001-07:00

One of the lesser-known aspects of both the Franklin Expedition of 1845 and those who searched for it in the ensuing decade and a half was their use of the Halkett inflatable boat. Just today, I saw that the current featured article on the Wikipedia is a quite thorough and informative one about the Halkett Boat, and wanted to bring it to the attention of everyone here.

The Halkett boat was the brain-child of Peter Halkett, a lieutenant in the Royal Navy. It was singular not only for its use of waterproofed rubberized cloth to make an easily portable inflatable boat, but for design features which rendered it especially valuable for use on expeditions where both land and water travel might be rendered necessary by conditions such as drifting ice, open leads in the water, or difficult portages. He even developed a version of the boat which could be disassembled and worn as clothing -- this is the type shown here. The sail doubled as an umbrella, and the oars as walking sticks; the boat itself could be disassembled and "worn" as waterproof clothing by two men.

The design earned early praise from Sir John Richardson, who was likely the one who recommended it for Franklin's use. The design had only just been finalized, with Halkett having tested it on the Thames in 1844. The boat brought by Franklin was not, technically speaking, an officially-supplied item, but Halkett was eager to hear how it might perform in the Arctic, and Franklin was willing to give it a try.

Remarkably, there is a body of Inuit testimony which confirms the use of a Halkett boat; their description of it is accurate enough that there can be little doubt they saw one in use:

"[Aglooka had with him] a boat that had places on the sides that would hold wind ... with hollow places in the sides for wind (air) to hold it up when in the water ... There were sticks or holes for this boat, to keep it open (spread) when needed. This small boat was wrapped or rolled up in a bundle or pack, and carried on the shoulder of one of his men" (qtd. in Woodman, Unravelling the Franklin Mystery, p.309).

Unfortunately, since John Rae's and James Anderson's parties were also equipped with Halkett boats, and Rae was also known as "Aglooka," it's very difficult to determine with certainty whether or not this Inuit account refers to Franklin's men. It's widely assumed that some of those who crossed Simpson's strait did so in a Halkett boat, though accounts of an overturned whaleboat on the mainland side suggest this is not the only viable explanation.

But for more on this remarkable invention, I can only recommend the Wikipedia entry, which is far more detailed and better illustrated than anything I have seen in printed sources.

Baldwin: Hero or Villain?

2010-05-22T13:36:00.000-07:00

Evelyn Briggs Baldwin is surely one of the least well-known of Polar explorers, and according to some historians, his obscurity is richly deserved. To them, he is a man whose poor judgment was pivotal in the failure of two major Polar expeditions: that of Walter Wellman's in 1898, as well as in the richly-supplied but poorly planned Baldwin-Ziegler expedition of 1901, which he commanded. And yet there is at least some evidence that this blame may be misplaced, and that Baldwin's seeming failures were, in fact, evidence of a wise and hard-earned sense of caution.

Baldwin got his start working as a meteorologist with Robert Peary in Greenland in 1893-4. He apparently caught the Arctic bug, and in 1896 published a weighty tome, The Search for the North Pole. Or, Life in the Great White World. On the title page of this book, which was sold by subscription, he listed himself as a "Member of the Chicago Academy of Sciences, Member of the National Geographic Society, Non-resident member of the Geographical Club of Philadelphia," and "formerly Assistant Observer, United States Weather Bureau." It was a slender portfolio, but his enthusiasm was enormous; the book opened with a ferocious defense of the value of Polar exploration, and continued through accounts of every explorer from the Vikings to Franklin to Peary. Some of the funds thus earned apparently helped him undertake a personal voyage to Spitzbergen in 1897, but his real test came when he was engaged by Walter Wellman as second-in-command of the magnate's first Polar attempt (and his only by land) in 1897. There, he led an advance party through truly horrific ice conditions in order to establish depots and a forward camp, while Wellman stayed back at the expedition's comfortable headquarters, known as "Harmsworth House." After enormous hardships, Baldwin succeeded in establishing the forward camp, and left two men there to await the arrival of the full expedition the following spring.

William Mills, in his reference work Exploring Polar Frontiers, blames Baldwin for leaving the men with inadequate supplies, and says that "Wellman himself was horrified" when they arrived to find one of the men dead and the survivor sleeping next to his corpse. Yet as my good friend P.J. Capelotti notes in his book By Airship to the North Pole, Wellman's orders to Baldwin were numerous, contradictory, and in some cases impossible; it was these orders, and not Baldwin's efforts to follow them, that were most to blame. Wellman ignored Baldwin's letters expressing concerns about supplies and conditions; he possessed an optimism as vast as his experience was limited, and complained that Baldwin was "too prone to look on the dark side of things." Neither man, in any case, knew that one of the two left in the camp, Bentzen -- a veteran of Nansen's voyage on the Fram -- had slipped into delirium not long into the winter, forcing the other man, Bjoervig, to care for him for eight weeks before the sufferer finally died. Capelotti has published Baldwin's detailed journal of this expedition, and it's hard to read more than a few pages of it without being overcome by a desire to go back in time and give Wellman a sound thrashing.

Mills seems to think that rumors surrounding the earlier incident would have followed Baldwin to his next expedition, and the only one he was to command. The Baldwin-Ziegler expedition of 1901 had the finest equipment money could buy, and supplies that were lavish when compared to those to which Peary or other polar veterans were accustomed. Not one but three ships were placed at its command, and its base station -- fixed up in the shadow of the Duke of Abruzzi's earlier camp -- boasted solid wood-frame buildings unparalleled since the days of Greely's Fort Conger. Here again, Baldwin had the task of establishing forward camps, and by all accounts did so capably. Mills harshly blames Baldwin's decision to avoid the added weight of tents and sleeping bags for the forward team, as several members suffered from frostbite -- but this was only after they had become lost and disoriented. When the heavily-laden resupply ship failed to reach the base camp, Baldwin did as he'd been told and released a series of message balloons, none of which was found until years later. Receiving no response, and concerned over the dwindling supplies of coal, Baldwin decided to retreat back to safety. His unexpected appearance in Tromsø without results infuriated Ziegler and cost him his command -- but it may well have saved the lives of many of his men.

In later years, Baldwin never tired of telling his accounts; as Capelotti notes, he was a meticulous record-keeper, and his papers are a goldmine of information. Late in life, he set about petitioning the U.S. government for some recognition and financial support in return for his service, but never received either; at the age of 71 in 1933, he was struck and killed by a passing motorist in Washington, DC. A copy of his book -- long ago de-accessioned by a local library, and missing its spine and back cover -- was given to me by a student, and I had to confess that, when I first browsed through it, I had no idea who Baldwin was.

Lords Franklin

2010-05-19T16:35:00.000-07:00

Over the (now) more than hundred and sixty years since his disappearance, the fame of Sir John Franklin shows little sign of diminishing; in just the past year we've had a new biography, as well as yet another novel (by my count, the seventeenth) based on his life. And setting written texts aside, one of the most enduring sources of interest in Franklin's fate surely derives from the ballad known as "Lord Franklin" or "Lady Franklin's Lament." It was hearing the late Michael O Domhnaill's version of this song some twenty years ago that began my own Franklin fascination, and as time has passed I have accumulated other recordings of this plaintive ballad, a habit accelerated by the digital age. At last count I have more than forty different versions in my music library, and I'm certain that my collection is very far from complete.

The history of the ballad itself and its variants would make a long story, but suffice it to say that about 90% of the versions I know are based on Martin Carthy's 1966 version, released on his Second Album LP. Carthy shortened the lyrics to five well-rounded stanzas, and his slight variation of the source melody (an Irish air known as "The Croppy Boy" or Cailín Óg a Stór) has been universally carried forward. What follows is my own personal account of what I think are the best (and worst) versions, with a few comments on the more notable variations -- I hope that, should this ballad be one of your favorites, I might help you find further versions to enjoy, and avoid the (relatively few) awful ones.

As I say, Michael O Domhnaill's version, with his reedy yet potent voice, was the first I heard, and it remains my personal favorite. The well-known version by Pentagle is also a classic, and John Renbourn's guitar work on the tune is second to none. Another outstanding traditional version is John Walsh's from his album Aon Dó Trí (that's one two three in Irish); another by Take Two (the moniker of two Shropshire lads name of Dave Rolfe and Kevin Arnold) is also memorable. Special mention for over-use of echo should go to Sinéad O Connor's otherwise lovely recording, although rumor has it that an echo-free version is floating around the ether somewhere.

Rockier, or poppier versions also abound; that by the Glasgow-based Pearlfishers is the prize among these, though capable covers by the Tramps, Carmina, or Connie Dover are also appealing. For those who, at the other end of the spectrum, feel that anything more than a raspy a capella is too fancy, the Revels' version on their Homeward Bound CD is to my mind the best of the foke'sull school. I would warn, though, against the traditional version offered by "The Seamen's Institute" -- the tuneless warble of the unnamed singer on their version sounds rather like Sterling Holloway (the voice of Disney's Winnie the Pooh) after a night of excessive mead-guzzling.

One might well ask why a ballad which -- at least in part, and in some versions entirely -- is sung from Lady Franklin's point of view, why there have not been more versions by women. The gender imbalance has been greatly rectified in the digital age, with at least ten new recordings in the past decade. I'm personally fond of Jo Freya's version, with its pennywhistle and concertina accompaniment; Louise Killen's version, from her "Stars in the Morning" album, is also quite enchanting. The vocal treatment by the "Roots Quartet," alas, is far less felicitous; not only is the melody transposed into a modal version, but it's festooned with tinny harmonies that are reminiscent of a Roches outtake.

Lastly, there are a few instrumental-only versions, of which that recorded by Giuseppe Leopizzi and Roselina Guzzo is particularly rich and resonant. The melody has also been appropriated for other songs, among them Bob Dylan's "Bob Dylan's Dream" and David Wilcox's haunting "Jamie's Secret," which transposes the tale of Franklin's loss to the loss of a friend in the North Cascades of Washington State.

I'd be interested to hear from anyone who feels a favorite version has been slighted, or who disagrees with any of my calls!

NW Passage at Museum of Ontario Archaeology

2010-03-04T06:20:00.000-08:00

The many readers of this blog whose interest in Sir John Franklin's last expedition began with, or was stirred by, the work of David C. Woodman, will want to mark April 10th on their calendars. That's the day that the Museum of Ontario Archaeology is hosting the latest event in its Underwater Heritage Program, at which Dave will be the featured speaker. The day is also packed with talks by other notable figures, among them the archaeologist John McDonald and Commander John Crever CFN (ret.), both of whom will speak to the conditions faced by Franklin on his final voyage. The highlight, though, will certainly be Dave's evening presentation, "In Search of Terror: Shipwreck Hunting in the Arctic," at which he'll share some of his remarkable experiences from his many Franklin searches, illustrated by seldom-seen photos from his personal collection.

You can get a downloadable flyer with all the details in .pdf format; the Museum advises that the number of tickets is limited, and reservations recommended; they can be reached at (519) 473-1360 or via e-mail at museum.of.archaeology@uwo.ca. I'd urge anyone in the area to attend this event; the museum is in London, Ontario, about a four-hour drive from my old hometown of Cleveland, and only 2 hours from Detroit, Toronto, Buffalo, and other major cities. I'm certain it will be the Franklin event of the year.

Update on ProCom's Northern Search

2010-02-23T17:25:00.000-08:00

Many thanks to Michael Wing for sending along an update on ProCom Marine's application for a survey to test their remote sensing equipment. Readers of this blog will recall that such testing was given as reason for their presence in Larsen Sound off the northwest coast of King William Island last summer, at a time when there were intimations that an unauthorized search for Franklin's ships might have been contemplated.

