Resolute (7 page)

One of these ventures, Barrow believed, was practically risk-free. It involved no ships, a small contingent of men, and minimum expense. It was to be an overland surveying expedition, aimed at exploring and mapping an area of the Arctic Coast that, once known, might well lead to more important discoveries. Perhaps most important to Barrow, the expedition would further establish the British presence in the Arctic.

Barrow's choice to lead the surveying party was, to many in the navy and the Admiralty, most surprising. He chose John Franklin, a man who had never participated in, let alone led, an overland trek through the wilderness. He had absolutely no knowledge of hiking, canoeing, or hunting. Moreover, at the age of thirty-three, he was overweight and had a circulation problem that affected his fingers and toes even in the warmest weather.

On the other hand, Franklin had an admirable war record, had taken part in the first circumnavigation and charting of Australia, and had, Barrow hoped, gained valuable Arctic experience the previous year during the search for the Pole. Probably the most important reasons that he was chosen were that he was brave, charming, totally committed to whatever orders he was given, and came from a well-known and highly respected family—all qualities that ranked high with Barrow.

The men selected to accompany Franklin included Dr. John Richardson, a multitalented Scotsman who was both a physician and a naturalist. Richardson had been a surgeon in the Royal Marines and had been cited for bravery while taking part in several campaigns. A mild-mannered man whose most striking physical characteristics were his broad and high cheekbones, Richardson was endowed with an enormous amount of energy. He could read both Greek and Latin, and aside from medicine, his scientific interests included botany, geology, and natural history. In signing on as the expedition's naturalist, he left no doubt as to why he was happy to accept the assignment: “If I succeed in making a good collection,” he stated, “I have no doubt of promotion on my return.” As events would unfold, Richardson would not only earn his promotion, but would eventually become known for having conducted more reliable surveys of the Canadian Arctic than any other explorer.

Midshipman George Back, who had served as artist on Franklin's search for the Pole, was named to fill that post on this new expedition. Back had joined the Royal Navy at thirteen and only a year later, while participating in a raid on French shore batteries, had been captured and marched across France to a prison camp at Verdun where he remained for almost five years. Finally released, he rejoined the fleet and received his first assignment to serve with Franklin. Back was a highly talented artist, and like Richardson, was possessed of unusual physical stamina. But he was also vain and loved to brag, particularly in the company of women—and was, as one of his companions claimed, “charming to those from who he hopes to gain something.”

As
THIS EARLY
daguerreotype reveals, John Franklin was hardly the picture of the robust Arctic explorer. Yet he would become the most famous of all the adventurers who sought the passage.

Rounding out the expedition's naval contingent were midshipman Richard Hood, who was to be the party's mapmaker, and sailors John Hepburn and Samuel Wilkes. Later they were all to be accompanied by boatmen from the Orkney Islands, by Indian guides and hunters, and by French-Canadian
voyageurs
(porters), all of whom were to be recruited in the Arctic.

Specifically, Franklin's orders called for the party to book passage on a Hudson's Bay Company ship to York Factory on the western shore of the island sea. From there he was to follow the route taken by fur traders and proceed overland, first to Fort Chipewyan and Lake Athabasca and then to Great Slave Lake. He was then to trek north to the headwaters of the Coppermine River and proceed down it in canoes to map the unexplored Arctic Coast. (John Franklin was not the first to make an overland journey through the Canadian arctic; see note, page 259.) Altogether it would be a five thousand mile journey by foot and canoe. There was an implied agenda as well: If, while exploring the Arctic Coast, Franklin should discover any possible link that might lead to the ultimate discovery of the passage, that would, of course, be regarded as one of the expedition's greatest accomplishments.

THE FRANKLIN EXPEDITION
left England in May 1819, and arrived at York Factory on the Manitoba side of Hudson Bay on August 30. Almost immediately, problems arose. Franklin's orders called for him to recruit a large number of Orkney boatmen as soon as he landed at York Factory. But despite the fact that this recruitment had been prearranged, most of the Orkneys were not there. They had decided that the long hike across the wilderness would be both dangerous and fruitless. To his dismay, Franklin was able to hire just four of the boatmen—and only under the condition that they would accompany him no farther than Fort Chipewyan.

The expedition also could not have arrived at a more unfortunate time. The Hudson's Bay Company, from whom Franklin was to buy most of his food, had become engaged in a bitter conflict with its competitor, the North West Company. Because of this struggle he was able to buy only a small portion of the provisions he was planning to initially acquire. It was a bad omen. The lack of food and other supplies would hound the expedition to the end, with tragic consequences.

