position.
And with the icy shores of King William Land visible no more than fifty miles ahead of them to the south, the ships had moved out from under the protection of the huge island to their north — the one which had blocked their way directly to the southwest past Cape Walker, where his orders had directed him to sail, and instead had forced him south through Peel Sound and previously unexplored straits. Now the ice to the south and west had become active and almost continuous once again. Their pace had slowed to a crawl. The ice was thicker, the icebergs more frequent, the leads thinner and farther apart.
This morning of 3 September, Sir John had called a conference of his captains, top officers, engineers, and ice masters. The crowd fit comfortably into Sir John’s personal cabin; where this space on HMS
Terror
served as a Great Cabin for the officers, complete with libraries and music, the width of the stern of HMS
Erebus
was Sir John Franklin’s private quarters — twelve feet wide by an amazing twenty feet long, with a private commode “seat of ease” in a room to itself on the starboard side. Franklin’s private privy was almost exactly the size of Captain Crozier’s and all the other officers’ entire cabins.
Edmund Hoar, Sir John’s steward, had lengthened the dining table until it could accommodate all the officers present — Commander Fitzjames, Lieutenants Gore, Le Vesconte, and Fairholme from
Erebus,
Captain Crozier and Lieutenants Little, Hodgson, and Irving from
Terror.
Besides those eight officers seated on either side of the table — Sir John sat at its head near the starboard bulkhead and entrance to his private head — also present, standing at the foot of the table, were the two ice masters, Mr. Blanky from
Terror
and Mr. Reid from
Erebus,
as well as the two engineers, Mr. Thompson from Crozier’s ship and Mr. Gregory from the flagship. Sir John had also asked one of the surgeons, Stanley from
Erebus,
to be in attendance. Franklin’s steward had set out grape juice, cheeses, and ship’s biscuits, and there was a short period of chatting and relaxing before Sir John called the conference to order.
“Gentlemen,” said Sir John, “I am sure you all know why we are gathered here. Our expedition’s advance the last two months, thanks to the graciousness of God, has been wonderfully successful. We have left Beechey Island almost three hundred and fifty miles behind us. Lookouts and our sledge scouts still report glimpses of open water far to our south and west. It still may be in our power — God willing — to reach this open water and to navigate the North-West Passage this very autumn.
“But the ice to our west is increasing, I understand, in both thickness and frequency. Mr. Gregory reports that
Erebus
’s main shaft has been damaged by ice and that although we can make headway under steam, the flagship’s effectiveness has been compromised. Our coal supplies are dwindling. Another winter will soon be upon us. In other words, gentlemen, we must decide today what our course of action and direction shall be. I think it is not unfair to say that the success or failure of our expedition shall be determined by what we decide here.”
There was a long silence.
Sir John gestured to the red-bearded ice master of HMS
Erebus.
“Perhaps it would be helpful, before we venture opinions and open discussion, to hear from our ice masters, engineers, and surgeon. Mr. Reid, could you inform the others of what you told me yesterday about our current and projected ice conditions?”
Reid, standing on the
Erebus
side of the five men at the end of the table, cleared his throat. Reid was a solitary sort and speaking in such exalted company made his face flush redder than his beard.
“Sir John,… Gentlemen… it ain’t no secret that we’ve been God-da—… that is… darned lucky in terms of ice conditions since the ships was released from ice in May and since we left Beechey Island
And with the icy shores of King William Land visible no more than fifty miles ahead of them to the south, the ships had moved out from under the protection of the huge island to their north — the one which had blocked their way directly to the southwest past Cape Walker, where his orders had directed him to sail, and instead had forced him south through Peel Sound and previously unexplored straits. Now the ice to the south and west had become active and almost continuous once again. Their pace had slowed to a crawl. The ice was thicker, the icebergs more frequent, the leads thinner and farther apart.
This morning of 3 September, Sir John had called a conference of his captains, top officers, engineers, and ice masters. The crowd fit comfortably into Sir John’s personal cabin; where this space on HMS
Terror
served as a Great Cabin for the officers, complete with libraries and music, the width of the stern of HMS
Erebus
was Sir John Franklin’s private quarters — twelve feet wide by an amazing twenty feet long, with a private commode “seat of ease” in a room to itself on the starboard side. Franklin’s private privy was almost exactly the size of Captain Crozier’s and all the other officers’ entire cabins.
Edmund Hoar, Sir John’s steward, had lengthened the dining table until it could accommodate all the officers present — Commander Fitzjames, Lieutenants Gore, Le Vesconte, and Fairholme from
Erebus,
Captain Crozier and Lieutenants Little, Hodgson, and Irving from
Terror.
Besides those eight officers seated on either side of the table — Sir John sat at its head near the starboard bulkhead and entrance to his private head — also present, standing at the foot of the table, were the two ice masters, Mr. Blanky from
Terror
and Mr. Reid from
Erebus,
as well as the two engineers, Mr. Thompson from Crozier’s ship and Mr. Gregory from the flagship. Sir John had also asked one of the surgeons, Stanley from
Erebus,
to be in attendance. Franklin’s steward had set out grape juice, cheeses, and ship’s biscuits, and there was a short period of chatting and relaxing before Sir John called the conference to order.
“Gentlemen,” said Sir John, “I am sure you all know why we are gathered here. Our expedition’s advance the last two months, thanks to the graciousness of God, has been wonderfully successful. We have left Beechey Island almost three hundred and fifty miles behind us. Lookouts and our sledge scouts still report glimpses of open water far to our south and west. It still may be in our power — God willing — to reach this open water and to navigate the North-West Passage this very autumn.
“But the ice to our west is increasing, I understand, in both thickness and frequency. Mr. Gregory reports that
Erebus
’s main shaft has been damaged by ice and that although we can make headway under steam, the flagship’s effectiveness has been compromised. Our coal supplies are dwindling. Another winter will soon be upon us. In other words, gentlemen, we must decide today what our course of action and direction shall be. I think it is not unfair to say that the success or failure of our expedition shall be determined by what we decide here.”
There was a long silence.
Sir John gestured to the red-bearded ice master of HMS
Erebus.
“Perhaps it would be helpful, before we venture opinions and open discussion, to hear from our ice masters, engineers, and surgeon. Mr. Reid, could you inform the others of what you told me yesterday about our current and projected ice conditions?”
Reid, standing on the
Erebus
side of the five men at the end of the table, cleared his throat. Reid was a solitary sort and speaking in such exalted company made his face flush redder than his beard.
“Sir John,… Gentlemen… it ain’t no secret that we’ve been God-da—… that is… darned lucky in terms of ice conditions since the ships was released from ice in May and since we left Beechey Island
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