As CBC news notes, "ProCom's latest proposal does not mention Franklin's ships, but the company ran into trouble with the Nunavut government when it tried to look for the lost ships last fall without the necessary permits." Personally, I do wish that they had been simple and direct, if indeed a search for these ships was contemplated, as the apparent response from the Nunavut Department of Culture, Language, Elders and Youth -- asking them to relocate such tests elsewhere -- would negate their value in terms of the Franklin search. Such searches risk becoming a sort of local political football (or should I say, hockey puck) if they cannot state their real reason for being. While I have the very highest degree of respect for the Inuit of this region, having met and spent some time among them, I can't see how throwing hurdle after hurdle in the way of searchers benefits anyone. Some sort of partnership and cooperation between the communities in Taloyoak and Gjoa Haven and ProCom or other searchers seems very much to the mutual advantage of both, and I very earnestly hope that this will prove to be the ultimate solution.

The Voyage of the Karluk

2010-02-21T16:11:00.000-08:00

Every so often, I have the good fortune to stumble along an online article or reference that really takes advantage of the Internet as a medium. This was exactly the case with the new Wikipedia entry on the Voyage of the Karluk. A few months ago, I noticed that there was an "at work" tag on the article, and that some energetic person known to me only as Brianboulton (I assume that this is his real name, but it hardly matters) was doing the heavy lifting of taking a lowly "stub" article through to "Feature Article," Wikipedia's highest rating. The author clearly knew a thing or two about the sea and ships, and took advantage of the fact that many of the sources made available via Google Books, such as Bob Bartlett's own account of the Karluk, were out of copyright. More impressively, he was able to get illustrations as well as footnotes from this same source, while at the same time dextrously citing more recent books, and carefully footnoting along the way. It's the kind of burst of energy that refreshes one's faith in the largely anonymous, "crowdsourcing" model of such reference works.

As someone who has contributed to Wikipedia and other online reference projects (such as Citizendium), I crossed my fingers that this entry would pass through, and survive, the Scylla of copyright nigglers and the Charybdis of endless editorial tweaking -- and lo! -- it did. So, while the actual HMCS "Karluk" went down to an icy grave, the article sails boldly through its subject, providing a balanced and informative reference entry where before there was only a dark corner with a few half-hearted scraps mingling with rumors and undocumented sources. It's now a feature article, and may someday soon be right there on the Mainpage! Check it out, and if you have a mind, it's not hard to find am unoccupied corner of that vastest and most perilous region of all -- free online reference works -- where you can ply your pen.

Wamsley Lecture on Isaac Hayes at the Explorer's Club

2010-02-02T10:37:00.000-08:00

I feel certain that readers of this blog will be interested to learn that my good friend Doug Wamsley will be lecturing on the Arctic explorer Isaac Israel Hayes at the New York Explorer's Club this February 22nd. Hayes was for many years a neglected figure, despite the fact that his career -- which stretched from the Second Grinnell Expedition under Dr. Elisha Kent Kane through to the pictorial Arctic voyages of the American Painter William Bradford in the 1870's -- was one of the most remarkable of his era. Now, thanks to Doug, that neglect is no more: his book Polar Hayes: the Life and Contributions of Dr. Isaac Israel Hayes (American Philosophical Society Press) gives a comprehensive look at Hayes's career, including his notable service in charge of the largest field hospital of the Civil War, which treated many of the injured from the Battle of Gettysburg.

Wamsley's talk will bring into vivid focus the life of a remarkable but often forgotten explorer, writer, politician and humanitarian who epitomized the rugged and restless spirit of adventure and individualism of nineteenth-century America. Tickets to this extraordinary event are $20 ($5 for students), and reservations are highly recommended; call 212-628-8383, Fax 212-628-4449, or email reservations@explorers.org.

Irving's grave found -- by Woodman!

2010-01-06T05:49:00.001-08:00

Readers of this blog will be delighted, I am sure, to learn that I've just received a long and very informative letter from Dave Woodman, who has been following our discussion with some interest. Included with his letter is a photograph, shown at left, of a stone construction he found on King William Island which he is fairly confident is the same as the grave described by Schwatka, Klutshak, and Gilder. I very much agree -- and having not seen the photo before, am delighted to find that, as I had thought, a grave of such substance would still be visible today (easy for me to say, of course, as I did not have to slog over the frozen northwest coast of King William Island to find it!). Woodman identified this structure during "Project Supunger," his 1994 effort to locate the "vault" described by Supunger -- there being two separate accounts by him, one of which seems to describe an adjacent burial which Hall, as well as his translator Tookoolito, believed might contain buried records. This vault was not found, but as the photo shows, the structure he discovered near the crews' landing place corresponds remarkably well. Woodman's own key to this photo is as follows:

Comparison of Irving’s grave drawing (Klutschak) with grave found near Crozier’s Landing by “Project Supunger” 1994 (Woodman). A & B – Head and “pillow” stones, C – Side stone with tapering end pointing towards head, D – Large “foot” covering stone still in place

Woodman agrees that a grave of these dimensions could never have been constructed by exhausted men. In his scenario, though, the 1848 abandonment is far briefer, and the return to the ships far sooner:

You mention that you doubt that a grave of “such size and form would have been well beyond the powers of any group of stragglers returning to the ships.” Actually the fact that Irving was buried here is one of the main pillars of my contention that a return to the ships did occur in 1848 (otherwise they wouldn’t have been manned in Erebus Bay in 1849 when the Inuit met them), but my assessment is that 105 men didn’t get very far and were back in the ships within a month after finding that they managed only 3 miles a day or so. This is a far different scenario than that the weakened survivors were from the southern “death camps” (which in my scheme are two years in the future). Most of the 105 would have walked both ways (only 1 grave in Seal Bay, then 2 in “Two grave bay” that are probably from this first march) and there would have been plenty of manpower available to build the grave that we found.

This certainly addresses this question. Woodman's key deductive points, if readers will excuse a Sherlockian rehearsal, are these:

The Inuit were never near Victory Point, or Crozier's landing point a couple of miles to the south, until long after all the men had perished. The Inuit themselves stated that they learned of this site from the Kabloonas; this could not have been sooner than 1859. The evidence for this is that there was such a large amount of material still present when the first Inuit, such as Supunger and his uncle, arrived -- and that seems very strong evidence indeed.
The Inuit describe witnessing the sinking of one of Franklin's vessels. Since the Inuit had not been aware of the site of the original abandonment, this must have occurred a considerable distance further south along the coast, and later.
The Inuit describe the one ship which did not sink as having been manned and piloted, and this is very likely the same ship that was later found anchored somewhere along the far northwest coast of the Adelaide Peninsula (O'Reilly Island, Kirkwall Island etc.). In order for this to have occurred, there must have been a return to the ships when there were still enough healthy men to pilot it.
For all the same reasons, the Bayne account, because it includes Inuit witnesses, can't have taken place near Victory Point or Crozier's Landing.

At Dave's invitation, I'm making his entire letter to me available here, which goes into much greater detail about his argument. While I don't necessarily agree with every part of it, there's no arguing with the bulleted points. If we suppose that the officers of the Expedition were not insane, their brains not addled by lead, it's entirely sensible to suppose that they would quickly realize the futility of having all the men travel over land to safety. A return to the ships, or at least a return by some to a "sick camp" near Crozier's landing point, where fresh supplies could be obtained from the ships, makes sense. Then, if we imagine that the ice freed them in the summer of 1848 (or 49), it makes sense that they would be re-manned, as they were the best hope of escape. We can then suppose that they were trapped again, and one of the vessels crushed, off either Erebus Bay or Terror Bay, or both -- the graves there suggest a probable repeat of the sick camp / graves made ashore scenario. Finally, the remaining ship is once more piloted, probably by a "skeleton" crew of a few hardy sailors, and makes it into Queen Maud Gulf, but no further; a small group apparently left this ship but did not make it out.

Meanwhile, those still at the last 'sick camp' on King William Island sent out one last group of men on foot in search of help, and this is the party the Inuit met met at Washington Bay, and which is responsible for the bodies, with only a prefunctory or no burial, scattered along the southern coast of KWI, ending at the Todd Islets.

My thanks to Dave for sharing his thoughts on this -- and I look forward to comments from everyone else!

Sketch of the life of John Irving

2010-01-05T11:21:00.000-08:00

In researching for this blog the manner in which the bones believed to be Irving's were returned, I was delighted to find that the little memoir of his life, published in Edinburgh after his funeral, had been scanned and made available here by Harvard University Libraries. While there is no portrait -- I am unsure as to whether Irving was ever photographed -- there is a frontispiece featuring a lovely reproduction of Irving's maths medal. It's been cleaned up, and the engraved name is quite clear -- certainly, given its size and significance, it's not unreasonable to assume that it was laid within the tomb as a memorial. If you click on the image above, you can see it in much better detail.

I would encourage everyone unfamiliar with this delightful little book to take advantage of the online version. It gives a good many of Irving's letters home in full, and reproduces a sketch he made of the "Erebus" and "Terror" at their final port of call in Greenland. The final letter, enclosed with this sketch, concludes with this poignant reflection:

We are going to have a school for the men, and our Captain reads prayers in Sundays. We are exempt from many of the temptations of the world, and I hope we shall have grace to find that it has been good for us to have been separated from the world, and that God has been with us in all our wanderings. May we submit ourselves to His pleasure in all things.

Irving's Grave, Part III

2010-01-05T06:35:00.000-08:00

Let's recalibrate our discussion here, and assume for the moment that it was John Irving in that grave. If so, I would say it's most likely that he died not long after being mentioned in the Victory Point Record -- the evidence for this being simply that a tomb of such size and form would have been well beyond the powers of any group of stragglers returning to the ships. Some have hypothesized that he either led a return party to this ships (Greely), or else that he deliberately remained behind with the sick, and perished among them (Markham). But no matter whose remains were in this grave, there is still one witness from whom we yet have to hear: William H. Gilder, Schwatka's second-in-command. Gilder's account was also published, and is readily available via Project Gutenberg; here are the relevant passages.

He begins by recalling the events of the 27th:

The next day we stayed at Cape Jane Franklin to make a preliminary search of the vicinity. Lieutenant Schwatka and I went up Collinson Inlet, but saw no traces of white men. Henry and Frank, who had been sent up the coast, were more fortunate. About a mile and a half above camp they came upon the camp made by Captain Crozier, with his entire command from the two ships, after abandoning the vessels. There were several cooking stoves, with their accompanying copper kettles, besides clothing, blankets, canvas, iron and brass implements, and an open grave, wherein was found a quantity of blue cloth, part of which seemed to have been a heavy overcoat, and a part probably wrapped around the body. There was also a large quantity of canvas in and around the grave, with coarse stitching through it and the cloth, as though the body had been incased as if for burial at sea. Several gilt buttons were found among the rotting cloth and mould in the bottom of the grave, and a lens, apparently the object-glass of a marine telescope. Upon one of the stones at the foot of the grave Henry found a medal, which was thickly covered with grime, and was so much the color of the clay stone on which it rested as to nearly escape detection. It proved to be a silver medal, two and a half inches in diameter, with a bass-relief portrait of George IV.

So far, so good -- his account corroborates those of Schwatka and Klutschak. But then Gilder adds a detail unique to his account; apparently, some time after the visit by Supunger and his uncle, another Inuk and his son had visited the site:

An old Netchillik, named Ockarnawole, stated that five years ago he and his son, who was also present in the igloo, made an excursion along the north-western coast of King William Land. Between Victory Point and Cape Felix they found some things in a small cask near the salt water. In a monument that he did not take down, he found between the stones five jack-knives and a pair of scissors, also a small flat piece of tin, now lost; saw no graves at this place, but found what, from his description of the way the handle was put on, was either an adze or a pickaxe. A little north of this place found a tent place and three tin cups. About Victory Point found a grave, with a skeleton, clothes, and a jack-knife with one blade broken. Saw no books. In a little bay on the north side of Collinson Inlet saw a quantity of clothes. There was plenty of snow on the ground at the time they were there. Viewing this statement in the light of our subsequent search upon this ground, I am inclined to believe that the grave they found was not at Victory Point, but was Irving's grave, about three miles below there. We saw no evidence of any grave at Victory Point, though we made a particularly extended search around that entire section of the country. The little bay spoken of is also probably the little bay where Lieutenant Irving's grave was discovered. There is a little bay on the north side of Collinson Inlet, but Lieutenant Schwatka and I visited it several times without finding any traces of clothing or any other evidences of white men having been there; and from what we saw at other places it seems almost impossible that there could have been much there as late as five years ago without some indications remaining. The vicinity of places where boats had been destroyed, or camps where clothing was found, were invariably indicated by pieces of cloth among the rocks, at greater or less intervals, for a long distance--sometimes as far as one or two miles on either side, and it would be almost impossible to escape seeing the principal point when led to it by such gradually cumulative evidence.

Here is much interesting new detail: the grave thought to be Irving's was visited a second time. Ockarnawole did not take down the "monument" -- but this appears to be another cairn, perhaps that in which Schwatka found Hobson's note copying out the Victory Point record. He did, however, visit a grave -- correctly surmised by Gilder to be Irving's -- and picked up a jack-knife, quite possibly the same old rusty "clasp knife" found and discarded by Supunger. Most significantly, Gilder places the grave more precisely -- "three miles below Victory Point" at a "little bay." Consulting a modern map (see above), this would seem to place it squarely in the midst of Cape Jane Franklin, which is exactly where Gould puts it (those consulting his map should note that Gould calls the entire inlet "Back Bay," whereas the modern map places the name on the coast and names the inlet "Cllinson Inlet").

Whoever was buried in it, then, I think we can say several things about this grave three miles south of Victory Point:

1) It is adjacent to an expedition camp, which apparently was occupied by some portion of the crew of the "Terror," as well as a considerable amount of material abandoned soon after the crews left the ships. The sledge-harnesses present pose a question -- were they left behind early on, or are they a sign that a group from that ship did in fact return to the vicinity at some later point?

2) It was visited twice by Inuit at some point long after there were living survivors -- first by Supunger and his uncle in the 1860's, who got most of the good stuff (wooden oars, and the wooden pole fastened into the ground), and who opened up the tomb in search of plunder. Secondly, much later, in the early 1870's, by Ockarnawole and his son, who cleaned up some additional material, missing some things due to snow cover.

3) The person buried in the grave was very likely an officer; a great deal of effort would have been required to construct it. He was buried in a dress uniform, and sewn inside canvas as if for burial at sea. Irving's maths medal was -- apparently with purpose -- left there, but was missed by the Inuit. The medal had been there for a long time, as it had left a mark on the rock where it had lain.

So what can we make of this evidence? Does it suggest a return to the vicinity of the ships? If this group was able to reach one of the ships, and resupply, could its members have been well enough to undertake the making of this substantial tomb? Or does the evidence point to an earlier memorial, around the time of abandonment? I'd note also that Schwatka and his men found a similar, though much less ambitiously-scaled burial, a few miles further south, the skull in which was also identified as that of a "white man." Schwatka did not, for whatever reason, bring those bones back with him, and no other human remains beyond that point received anything resembling this kind of formal, labor-intensive burial.

Irving's Grave, Part II

2010-01-04T07:17:00.000-08:00

The descriptions of the site and nature of the grave supposed by Schwatka to be that of Lieutenant John Irving, and the stone vault found by the Inuk hunter Hall called "Supunger" show some remarkable similarities. Both were located near the site of a collapsed tent; near both were found a number of portable stoves and other equipment; in both graves parts of the skeleton were scattered about, and the skull was not at the "head" of the tomb. Yet is has generally been assumed that Supunger's find -- often described as a "vault" -- was an excavation below ground level, whereas Irving's was above ground. The difficulty of digging to any depth in the unyielding frozen scree of King William Island, however, suggests an above-ground construction. What, then, of the large flat stones so vividly described by Supunger?

They are there -- in the form of a sketch (shown above) as well as a description by Heinrich Klutshak, who worked as the surveyor/artist on Schwatka's expedition. His sketch, much more so than the relatively primitive one in Schwatka's account, shows these very slabs, and this is corroborated by his description:

"On the 27th, Franz Melms and I were walking along the coast toward Victory Point, where Sir James Ross had erected a stone cairn. Near the waterline Melms found a strip of canvas (such as is used for hauling a sledge) with the marking T.II. While he was making a more through inspection of the area, I spotted a cairn and near it a human skull. It was a grave made of flat slabs of sandstone, like a grave-vault built above ground. It had once been covered but had obviously been subjected to a search. The skull (indisputably that of a white man) lay outside, with other human bones. Inside the grave a luxuriant growth of moss was flourishing on some remnants of blue cloth which, judging by the buttons and the fine texture, had once belonged to an English officer's uniform. A silk handkerchief in a remarkably good state of preservation lay at the head end, and above it on a rock a silver medal measuring 2 1/2 - 2 3/4 inches in diameter lay exposed. The fact that this medal had escaped the eyes of the Inuit I can only ascribe to the fact that it had either been hidden by snow, or that the natives' loot was already quite considerable."

"Flat slabs" -- "like a grave-vault built above ground" -- "it had once been covered" -- all these correspond perfectly with Supunger's description. His conjecture about the reason the medal was missed is also remarkably acute; when asked by Hall why Supunger had not taken more of the stoves or kettles (Oot-koo-seeks) near the site, the reply was that "he & uncle had as much of other things as they could carry & these Oot-koo- seeks were very heavy."

The precise location of this grave is perhaps the final question. Unfortunately, Klutschak does not give a precise spot, though clearly it was near the water-line not far south of Victory Point. Supunger placed his finds "by the coast above Back's Bay, not far from Victory Point," which is entirely consistent. Gould's map shows it at the far western tip of Cape Jane Franklin, just north of Back's Bay and south of Victory Point; Barr's note in his edition of Klutshak's narrative places it "two miles north of Cape Jane Franklin."

The other features of the spot are also, perhaps, worth noting. Supunger and his uncle found a large wooden pole in the ground just beside this vault or grave. It had been chewed off a few feet above ground by a polar bear, but as wood was so enormously valuable they took a great deal of time and effort to dig it out of its foundation. Supunger described it in great detail:

"The part in the ground was square. Next to the ground was a big ball & above this to within a foot or so of the top the stick was round. The top part was about 3 or 4 inches square. No part of it was painted - all natural wood color."

To many who have read this account, it sounds as though it must have been a flag-pole, perhaps crafted on board ship by one of the expedition's carpenters. And whose grave would be most likely to have a flag-pole erected beside it?

The Grave of Lieutenant Irving?

2010-01-03T16:54:00.000-08:00

Without a doubt, one of the most poignant discoveries of the American Franklin Searching Expedition led by Frederick Schwatka was that of the grave of Lieutenant John Irving. Unlike other burials made farther down the coast of King William Island, Irving's grave had been constructed with considerable care and labor, with a ring of stones which, at one point, may have been covered over to make a complete sepulcher of stone. The remains were identified on account of a medallion, awarded to Irving for his achievement in maths, which was found lying nearby. Schwatka, moved by this memorial, did something only done once before -- he decided to collect the remains and send them back to England for burial. This was in fact done, and apparently the identification of the body was fully accepted; the remains were buried at Dean Cemetery in Edinburgh, in an elaborate ceremony presided over by Irving's brother, who by then had risen to the rank of Major General.

And yet supposing this was this Irving's skeleton, one wonders: how could this be his grave? Its site, quite close to that of Ross's cairn at Victory Point, poses a difficult puzzle; since Irving is mentioned in the Victory Point note as having found Ross's cairn, we can safely presume he was fit enough to be sent on such a mission. And yet here, a stone's throw distant, lies his grave? Did Irving meet with some sudden end, so soon after the Victory Point record that the main body of the expedition had not yet moved on? It's often surmised that Irving must have for some reason been sent back later to the ships, and that this explains the gap in time. Yet a grave such as his, with its heavy stones, would almost certainly have been beyond the means of a small party of men some time after the abandonment to construct; with scurvy and exhaustion rampant, the graves the later survivors managed -- when they managed them at all -- consisted of laying out the body and covering it with a few shovels of gravel. The men who built this monument must have been fit, and the time ample, for such a substantial undertaking.

And even then, the scale of the burial seems significant. Irving, as an officer, would certainly have received a formal burial of some kind, but the heavy construction of this tomb suggests that the body was that of a very senior commander. Elsewhere in this blog, I've passed along the "Supunger" tale, in which an Inuk hunter, quite near Victory Point, discovered a stone tomb, partially filled with water. The tomb was covered with heavy slabs of stone, but Supunger and his uncle managed -- with considerable effort -- to pry one off. Inside they found part of a skeleton, along with a few rusted relics, among them a clasp knife. Other parts of the body were strewn outside, and by this, along with claw-marks at the grave's edge, Supunger deduced that a polar bear must have broken into the grave. Might not this same grave, its roof removed and its edges eroded by a decade of frost, ice, and water, be the same one later found by Schwatka and assumed to be Iriving's?

The identification by the medallion is certainly a weak one. In the case of Le Vesconte, an examination of the skull showed a tooth with a gold plug that evidently corresponded with dental work that officer was known to have had. There's no indication that Irving's bones received any such examination; they were simply delivered to his family. And indeed the math medal, according to the accounts of Schwatka and his men, was lying on the edge of the grave. It might have been left there by anyone; indeed, if we assume that this is the grave of a more senior officer, it might have been left there by Irving as a tribute to a dead friend.

I'm providing links to the complete texts of the Supunger story, as well as to that of Schwatka -- perhaps a fresh look at the evidence is in order. Many who have read Supunger's tale have come to believe that the grave could only have been that of Sir John Franklin himself -- if indeed this tomb was the same as that found by Schwatka, it could well be that Franklin's bones have, in fact, already been returned to Britain -- but simply buried in the wrong grave!

Franklin-era tin tests positive for lead

2009-12-15T18:26:00.001-08:00

It's only been about a week and a half since a discussion here on this blog, where I suggested that someone ought to locate, open, and study a tin of Franklin's provisions. I'm sure it's just a coincidence (either that or I have unknown cosmic powers), but researchers at McMaster University have just done this exact experiment, and the results are clear: lead levels on the tin's lid are "off the map." The contents -- the notorious "Ox Cheek Soup" itself -- have already tested high for lead content. All of this is very strong circumstantial evidence that it is quite possible that lead from tinned food was a significant contributor to elevated lead levels found in bones and tissue tested from both the Beechey Island graves and the site identified as "Ng-Lj2" on King William Island.

It should be stressed, though, that the case remains circumstantial. The contents of the tin were enclosed for more than a century, which is a lot more time -- by at least a factor of 50 -- than any food actually eaten on the expedition. Furthermore, this tin was not one of the Goldner tins supplied to Franklin, so its method of manufacture and preservation may be significantly different, although closely contemporary. To really establish that this tin would have caused significant elevated lead levels if the soup had been consumed when intended, a totally different sort of experiment would have to be undertaken: you'd need to prepare a fresh batch of soup with the same basic qualities -- salinity, acidity, and so forth -- and then can it using identical materials and methods to those observed in this tin. Then, of course, you'd have to wait!

Amazingly, this is exactly what the researchers at McMaster plan to do. Having an actual tin in their possession is a plus -- the materials and qualities of the soup can be very closely replicated -- and they're planning to open and test their replica tin in one year. According to the McMaster website's article:

"With the lead levels confirmed, McMaster's Department of Anthropology will next make a batch of the ox cheek soup and can it using methods from the 1840s. Over the course of a year the cans will be opened and analyzed. Researchers will then be able to gauge how quickly lead leaches into soup rendering it lethal. Lead poisoning has long been considered a cause of death for the ill-fated explorers."

This is welcome news. I hope to be able to report in more detail on this current experiment, and will certainly pass along any results from the tests as they are announced.

None of this, of course, will completely resolve the issue of lead poisoning and the Franklin expedition. However, it should give us a far clearer picture both of the likely source of the lead, and the strength and extent of the contamination. William Battersby has argued that lead from the tins was insufficient to cause the very high levels found in bone samples, and used this argument to support his case that lead pipes in the ships' fresh-water distilling apparatus are a more likely culprit. A low level of lead leeching over one year would support his argument; a high level would make his claim less certain, but would not of course rule it out. Finally, whatever the source, the role of lead poisoning in the expedition's sad conclusion is itself a matter of some debate. The levels of lead in the bones from Ng-Lj-2 varied widely, with one or two individuals likely suffering from acute lead toxicity, while others had only moderately elevated levels. Did officers, because they were issued a larger ration of tinned food, end up with more lead? Whose bones were whose? And, aside from its physical effects, would the diminution of mental alacrity associated with lead poisoning be so great that it can be blamed as the sole, or primary cause of what, in hindsight, appear to be poor decisions? The debate will surely go on.

(photo courtesy of McMaster University Daily News)

The "Canadian" Northwest Passage?

2009-12-10T18:37:00.000-08:00

So here we go again! The Canadian House of Commons has come out with a motion to rename the "Northwest Passage" the "Canadian Northwest Passage." It's a strange and surreal claim, although its context -- the concern over Canada's sovereignty to its Arctic territories -- is at least somewhat sensible. Down here, it would be like renaming the Mississippi River the "American Mississippi River," except of course that no one is claiming rights of free passage from New Orleans to St. Louis. What's more, though, is that this renaming has got caught up with Inuit concerns over their right to reassert indigenous place names, along with the whole history of the Passage as an Icon of British Naval quests generally, meaning Sir John Franklin and all who searched for him can't be far behind.

Everyone should take a break here and consider the facts. As my good friend Kenn Harper observes, the "Northwest Passage" was an idea long before it was a reality; in fact, its essence is that of a quest, or a desire, rather than a fulfillment. Of course, other imaginary names have ended up on maps before (see for instance the Straits of Juan de Fuca, which were named after the man who sought the fabled Strait of Anián, a nonexistant route across the Americas, in 1592), but in point of fact there is no such waterway with this name. It was imagined as a singularity, but is in fact a multiplicity; there are any number of potential routes through the inland Arctic waters of Canada, including that taken by Sir Robert McClure, that taken by Roald Amundsen, that taken by the SS Manhattan, and many others since. A Government can, of course, name any physical feature what it wants, but the "Northwest Passage" is not a physical feature at all.

It is, in fact, a very Romantic idea, and ought to be celebrated in just that spirit, rather than pinned down to a map. And the finest emobodiment of this spirit, I am sure many readers of this blog will agree, is Stan Rogers' song of 1981, "Northwest Passage." It embodies the idea, and the passion of the Passage, connecting the exploits of Sir John Franklin, Alexander Mackenzie, David Thompson, and Henry Kelsey with Rogers' own symbolic passage, which was undertaken via the Trans-Canada highway as "this tardiest explorer." It's an extraordinary song, one which -- by Rogers' own account -- came to him as he lay in a darkened recording studio, with the thrumming of the amplifier tubes as his drones. It has been called Canada's unofficial national anthem, and with good reason: the significance of the Passage, and Franklin's death, and Rogers', are all bound up in it. In the efforts to assert Canadian sovereignty over its inland waters, it has been caught up as a sort of talisman, but that's not a purpose it should serve. Instead, I hope it reminds everyone -- in Canada and elsewhere -- of the power of a story wrought with sacrifice, fringed with fear, and concluding with the unity of a diverse Nation, brought together not with declarations of some body of legislators, but with dreams.

Sad state of Arctic Graves

2009-12-04T13:32:00.000-08:00

The day after the Franklin memorial service in Greenwich this past October, a number of us met at Kensal Green Cemetery in London for a walking tour of Polar graves. Among our party were Dr Huw Lewis-Jones, Kari Herbert, and Kenn Harper, and on our list of graves to visit were Lady Jane Franklin, Sir John Ross, Admiral Inglefield, and Admiral McClure. None of us had visited the site before, and as the sun was slowly sinking in the west, we hurried against time to locate them using a map of the cemetery and directions from a guidebook. We weren't quite sure what to expect, the more so given the somewhat wild look of Kensal Green itself. Although home to many a famous skellington, the grounds were only barely maintained -- some attempt had been made to trim the grass, with the cuttings blown about this way and that -- and the uneven settling of the ground made many of the monuments lean this way and that. "DANGER: Loose Stonework and Collapsing Graves -- Keep to the Roads and Pathways" warned a sign we passed on our way in, and it was a warning well heeded.

The first of the graves we found was that of Sir John Ross; it was in fairly sound condition, though listing notably to starboard. The carved anchor with chain was largely intact, and the applied metal letters -- a standard of the era, apparently -- were all still in place. We next turned our search toward Lady Franklin, whose marker was of a simpler construction, a stone cross on a tiered pedestal -- precisely, it soon appeared, the same as hundreds of memorials in the vicinity. It was some time before we stumbled upon it, and it was a sad sight; many of the metal letters had come loose, leaving little holes in the limestone base. "ADY FRANKLIV" the stone read, "DIED 18 ULY 9," and underneath "SOPHIA CRACRO" followed by a nearly illegible inscription. The words "Arctic,""search," and "brave companions" could be made out, but not much more. To capture the mood, I sang a stanza of the ballad "Lady Franklin's Lament"

'Twas homeward bound one night on the deep,

Swinging in my hammock I fell asleep

I dreamed a dream, and I thought it true

Concerning Franklin, and his gallant crew ...

A man passing by asked for directions, breaking the mood and leaving us all to our own thoughts. Kenn has written about the sad state of this memorial in his Taissumani column in the Nunatsiaq News, and I heartily agree with his comments there: "I was frankly shocked. So this was the fate of the mortal remains of the second most-famous woman in mid-19th century England."

Next, we tracked down Admiral Inglefield, whose career was connected with the Greenwich memorial we had just attended; he was the very one who had brought back the bones supposed to be Le Vesconte's from Washington D.C. to London. His memorial was half-covered over with grass and dirt; after running back to the car for some work gloves, Huw managed to clear off much of the debris, and we found the inscription intact. His epitaph singled out his Polar experience, reading "Commanded three Arctic expeditions 1852.3.4 and discovered 800 miles of new coasts."

Lastly, we located the monument of Robert McClure, which turned out to be very difficult to locate; its low, pink marble stone gave it the look of a far more recent grave. And yet, obscure though it was, the epitaph was, in many way, the most satisfying of the three:

"In Memory of Vice Admiral Sir Robert John le M. McClure C.B. Born 28 January 1807 died 17 October 1873. As Captain of HMS 'Investigator' AD 1850-54 he discovered and accomplished the Northwest Passage "Thus we launch into this formidable frozen sea"', 'SPES MEA IN DEO'"

Afterwards, we also managed to locate the grave of Wilkie Collins, which was quite near McClure's; it too was in a rather shabby condition, despite a small placard informing us that the Wilkie Collins Society was responsible for its maintenance. All in all, it was a strange and somewhat melancholy visit, with our distress felt most deeply over Lady Franklin's marker. Surely the woman that the Times of London once called "Our English Penelope" deserved a better marker, or at least a better maintained one, that this!

Franklin curiosities: Songs of the North

2009-12-01T16:23:00.000-08:00

Among the slimmest, and most delightful items in my collection is this Australian chapbook, printed entirely in letterpress, and reproducing some of the ship-board printing from Arctic vessels of the Franklin era. It's a rare hand-set example, printed on much the same technology that the sailors in Belcher's squadron used themselves, made possible thanks to the Ancora Press at the Centre for the Book at Monash University in Melbourne. Founded in 1976, it is operated jointly by the University's English department, Library, and Communications department.

Much of their printing is done on a cast-iron press made in 1857 by Hopkinson and Cope of London, on indefinite loan from the State Library of Victoria. There is also an 1890's era Wade of Halifax press (used for this volume), as well as a modern steel press made in California in 1982. The predominant type used is Monotype Bembo, an old-style Serif typeface which is the ancestor of the Garamond font family familiar to modern users of word-processing and design software. As to the subject matter, they themselves say simply that it is "generally bookish or literary," but clearly a connection with Australia, or with early or significant printing, is among their criteria.

For this volume, poems printed on board ships in Arctic service were the inspiration, and the selection is small but judicious. First among equals is the "ARCTIC ANTHEM," once sung aboard HMS "Resolute," to the tune of "God Save the Queen":

God bless the Resolute

 (A ship of good repute,) 

And all her Crew! 

Make her victorious 

Over old Boreas 

Whene'er he's uproarious

 Our Consorts too.

Having heard my friend Dr Huw Lewis-Jones sing these lines on more than one occasion, it is his voice that instantly comes to mind as I read them, but I also at times try to imagine the sound of the Resolute's officers and men, under the dedicated and distinguished Captain Kellett, singing this in chorus as their voices echo out through the vast and desolate wilderness of ice, amidst which, though they could not know it, they would later be ordered to abandon their hardy vessel. Also included are "The Arctic Voyagers' Song" (to the tune of "Ivy Green"), the "Traveller's Evening Song," "The Arctic Mariner," and the infamous "Song of the Sledge," to which many a sailor once man-hauled a heavily-laden sledge over the frozen wastes:

Hark! Save, or we perish -- is borne on the gale;

When such is their need, is there one that would fail?

No! Shoulder to shoulder we'll search the dark West

And smile at all toil, & ask not for rest.

The collection concludes with "Appeal to the Seamen & Marines of the Expedition," followed by "THE EPILOGUE at the close of the season, at THE ROYAL ARCTIC THEATRE, 28th February, 1851."

The Ancora Press is mainly conceived as a training ground for students who have an interest in careers related to the publishing trade; it gives them the very best sort of "hands-on" experience -- that with ink and platen, font and fond. They were kind enough to send this copy to me several years ago in hopes that my publicizing it would have good effect in keeping the program alive, which I very heartily hope that it has!

Digitized Arctic Charts at Library & Archives Canada

2009-11-29T17:34:00.001-08:00

A major new digital initiative of the Library and Archives of Canada has recently been completed: the digital scanning of all the British Admiralty Charts of Canadian waters. It's an impressive feat, the more so in an era when the Library has had severe cutbacks in staff and funding; perhaps the present Government's interest in the Northwest Passage and issues of Canadian sovereignty helped ensure that the project would be funded. Whatever the reason, it's cause for celebration among Arctic researchers. Among the digitized, zoomable charts is the original full-colour version of Rupert Thomas Gould's map of King William Island, officially known as Admiralty Chart No. 5101. To help users of the map weigh the evidence from different sources, map indications based on Naval observers were given in red ink, while Inuit testimony was shown in blue. You can now zoom in on any detail, and drag the zoomed image to show adjacent areas; it's almost as good as having the chart in your hands.

The only drawback of the project is that, vaster (or at least as vast as) Empires, it moves more slow -- much more slow. Even on a high-speed internet connection, searches seem to take a minute or more to run, and the full map image can take up to five minutes to finish loading. The search indicators and limiters are few, and are also slow to run, making it difficult to navigate that especially treacherous strait between too many and too few (or no) hits. Searching by name provides a potential shortcut, but this search option looks through all digitized materials, not just the maps; for places where there is a lot of other material, such as photographs, this can mean searching for the same needle in an even bigger haystack. Nevertheless, the results, when one does locate the chart wanted, are spectacular indeed, and will certainly reward the patient searcher.

Franklin curiosities: Toy replica of Goldner's tin

2009-11-22T08:20:00.001-08:00

In my last posting, I mentioned another remarkable item in my collections, a small toy replica of one of Goldner's infamous red tins. It's about an inch tall, and is made from a wooden spool and painted with (non-toxic) red paint; wrapped in tissue, it fits snugly inside a box decorated with woodcuts of Arctic explorers, with the label "Franklin Expedition Arctic Discovery Play Set." A small leaflet within outlines the essential history, and explains the possible role of Goldner's tins in Franklin's demise. This remarkable item is the work of Ron Toelke, a graphic designer with many years of experience in the book trade, who has taken up the sideline of making extraordinary toys and gifts using old engravings and woodcuts of Polar voyages. In addition to the Franklin play-set, he's worked on a set of Franklin expedition playing cards, with Franklin and his officers as "Kings" and the ships as "Queens." (Interestingly, there was a set of such cards made back in the 1850's for Dr. Kane's Second Grinnell Expedition; these are on display at the library of the American Philosophical Society in Philadelphia).

Goldner's tins, of course, excite a sort of morbid curiosity -- and here Toelke has chosen the infamous "Ox Cheek" soup, which one imagines, even if wholesome and properly tinned, might cause some (understandable) queasiness. I've had some experience with these tins -- there's an original one in a glass case at the airport in Resolute, Nunavut -- and for the Franklin documentary I was in, the producer had made a number of cans spray-painted red. When I was in Los Angeles as the Velaslavasay Panorama, they made lovely full-size tins (Ox Cheek Soup being again featured), which were placed around the tables from which period Arctic fare was served. The actual degree to which these cans -- either from the lead in their solder, possible contamination with botulism, or simple putridity -- contributed to the demise of Franklin and his men remains a subject of fierce debate. I would only observe this: the much higher death rate among Franklin's officers, as opposed to ordinary seamen, must correlate with something -- and officers were regularly issued several times the tinned rations of sailors. Sounds like a fun game to me -- say, kids, who wants to go first?

Franklin curiosities: Erebo y Terror

2009-11-21T09:07:00.000-08:00

Over the years, I've come to acquire all sorts of oddities and ephemera relating to the Franklin expedition, including chapbooks, newspaper articles, trading cards, and even toys (in the form of a lovely replica miniature can of poisoned beef, complete with box and informative notes -- it will be the subject of my next posting). But by far the rarest and most curious printed item is this tiny book, Erebo y Terror, published as part of a "Library of Micronesia" by Juan Miguel Muñoz, who at the time (2004) worked at the Spanish branch of Random House publishers. The book, bound in red, is accompanied by a small leaflet and a copy of Beard's daguerreotype of James Fitzjames, which themselves are contained in a CD jewel box, on which a tiny miniature compass is mounted (see photo). Both are enclosed in a slipcase featuring the logo of the Library, a tooth with the motto "De la pulcra Ceniza," which as far as I can make out with my limited Spanish, means "a little bit of ash."

I do wish I had better Spanish, as the book itself is entirely written in that language. Happily, the accompanying materials, including a little sheet of glassine which is folded inside the cover, have both English and Spanish texts. The publisher informed me that the book's first three sections -- Introducción, Prólogo, and Los pergamos del cabo Félix -- are fiction, and intoduce a fabulous manuscript said to be found among Franklin's relics, written by Paco Alarcón. The latter parts -- Mallory y Hatteras and El Paso del Noroeste -- are nonfictional accounts of the search for the Passage from Frobisher to Amundsen. According to the publisher, Franklin was never a major figure of interest in Spain, which was why this limited edition of 250 had, as of the time of his writing, not sold a single copy; 50 were sent as gifts, of which mine is numbered (paradoxically) A63. It seems like the sort of little book that might have been imagined by Jorge Luis Borges, and lain on a shelf between a Wycliffe bible and the Book of Sand -- and yet here it is, in my hand.

If anyone knows more about this curious volume, I'd be very happy to hear from them! I'll be featuring a different item from my collections every week or so, so if Arctic cabinets of curiosity stir your interest, do 'stay tuned'!

Copper sheathing of "Erebus" and "Terror"

2009-11-18T19:40:00.001-08:00

The question of copper sheathing recovered during recent searches for HMSS "Erebus" and "Terror" has certainly piqued my curiosity. Robert Grenier tells me that only the Royal Navy used pure copper sheeting, although other sources say that pure copper was worn away too quickly, and alloys soon came to be preferred. The impurities in the copper, it turned out, toughened it just a bit, while still allowing some of the surface to be sloughed off along with the attendant bits of marine life. As one manual drawn up in the late nineteenth century put it:

"It is now known to all who have studied the subject that the cause of copper, yellow metal, zinc, and other metallic alloys placed on a ship's bottom, keeping clean and free from fouling, is the exfoliation of the metal and the constant renewal of the surface caused thereby, through which the adherent matter is, as it were, sent adrift, by the friction of the water against the metal sheathing washing off the exfoliated parts or films."

The Royal Navy took some time to realize this. John Bingeman, who has made an extensive study of the copper sheathing applied to HMS "Victory" and other ships of the era, notes that uncertainty over the ideal composition led to the practice of stamping each plate so that its origin and date of application could be compared with its rate of wear (see photo). This, it was hoped, would help identify the "good" copper, which sloughed off marine residue at just the right rate, from "bad" copper which wore away too quickly (thus being expensive), or did not wear away (thus allowing marine life to accumulate and foul the plating):

"I believe the reason for dating was an attempt to discover why copper varied from good to bad. Coppering ships served two purposes. It prevented worm attack, especially important in the West Indies where new hulls could be destroyed in under two years. The second need was for the copper to erode slowly preventing excessive fouling. This was known as "good" copper and relied on small quantities of impurities to achieve this effect, since completely pure copper eroded quickly and neededreplacing in less than two years. Really bad copper had too many inclusions and did not erode at all; fouling was then just as bad as plain wooden hulls. In an attempt to recognise good from bad, the Dockyards recorded the plate's life by dating each sheet. I would stress that these copper marks are not easily discernable when hidden by an oxide coating."

So if "good" copper relied upon small amounts of impurities, how is it that Robert Grenier can say with such confidence that Royal Navy copper plating was "100% copper"? He may simply be rounding things off, as the impurities in RN copper were relatively slight. Merchant vessels, in contrast, tended to use an alloy known as "Muntz's Metal," which was only 60% copper alloyed with 40% zinc and a trace of iron. This material, in fact, was used for the sheathing of the Cutty Sark, one of the most famous vessels of its day, or ours.

There has been some uncertainty in the past as to whether "Erebus" and "Terror" were in fact copper-sheathed. I talked with Dave Woodman about this, and he notes that they had been copper sheathed during their Antarctic service just prior to being re-outfitted for Franklin, and that he has seen work orders for the removal of some of their copper sheets. This may have been a prelude to re-sheathing, or because copper had to be removed from the parts of the ship that were to be sheathed in iron (copper and iron could not be allowed to have direct contact, as this created a "galvanic effect" -- essentially turning the plating, and the sea-water around it, into an electrical cell which resulted in rapid corrosion of the metals).

Woodman believes that the copper pieces that Grenier has been discussing were not in fact found in 2008, but rather as part of the the original Project Utjulik in 1997. He describes the location and significance of this copper as follows:

"These copper sheets and other artifacts were not found on the beach but associated with Inuit tent circles on one of the islets to the north of O'Reilly Island, so they were not primarily associated with a ship at all. They could have been transported there by either drifting wreckage from the north or Inuit travel (as could the relics recovered by the 1967 Project Franklin group) but since some of the testimony indicates a wreck nearby they could also be corroborative. Even if from the ship it may not be external sheathing but 'trade copper' or the remnants of copper sheeting carried by the expedition for making pots etc."

You can see an image of this copper here in the original report. One of the sheets had a tarry substance adhering to it, with traces of what may have been oakum (a mixture of tar and hemp used by carpenters to fill cracks and irregularities in a ship's planking), which suggested it may have been attached to a ship or boat, but tests at the time showed it had not been immersed for a long period in salt water.

What I would suggest is that Grenier, and others hoping to follow this trail of copper, get a hold of some of the bits of copper recovered by earlier searchers, such as Charles Francis Hall. Hall's bits were marked with the broad arrow; their metallic composition and thickness could be readily compared with the Utjulik finds. I believe that even the best Royal Navy copper probably had some trace impurities, and these could be used to help make a definitive match. What's more, if any additional copper is found next summer, there would be a ready way to evaluate it and determine if it resembled material known to have been recovered from Franklin sources. We have the technology, after all.

Solving the Franklin Mystery

2009-11-14T06:15:00.001-08:00

In an earlier post, I said I'd return to a detailed account of Grenier's approach, and say where and why I think he ought to look -- so here goes. For one, I would actually say that finding the remains of Franklin's ships, while a laudable goal which surely fires the imagination -- wouldn't be my first priority. When you have only a small window of funding and opportunity, I think you should go for the search method most likely to yield definitive results, and that would be a search on land. When you think of it, of all the known Franklin sites on land, only one -- NgLj-2 on King William Island -- has been examined with modern archaeological and forensic tools. A similar examination is long overdue for the Todd Islets site, which is certainly where at last one group of survivors met their end, and the location of which is well-known, especially to Louie Kamookak, whose grandfather reburied the remains there, and who is on Grenier's team. A visit to the area of "Starvation Cove" might also be worthwhile, as there are several indications that a box of records or papers was brought this far. All of the remains there have sunk into the coastal silt, which may make them harder to locate, but should also have preserved them. Similar sites at Ogle Point, Grant Point, Cape Herschel, and on Montreal Island, have not been examined in modern times. Small "away teams" could reconnoiter these sites, most of which are near enough to Gjoa Haven that getting people and supplies there would be relatively inexpensive, while Grenier's ship-bound team monitors its sonar scans.

For, as tempting as it is to imagine that side-scan sonar will reveal one of the ships, the area to be searched is so vast that it would take many years to search it all effectively. Dave Woodman tried to limit the search area with a magnetic survey, hoping that the ships' engines would be detectable -- but his targets turned out to be natural features. Nevertheless, the areas he has surveyed offer at least a negative map, of places where it wouldn't be necessary to search again. I suppose this is why Grenier is so focussed on the Royal Geographical Society Islands, as one or both ships must surely have passed near them -- but this area is far from where Inuit testimony placed the re-manned ship (which would be near Grant Point or O'Reilly Island, as shown on this map) -- so I should imagine that all he'd find there would be bits of debris brought along by ice and currents from the ship which sank close to the coast of King William Island.

Some, such as Andrew Lambert, regard the Inuit testimony as too convoluted, too mangled up in its sources, too damaged by errors in transmission, to be of much use. Yet when you look at this testimony, there are certain features that, I feel, make some stories more credible than others. There are accounts of the abandoned ship on the ice from numerous witnesses; the story was told to Hall by several persons; it was told again to Schwatka, and indeed it was told again to Rasmussen a generation later, with much of the same detail. I think it's probably the most credible single account we have, and there's good reason to trust it. It comes from the Ootjoolingmiut, the very band whose original territory lay closest to the site. The most dramatic version is that given by Schwatka, and I will close by quoting it in full. This is the ship that I think could yet be found -- if only Grenier would look for it:

Colonel Gilder and I [interviewed] old Ikinnilik-Puhtoorak, the head man of this tribe, with Joe Ebierbing as our interpreter. The old man, then about sixty years old, had an intelligent, open face, and all his answers were given without hesitation, in a straightforward manner which carried the conviction of truth. In response to our questions he stated that he had seen white men before in this country. Almost impatiently we waited Joe's interpretation of the old man's statements. His next remarks electrified us.
"A long time ago, said Puhtoorak, "when I was a small boy living with my people just below the bad rapids near the mouth of the Great Fish River, we saw a wooden boat with white men going down the river. The white men shook hands with the Innuits and the latter rubbed their hands down their breasts, a sign of welcome."
There were ten men in the boat, and the commander's name as near as he could remember it was Tooahdeahhrak (probably Lieut. Back on his first exploration of the river).
Continuing his story, Puhtoorak told Ebierbing that the next time he saw a white man it was a dead one in a large ship about eight miles off Grant Point. The body was in a bunk inside the ship in the back part. The ship had four big sticks, one pointing out and the other three standing up. On the mainland, near Smith Point and Grant Point on the Adelaide peninsula, an Esquimaux party which he accompanied saw the tracks of white men and judged they were hunting for deer. At this time the tracks indicated there were four white men but afterwards the tracks showed only three. He saw the ship in the spring before the spring snow falls and the tracks in the fresh spring snow when the young reindeer come of the same year. He never saw the white men. He thinks that the white men lived in this ship until the fall and then moved onto the mainland.
Puhtoorak told how the Esquimaux, not understanding how to get into the ship, cut through one side. When summer came and the ice melted the ship righted herself but the hole in her side being below the water line she sank as the water poured in. After the ship sank, they found a small boat on the mainland. When he went on board the ship he saw a pile of dirt on one side of the cabin door showing that some white man had recently swept out the cabin. He found on board the ship four red tin cans filled with meat and many that had been opened. The meat was full of fat. The natives went all through the ship and found also many empty casks. The found iron chains and anchors on deck, and spoons, knives, forks, tin plates, china plates, etc.
When the ship finally sank her masts stuck out of the water and many things floated on shore which the natives picked up. He also saw books on board the ship but the natives did not take them. He afterwards saw some that had washed ashore. He never saw any stone monument or cairn on the mainland near where the ship sank. There was one small boat hanging from the davits which the natives cut down. Some of the ship's sails were set.

With Grenier in the Nelson Room

2009-11-09T06:28:00.000-08:00

To the unsuspecting passer-by, the little art-shop in an alley off the Nelson Road in Greenwich might almost be missed -- a few nautical paintings, some marine instruments, and a little row of alphabetical pins that spells out "ENGLAND EXPECTS ... " -- and yet what lies upstairs might inspire more than a little wonder. For it's there, in a chamber known among the cognoscenti simply as the "Nelson Room," where history lies deep upon shelf and wall, that some of the most remarkable gatherings in Greenwich take place. The shelves are bowed with Nelson biographies (in one of which a little bit of his blood-stained kerchief is lain); Nelson lithographs and etchings line the walls, and every cranny is crammed with Nelson tchotchkes. A full-size replica of Nelson's personal chair -- complete with leather "in" and "out" pockets -- adorns one corner, while in another a Marine's cap-band is wrapped whimsically about a marble bust.

On this day -- the eve of Robert Grenier's talk in the Painted Hall, I was in this very room with Kenn Harper and a few other Arctic mavens, hoping for an advance chat. Grenier was due to arrive by Thames clipper, his preferred means of conveyance, and -- provided that Huw could manage to keep his handlers from whisking him away prematurely -- we'd have a chance to ask our questions in person. Having been informed that he fancied a bit of Cognac, an excellent bottle was on hand, along with rum, single-malt whiskey, and some soda water.

And, after a quick rattle of footsteps on the narrow, spiral staircase, there he was! Of course, as have 'Franklinites' the world over, I'd been following his work closely these past few years, but I had little idea of what sort of man to expect. In the past, he'd rarely gone out to publicize his work, and had never replied to my (relentlessly courteous) e-mails, so aside from having heard his voice in a CBC interview, I had little to go on. He was, as it turned out, very charming and soft-spoken, with the manner of a careful, quiet practitioner. He declined the proffered cognac -- thanks, but he needed to keep his head clear for the talk. Where was I from? Rhode Island -- did I know that there had been a number of Greniers in Woonsocket? I had not. After these preliminaries, of course, Kenn and I got right down to Franklin business.

It was curious that, given our shared interests over many years, Grenier hadn't, apparently, heard of either of us. Nevertheless, he could tell from our questions that we knew something of which we spoke, and he was very direct in his replies. We were curious about persistent Inuit accounts of buried papers, some of which had cropped up just recently -- it turned out he had heard from the same people we had. Of course, he said, these should be looked into, but much as ourselves, he was skeptical as to whether, at this late date, such claims were likely to be accurate. We talked about (Gjoa Haven resident) Louie Kamookak, and what the Franklin story meant to local Inuit -- certainly there were hopes that new finds would bring tourists, money, perhaps a museum to the region.

The copper, which would be the subject of his later talk, was our next topic of conversation. I mentioned to him the copper bits recovered by Hall from Inuit near Booth Point on King William Island; these had borne "two stamps of the broad arrow." Had any of the pieces found by Grenier been stamped? No, he replied, but the high copper content was a sure sign they were from a Royal Naval vessel. He asked me about the copper found by Hall, and I told him it must be either at the Smithsonian or the NMM; he noted this down on a pad, and told me he'd definitely look into it. He recalled the copper found in 1997 with David Woodman, and felt that these finds were definitely the "footprints" of Franklin's men. Next summer's search, he hoped, would lead him to the end of that trail.

Grenier clearly has a genuine passion for the preservation of Franklin's ships, and his greatest anxiety was that someone would make some private claim upon them before the sites could be properly secured. As an archaeologist, he said, it was his job to learn what could be learned from them, and make certain that this knowledge became part of Canada and Britain's common heritage. Grenier, now 72 years old, has the energy of a much younger man, and possesses the persistence needed to fulfill his quest. I only hope that the Canadian government, which helped roll out the red carpet for Grenier's appearances here, will maintain its support when it comes to securing an icebreaking vessel for his work. It's a small -- perhaps a very small -- window of opportunity, and it would be a real shame were it to be missed due to bureaucratic infighting.

Just at that moment, the "handlers" appeared -- their dark suits bulging with biceps, and one with a little ear-bud that put me in mind of Agent Smith in The Matrix -- and whisked Grenier off in the direction of the Chapel. Kenn and I exchanged glances, clinked glasses, and turned to follow.

A Night of Polar Stars

2009-11-06T07:55:00.000-08:00

Following the very touching memorial to Lieutenant Le Vesconte and the men of the Franklin expedition, we walked the short distance across the courtyard to the entrance to the Painted Hall. No better venue could be imagined for a Franklin gathering, for it was here, in 1854 and again in 1859, that the relics of his Expedition were put on display for an anxious, and then a grieving, nation. I believe it's safe to say that seldom, since that era, has this storied chamber held such a sky-full of Polar stars, nor such a broad gathering of family members of the Franklin expedition and those who searched for it. Among the former were Glyn Williams, masterful historian of the search for the Northwest Passage; Kenn Harper, author of Give Me My Father's Body; Franklin biographer Andrew Lambert, Crozier biographer Michael Smith, and Jonathan Dore, Arctic editor and book reviewer extraordinaire. Among the latter were present Lady Marie Herbert, Sylvia and Paddy and a great many other McClintocks, Martin and more than 25 other Croziers, the Hon. Alexandra Shackleton, Sir Nicholas Bayne (Sir John Ross), and members of the Wills family, descendants of Lieutenant Henry TD Le Vesconte. Not the least in this constellation were our hosts, Dr Huw Lewis-Jones (Face to Face: Polar Portraits) and Kari Herbert (The Explorer's Daughter, Heart of the Hero) of Polarworld.

The centre of the hall was open, with candlelit tables along each side crowded with Arctic-themed canapes; uniformed servers offered guests their choice of Georgian wine or Siberian vodka drinks. A podium had been placed at the front of the Hall, and it was from here that Robert Grenier, the star toward whom all eyes that night were directed, was to speak. He was introduced by the Canadian High Commissioner, James R. Wright, who spoke of Canada's renewed emphasis on its unique and shared Arctic heritage with the United Kingdom. Then, to a warm round of applause, the man of the hour approached the podium and began to speak.

Grenier picked up on the Commissioner's points, emphasizing the tremendous historical importance of the wrecks, should either survive, of HM Ships "Erebus" and "Terror." Unfortunately, due to the nature of Canada's current salvage laws, it's possible that these sites could be claimed by private parties. Nevertheless, with the support of the Canadian government, they have been declared in advance to be significant sites of national heritage -- the key is that Grenier's team must reach them first.

Grenier then spoke of the significance of Inuit testimony in his search, and the co-operation of Inuit today. He first witnessed its value when working alongside David C. Woodman on "Project Utjulik" in 1997. Then, as on his most recent mission, pieces of sheet copper were recovered very near where Inuit testimony had placed one of Franklin's ships. The copper found most recently has been tested, he said, and found to be nearly 100% pure. Such unalloyed copper sheeting was used only by ships of the Royal Navy, and thus was clear evidence that the 2008 search was also near an area of significant Franklin remains, as his had been the only such ships of that era in that region.

He acknowledged the disappointment -- most keenly felt by himself -- that other missions and tasks had prevented any of the region's icebreaking vessels from providing support for this summer's planned search, but reassured all present that plans are in place for next summer, and prospects good. Finally, he addressed himself very directly to the families of Franklin's men and those who searched for him, speaking of the enormous significance of their ancestors' sacrifice, and his great desire to do them honor by determining more clearly the final fate of the lost explorers.

His remarks were welcomed by all present with much applause, and afterwards he generously took time to talk personally with a great many of those present. He was, of course, due to speak again the following evening at the National Maritime Museum, but that would surely have been an anticlimax after a glittering evening such as this. I'm grateful, as ever, to Huw and Kari, for their enormous efforts in making this event such a success, and I'm certain that it marks the beginning of a new era of cooperation and connection between Polar scholars, family members, and the growing number of Franklin buffs in the British Isles and North America, and around the world.

Next up: a behind-the-scenes chat with Grenier, and my own thoughts on his approach to the ongoing search.

Photo credit: Nick Garrod

Memorable service for Franklin sailors

2009-11-01T11:02:00.000-08:00

This past Thursday, on the 29th October, I was the guest of Dr Huw Lewis-Jones and Kari Herbert of Polarworld, joining over 200 of their other guests for a special Service of Thanksgiving and rededication of the Franklin Memorial at the Chapel of Saints Peter and Paul at the Old Royal Naval College in Greenwich.

Having attended a number of Franklin memorials and commemorative events over the years, I can say that this was, by far, the most solemn and moving service of all such memorials, and the most beautifully conceived and presented. Of course it had one distinction that all other such services lacked: the bones of one of Franklin's men -- Lieutenant Henry Thomas Dundas Le Vesconte -- brought back in 1869 from King William Island by Charles Francis Hall, and sent to England in 1873. For many years, the monument in which these bones lay was subject to benign neglect in a dusty stairwell behind the altar, out of public view and access. This special service celebrated the move and restoration of this memorial to a place of honor and prominence inside the vestibule of the main entrance, where everyone from this moment forward will readily be able to see it. Dr Lewis-Jones conceived and directed the event with the support of the Greenwich Foundation and the Canadian High Commission, acting in unique partnership with his company Polarworld.

The service, presided over by the Rev. Christopher Chessun, Bishop of Woolwich, along with the Rev. Jeremy Frost, Chaplain to the Greenwich Foundation, opened with Beethoven's Funeral March on the Death of a Hero, beautifully played on the Chapel organ. The clergy and choir then entered, and took their places about the altar. Throughout the service, the choir was magnificent, singing both traditional hymns and more complex modern choral works with a rare combination of verve and purity of tone. The service was opened by the Rev. Frost, who welcomed all present with these words:

We gather on this solemn occasion to give renewed thanks for the life of Lieutenant Henry Thomas Dundas Le Vesconte, and to re-inter his mortal remains in the vestibule of this Chapel In this the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary year of the discovery of Sir John Franklin's death, we pray that peoples from across the world who visit this holy and historic place may hereafter pause, and remember all those who lost their lives alongside Franklin ..
The reading, appropriately enough, was from the Book of Job. Afterwards, Bishop Chessun ascended to the pulpit and delivered quite a lovely address, in which he extolled the merits of the urge to explore, to risk life and limb in the pursuit of expanding geographical and scientific knowledge. The Canadian High Commissioner, James R. Wright, offered a poignant excerpt from Canadian poet Gwendolyn MacEwen's poetic cycle "Terror and Erebus."

The congregation then turned, en masse, to face the rear of the chapel, and the clerics and descendants of Franklin's men processed to witness the monument's re-dedication. Holy water was sprinkled upon the marble, and a lovely, hymn, "Take him, earth for cherishing" (Herbert Howells), was intoned by the choir. It was a deeply moving moment, and I could not help but think how much easier Le Vesconte's bones would rest, now that they were ensconced in a far more visible and honored location, re-interred with all the rich ceremony omitted on earlier such occasions.

Of course, although we all were there to honor Le Vecsonte and all of Franklin's officers and men, we were also present out of a strong shared interest in finally determining what happened to make the Expedition collapse so utterly, and what might have been the actions and thoughts of its men in their last moments of hope and despair. And, in a modest way, the re-interment gave us insight into the disposition of his bones, and the interest which attended them when they were first brought back to England in 1873. During the renovation and relocation of the Monument, under the direction of the Greenwich Foundation, Dr Huw Lewis-Jones and English Heritage, the sarcophagus was opened, and a wooden coffin found with a plaque identifying its origins. Inside, along with the skeleton (which was wrapped, curiously, in a large Admiralty chart of New Guinea) was a pasteboard cross adorned with flowers, a map of the Arctic, and a note from the Hydrographer Royal. These, and other aspects of the remains, along with a summa of Le Vesconte's career and some quite remarkable never-before-seen images, are the subject of a forthcoming article by Dr Huw Lewis-Jones in the 2009 issue of the Trafalgar Chronicle, an annual international journal devoted to sailing navy history and maritime memorials. I am delighted that Huw has offered to make this special paper available to readers of this blog here.

After the memorial service, we walked across to the Painted Hall for a gala reception featuring remarks by Robert Grenier, Chief Underwater Archaeologist for Parks Canada, whose recent search efforts were of so much interest to us all. In my next post, I'll recount the highlights of his address, along with an account of those present.

(Photo credit: Mike Almond)

Franklin Memorial

2009-10-29T03:48:00.000-07:00

There are numerous memorials to Sir John Franklin around the world -- the best-known ones are at Westminster Abbey and in Waterloo Place, but there are statues in his birthplace of Spilsby, in Hobart, Tasmania, and even in Alaska. Yet perhaps the least-well-known memorial is also one of the most remarkable: the enormous wall-size marble sculpture at the Chapel of the old Royal Naval Hospital at Greenwich. For not only does it feature a lovely marble bas-relief of a ship and icebergs, but it incorporates into its base a sarcophagus containing the remains of one of Franklin's senior officers -- Lieutenant Henry Thomas Dundas Le Vesconte -- sent back to England after its recovery by Charles Francis Hall in 1869.

This makes Le Vesconte one of only two officers (the other being John Irving) whose mortal remains received a proper burial back home. In Le Vesconte's case, his tomb has been a restless one; originally installed in the Painted Hall, the memorial was moved, bones and all, to a location in a back stairwell of the Chapel. In 2009, it was moved to a far more prominent position in the Chapel's entryway. As a matter of fact, this very evening, I've been invited to attend a special event at the Chapel which celebrates the rededication of this monument, and the legacy of the officers and men of the Franklin expedition ... I can't say more for now, but promise to describe the proceedings, and include photos and more, in another post soon to follow!

The book in Le Vesconte's Hand

2009-10-28T11:14:00.000-07:00

In the earlier discussion of the Franklin daguerreotypes on this blog, there was much speculation about the book visible in the hand of Henry T.D. Le Vesconte. Some hoped that it might indeed be the logbook of H.M.S. "Erebus," that very volume which, were it to be found today, could solve so much of the Franklin mystery. A few days ago, with the help of Dr Huw Lewis-Jones at SPRI, I was able to have a look at a super high-resolution image of the Le Vesconte daguerreotype. On zooming in, we saw to our suprise that it was a far more prosaic tome, with the label "Code of Signals" pasted upon its cover and the indication 3/1 (or 311) written above and to its right (click on the image for a better-resolution version). From this, Huw was able to identify the volume; in his own words,

"After a fair amount of guesswork and reasoned elimination, I would suggest this is probably Captain Frederick Marryat's widely used, classic, 'Code of Signals' or, to give it the full title, 'A Code of Signals for the Use of Vessels Employed in the Merchant Service.' An 8th edition was published in London, 1841, and it's possible a revised edition was issued in 1845, a few years before Marryat died. It was first published in 1817 and was still in use, officially and unofficially, into the 1890s. Vesconte's copy certainly looks like a special edition of some sort, possibly given by a friend or colleague to wish him well on his voyage into the unknown. Of course, until more research is done, we can't possibly know the details."

The inset image on the right in the composite above is taken from a Google Books scan of the 10th edition, which came out in 1847, a little too late for Le Vesconte, but as it seems likely he would have taken the most recent edition, it may well be that of 1841. Although the book itself is unremarkable, its author, Marryat, brings a rich resonance to the image. Marryat was an acquantance of Dickens and a prodigious novelist, who more or less established the classic narrative arc of the "sea story" in which some likely lad runs away to sea, faces a series of challenges and adventures, and eventually rises to the rank of Captain. The earliest of these, The Naval Officer, or Scenes in the Life and Adventures of Frank Mildmay (1829), was said to be partly autobiographical. Who knows but that some of the younger lads aboard Franklin's ships might have been inspired by such tales?

In wartime, Royal Navy signal books were often bound in lead, so that, should an enemy overrun the vessel, they could be thrown overboard and counted on to sink. The one in Le Vesconte's hand looks almost to be made of wood -- perhaps a measure to ensure that it would float if dropped. This also suggests to me that such a specially-bound volume may well have been enhanced by additional signals; some systems of the day included specific signals designed for surveying coastal areas, a labor in which we know Le Vesconte and Fitzjames were enagaged in even before the ships left Greenland. The 3/1 indication looks at first like a price, but perhaps this simply means it was one of three copies.

I'll have more to say about Le Vesconte in my next post, but for now, suffice it to say that this offers another instance of how the remarkable level of detail preserved by the Daguerreian process offers numerous avenues for further discovery.

Highlights from Athy

2009-10-27T06:17:00.000-07:00

By all accounts, this year's Shackleton School in Athy has been the most varied, the most lively, and the most well-attended in the nine years it has been held. As this is my first year, I can't vouch for that, but it has certainly been the most delightful polar conference event I've ever given a paper at. In this post, I'll do my best to give some account of the highlights, and (hopefully) deliver some sense of what it's been like to be there. The riches have been so great that I'm sure that I'll have left something out, but it won't be because it was any less delightful than the rest.

Saturday morning opened with a lovely presentation by Hans Kjell Larsen, the grandson of the Antarctic captain C.L. Larsen. This talk was unique in that it combined historical images of Larsen's achievements with contemporary photos of some of the sites he explored, which his grandson had revisited nearly a century later. He was followed by Professor Andrew Lambert, who gave a capable and compelling account of Sir John Franklin's career and his final expedition. Lambert's lecture was amply illustrated with documents and photographs, and if any Shackleton buffs at his talk were unacquainted with Franklin's career, it gave them a perfect primer of North Polar disaster. After lunch, Dr. David Wilson gave a richly illustrated account of Shackleton's expedition aboard the Nimrod, which certainly had the same effect for me; of all the lectures, his was the most polished in presentation.

Then it was time for my own presentation. I used as my main (actually, my only) visual aid the 1928 Gould map, with which I was able to illustrate all the efforts to find some more final resolution of the Franklin mystery in the wake of McClintock's determinations of 1859. In particular, I talked at length about the Inuit evidence gathered by Charles Francis Hall, and later analyzed with such diligence by David C. Woodman. I also discussed the vital contributions of other amateur searchers, ranging from Hall to Barry Ranford, and offered the conclusion that the progress we've made, and any hope for an eventual solution, are absolutely dependent on collaboration of both amateur and professional searchers.

As my talk concluded, it was off to a drinks party at the lovely home of the conference's host, Frank Taaffe. We were welcomed into an ornate sitting room, with a crackling fire burning and Bob Headland taking a turn at serving drinks. Shortly after, a group of us were beckoned into the inner sanctum -- a library of mostly Antarctic (and a few Arctic) volumes that would rival any the world over. I took a particular interest in several sets of polar Magic Lantern slides, each still in its original box with its folded paper lecture. Many of us there, myself included, took the opportunity to sign copies of our own volumes. From here, it was off to the annual dinner a mile or so out of town in an elegant hotel banquet room. Guests enjoyed their choice of salmon, steak, or chicken, as we were regaled by a delegation from a local seisún, featuring the rather unusual combation of three pipers and a banjo player. A Nimrod trivia quiz was also distributed to each table, with the night's laurels going to table eight (for which, although it was my table, I can take absolutely zero credit).

Somehow, on our return to town, a number of us found the energy to gather at O'Brien's pub for a final round of pint-lifting. The next morning, though we were all unaccountably feeling a tad groggy, we gathered again to hear Dr. Michael Rostove guide us through "The Great Books of Shackletonia." As a book collector myself, even though these titles were out of my area (and in most cases, out of my budget as well!), I found his account fascinating, especially with regard to the printing points of Aurora Australis, the first book entirely printed and bound in the Antarctic. After the tea-break which followed his talk, the lecture hall quickly filled to capacity, with scarce standing room at the back, in anticipation of Lady Marie Herbert's talk, "The Way of the Explorer." Speaking with quiet dignity and nimble wit, she recounted her first meeting with Sir Wally Herbert, and some remarable stories from the time they spent together in Northwest Greenland with their daughter Kari. Her talk was beautifully illustrated with photographs from the time, and her account of her own journey after loss to the world of Native American spiritual practices was especially moving. At the conclusion, there was a long and lasting roar of applause, followed by so many questions that Seamus Taaffe, in charge of the proceedings, was obliged to ask other questioners to wait until the afternoon forum.

Lunch came again -- for some -- while my good friend Dr Huw Lewis-Jones and I put the final polish on our program of polar films. The audience was delighted with our choices, paricularly (if I may say) with our screening of Georges Méliès's 1914 "Conquest of the Pole," for which I provided a few wry vocal annotations. During part of the sequence, I was joined my old friend Kenn Harper, as we showed some materials about early Arctic films related to turn-of-the-century "Esquimaux" villages at World's Fairs. Everyone seemed delighted with our final film "Frigid Hare" (1949), a Bugs Bunny classic which has Bugs rescuing a sad-eyed little penguin from a ravenous Eskimo.

The conference concluded with the traditional forum, in which all the lecturers took questions from the audience, with Bob Headland serving as host. At the conclusion of the forum, he introduced Irish Green Party TD Mary White, who announced that Ireland is to subscribe to the interntional Antarctic Treaty, in part as a tribute to Sir Ernest Schackleton, as well as to the efforts of the Shackleton School in lobbying for this result. A thunderous round of applause followed.

Further proceedings, following tradition, were continued for a final night at O'Brien's, where nearly everyone was present for at least part of the evening. I was particularly pleased to have another chance to talk with Joe O'Farrell, whose guest posting on this blog was very widely commented upon, and who is surely one of the stalwarts of the School, having attended every year since it was founded. From Joe we all learned a new turn of phrase, as he's fond of using the word "chuffed" -- which in North America means something like "heated," but in Ireland means "delighted" instead. So, as Joe might say, I'm absolutely chuffed to say what a wonderful time I had at the Shackleton school this year, and although next year will mark its tenth anniversary, the organizers will have their work cut out for them improving on this year's success.

Arctic Meets Antarctic in Athy

2009-10-25T01:30:00.000-07:00

It takes a singular town, and a singular community of people, to bring both of the ends of the earth together in congenial conjunction -- and Athy, County Kildare, is just that town. Athy has all of the charms of any picturesque Irish town -- a long, winding high street filled with shops, restaurants, and pubs, lovely old churches, and cobbled pavements -- but it has one thing no other place can boast: here, the Shackleton Autumn School is in its ninth year. And so, amidst the townsfolk going about their daily business, a crowd gathers early each morning at the doors of the Athy Heritage Centre, next to a tent erected by a group of historical re-enactors; once the doors open, that same crowd will mill about historical displays and gaze upon artifacts ranging from Polar provisions (a Primus stove, hard tack, and canned pemmican) to a beautiful copy of Aurora Australis, the first full book ever printed in Antarctica. At precisely (more or less) ten-thirty, the summons comes to ascend to the lecture hall, and there they'll take their seats amidst the book-crowded shelves of the centre's library to hear a variety of Polar and related lectures that rivals, and perhaps exceeds, those of any any nineteenth-century Lyceum or assembly room.

The observant will note that, rather than an image of these proceedings, I've posted a photograph of O'Brien's Pub -- where, in the view of some, the best conversations of the event take place, and having now enjoyed two nights' worth of them, I would be inclined to agree! Nevertheless, it's a shared, serious, and sober passion that brings together the remarkable crowd for this event, and which at the end of each day enlivens the back-room at O'Brien's. This year has featured a remarkable conjunction of polar personalities, among them Hans Kjell Larsen (grandson of legendary Antarctic skipper C.L. Larsen), Kenn Harper (Give Me My Father's Body: The Life of Minik, the New York Eskimo), Andrew Lambert (Franklin: Tragic Hero of Arctic Exploration), David Wilson (the grand-nephew of Dr. Edward Wilson, who perished with RF Scott's party), Huw Lewis Jones, (Face to Face: Polar Portriats), and Lady Marie Herbert (Winter of the White Seal, Great Polar Adventure). This year, the Shackleton School is hosting scholars and enthusiasts both North and South, and although their regions may be antipodal, their interests are surely not.

There's more to tell than I could possibly cram into a single posting, so I'll not try (and indeed, if I want to have any hopes of enjoying an unhurried breakfast before this morning's first lecture, I'd best finish now!). I'll post accounts of some of the lectures, and give the best report I can of the related proceedings, over the next day or two. For now I'll just say this: should you ever have the opportunity, the Shackleton School in Athy is an event not to be missed; there is no more convivial community of scholars, explorers, and polar enthusiasts to be found in any other corner of the world.

Guest Blogger: Joe O'Farrell's "On The Search for HM Ships 'Erebus' and 'Terror'"

2009-10-15T08:41:00.000-07:00

[Editor's note: Readers of this blog may recall my referring, among other theories as to the whereabouts of Franklin's ships, the work of Joe O'Farrell on the reports that the two ships had been seen, fast-frozen to an iceberg and abandoned, drifting off the coast of Newfoundland. I'm very grateful to Joe for being willing to share his carefully-researched account, originally delivered at the McClintock Winter School in Dundalk in January of 2008. On that occasion, unfortunately, other speakers went well over their allotted time, and as a result the paper had to be severely condensed. I offer here an excerpt from this remarkable presentation, as well as -- for the first time -- an accessible copy of the entire text. I'm certain that readers of Visions of the North will be excited and intrigued to hear of this remarkable and yet still little-known incident in the range of possible solutions to the Franklin mystery.]

"A very strange thing happened in May 1851. An item appeared in (of all places) the May 28th 1851 issue of The Limerick Chronicle, an Irish newspaper. Written by a John Supple Lynch of Limerick, to his uncle in England, it relates the story of his voyage on the “Renovation” from Limerick to Quebec, Canada, and, how, close to Newfoundland on or about April 20th of that year, his ship passed within a few miles of a big ice-flow upon which were stranded two ships. He said that the ships looked to have been abandoned, for, having studied them through the telescope, no sign of life or movement could be detected. Obviously a man reasonably acquainted with maritime affairs, he formed the opinion that they were consorts, and, surprisingly, expressed the view that they must be the missing Franklin ships. He added that the mate of his ship also observed the scene, but not the captain, for he was ill in his bunk below.

For two specific reasons, I find this letter quite fascinating.

Firstly, it shows the widespread knowledge of, and interest in, the Franklin Expedition of 1845. It‟s quite unbelievable that this man, who described himself to the subsequent Admiralty Enquiry as “an ordinary man”, should, in the Limerick of 1851, and as a post- famine emigrant to Canada to start a new life, even be aware of, or have any interest in, the goings-on of his colonial masters and in the Arctic to boot!

Secondly, it's very strange, but eminently understandable (bearing in mind the rather parochial circulation of a newspaper such as The Limerick Chronicle) that this matter did not come sooner to the attention of the Admiralty in London.

Indeed, it may never have come to any official attention were it not for the fact that the captain of the “Renovation”, on arrival in Quebec, and no doubt at the prompting of his passenger John Lynch, mentioned the episode to his fellow sea-faring colleagues, and, in this way, the matter eventually came to the attention of the Authorities in London. Further interest in the matter was generated by a letter which appeared in The (London) Times of May 8th 1852, almost a year after John Lynch's letter appeared in The Limerick Chronicle. It corroborated exactly what John Lynch's letter said."

Intrigued?

Click here to read the entire paper.

Shackleton Autumn School

2009-10-14T19:05:00.000-07:00

A week from now, I'll be heading to Athy in County Kildare, Ireland for the ninth annual Shackleton Autumn School. Although primarily a forum for discussion about Shackleton and other Antarctic explorers, this year's gathering will also include a number of talks and papers, my own included, dealing with Sir John Franklin's last expedition. Among the speakers will be Andrew Lambert, author of the new Franklin biography, as well as Lady Marie Herbert, who will speak on "The Way of the Explorer." On the Sunday of the conference, Dr Huw Lewis-Jones and I will be presenting a selection of rare and early Arctic and Antarctic films, including never-before-seen footage that Kenn Harper and I recently unearthed at the Smithsonian Institution. The "other pole" will not be neglected; speakers on Shackleton will include David Wilson and Michael Rosove, and Hans Kjell Larsen will speak on "Captain C.A. Larsen, Antarctic Pioneer." This will be my first time at this annual event, and I'm looking forward to the warm spirit of collegiality that everyone says is the hallmark of this modest but lively gathering.

My own talk is entitled "'Those Wrecked or Stranded Ships': Unresolved aspects of the Franklin Expedition." In it, I hope to outline some of the areas of the Franklin mystery which still hold the allure of latter-day searchers. In particular, I'll be looking at the "amateur" searchers, in the very best sense of that word: those who pursue new angles on the Franklin story purely and simply out of love for the subject. When you think about it, is is the work of such searchers -- from Charles Francis Hall to David C. Woodman -- which has, in the century and a half since McClintock's discoveries, done the most to advance our knowledge and understanding of the ultimate causes of the collapse of this expedition, and the final fate of its officers and men.

After the Shackleton event, I'll be in London; as many of you who follow this blog may have heard, Robert Grenier, chief archaeologist for Parks Canada, is to give a talk at the National Maritime Museum on the status of his Franklin search. Although suspended this past summer, Grenier's search is funded for a third season, and I know that Franklinites the world over are curious to hear of his progress, as well as his plans for next year's search. I hope to blog about his talk as well, and perhaps include some photos of Franklin-related sights in Greenwich and London. I hope you'll all continue to follow the blog; there is much afoot in the world of Franklin, and I hope to soon have news of new searches, new finds, and new theories which will add some remarkable new chapters to the history of the search for those "wrecked or stranded ships."

Dr. John Rae

2009-09-30T17:13:00.001-07:00

Every few months -- partly due to Ken McGoogan's book and John Walker's film -- I hear afresh about the injustice done to Dr. John Rae, the man officially credited with first "ascertaining the fate" of Sir John Franklin and his men. Today, my Google alerts drew my attention to a lovely blog that goes by the name of Shambles Manor, where a fresh tribute to Dr. Rae has been posted. It seems it may well be time to set the record straight, the more so as -- these days at least -- there seems to be little room in the "blogosphere" for any nuanced differences of opinion.

So let me be quite frank and direct: I feel that Dr. John Rae is one of the greatest explorers ever to travel the eastern Arctic, and a man of absolutely unquestionable integrity. That he is not given greater credit for his actions, and the testimony he brought home to the Admiralty, is a lasting stain upon that institution, and represents a loss to the integrity of British Arctic exploration history. Dr. Rae deserves far greater laurels than he has generally been given, and by the by, his birthplace ought to be restored and deserves to be a Scottish, as well as a British, national landmark.

But that said: Dr. Rae did not "discover" the Northwest Passage. He himself would never have made such a claim. He did indeed map a stretch of water -- the "Rae Strait" as it is justly named in his honour -- which constituted the last unmapped bit of the particular "Northwest Passage" as it was navigated many decades later by the Norwegian explorer Roald Amundsen. Sir John Franklin, believing in the maps of (that other most notable Scot) James Clark Ross, did not believe that there was a Passage through this area, and indeed had he tried to take his enormous "bomb" vessels that way, they would have certainly run aground (Amundsen's Gjøa, which drew less than 1/3 the amount of water of Franklin's ex-warships, did run aground, and had to jettison much cargo in order to make it through). Anyone who wishes to consult the historical record in this regard can readily do so -- Dr. Rae's own writings, and Amundsen's, describe this bit of territory quite ably.

Ken McGoogan feels that, since Rae mapped this section, he ought to be acclaimed the "discoverer" of the Passage. But this neglects two hard facts: 1) There is more than one Passage, depending on ice conditions and what sort of ship one has -- the Rae/Amundsen section is but one option among many; and 2) What was called for in terms of the Northwest Passage in the nineteenth century was not its "discovery" but its "navigation" -- one had to pass through it. McClure had a sort of claim to this, though part of his passage was on foot, and he was only able to complete it thanks to the help of other crews of other vessels; Amundsen had, and has, an indisputable claim. Other ships -- most notably the "Manhattan" in 1969 -- plowed their way through without taking this route, traversing ice that would have been utterly impassible to Franklin or any other nineteenth-century voyager.

Mr Carmichael, the MP for Orkney and Shetland, has in the past expressed his desire to have any memorials to Franklin -- such as that at Westminster Abbey -- removed in favor of Rae. But this would not serve justice; Rae himself was always effusive in his praise and empathy for Franklin and his men, and he never made such a claim in his life. There is no contradiction in honoring Franklin and Rae -- indeed, there is only a history of mutual regard, and enormous achievement on the part of both men in the face of danger. Let us honor Dr. Rae more -- and yet let us honor Sir John Franklin no less.