On September 9, determined to put these setbacks aside, the Franklin party left York Factory and began their overland journey to Fort Chipewyan some 1,350 miles away. Franklin was totally unprepared for the long trek. Even with the problems he had encountered at York Factory he was certain that he had enough provisions to reach Fort Chipewyan. He was wrong. The weather was colder than he thought possible and he was shocked when his thermometers actually froze. He had not thought to arrange for tents and at night all in the party found that sleeping on the open ground was almost unbearable. Franklin himself had never been on snowshoes and on several occasions his men found themselves having to slow down to allow their leader to catch up. He had expected to reach Fort Chipewyan in one uninterrupted journey, but he had underestimated how quickly the dead of winter would set in. About halfway to the fort, conditions got so bad that he had to put into Cumberland House, a depot on the Saskatchewan River, where the party was forced to spend the remainder of the winter.

It was not until late March 1820 that the expedition reached Fort Chipewyan, and it was July before they reached Fort Providence, the last outpost of civilization. There it took him more than a month to recruit the voyageurs and Indian hunters he needed for the last leg of the journey—the long trek across the frozen tundra to the Coppermine River and then the trip down it to the coast.

The expedition left Fort Providence during the final week of July, accompanied by a party of Yellowknife Indians and their chief. Franklin later recounted their first meeting in his 1823 memoir of the expedition,
Journey to the Polar Sea:

This time Franklin was certain there would be no serious interruption. Once again he was wrong. Less than three weeks out, just as the party reached a lake above the headwaters of the Snake River, it was brought to an abrupt halt. Akaitcho suddenly informed Franklin that winter was near and that by the time the expedition was halfway across the barren tundra it would find itself with no wood for fires and no means of acquiring food to sustain itself during the fast-approaching bitter season. If Franklin insisted on going on, Akaitcho declared, he and his men would never return home.

Franklin was dumbfounded. It was only August 19 and his instruments told him that winter was still a long way off. But Akaitcho would not be moved. Franklin had no choice. He had to have the food that only the Indian hunters could provide. And he needed them to help paddle the canoes once they were in the ocean exploring the coastline. Reluctantly he ordered the voyageurs and the Indians (the British officers performed absolutely no manual labor during the entire expedition) to build a large cabin for the naval men. He then allowed them to build a smaller cabin for themselves. When the buildings were completed, the encampment was named Fort Enterprise.

It was fortuitous that the cabins were built. Even before they were completed, temperatures dropped below freezing and the skies threatened snow. Akaitcho had been right. It would have been folly to go on. The winter that descended upon them was so severe and so prolonged that it was the better part of a year before the journey could be resumed. By this time they were running out of supplies. Desperate to procure them, Franklin decided to send George Back, who had proven to be particularly adept at snowshoeing, off to Fort Resolution, a well-equipped installation they had passed by over a year ago.

Sending off Back for supplies was, Franklin knew, absolutely essential. And, he felt, it would serve another purpose as well. The last thing Franklin needed was rancor between his officers. The problem he was having with both the voyageurs and the Indians was hardship enough. But he also found himself dealing with a situation involving Back and Richard Hood. Both had well-earned reputations as ladies' men. Hood, in fact, had fathered at least one child with a Yellowknife woman since they had left York Factory. Now both he and Back were focusing their attentions on the same young woman, the sixteen-year-old daughter of one of the Indian hunters. The situation became so contentious that the two men were about to fight a duel, and only the fact that the sailor John Hepburn had secretly removed the charges from their pistols prevented what could only have been a disaster from happening. Now, Back was about to leave. Hopefully things would have cooled down by the time he returned.

Accompanied by John Wenzel, a clerk with the North West Company, two voyageurs, and two Yellowknife hunters and their wives, Back set out for Fort Resolution on October 18. Franklin had little food to give them. They would have to live off what they could capture and kill.

George Back's journey in search of provisions was one of the most harrowing of the entire expedition. Haze and fog continually threatened to make his small party lose their way. All along their route, fallen trees impeded their progress. Heavy snow constantly slowed them down. Worse of all, most of the lakes they encountered were not completely frozen over and they were forced to trudge over high hills to get around them. Only the Indians' hunting skills kept them from starving—and just barely.

Miraculously they made it. Finally arriving at Fort Resolution late in December 1820, Back and his party procured the needed supplies from the North West Company employees who manned the trading post. Ahead of them lay the equally difficult return trip. During the trek, Back and Wenzel became separated, but Wenzel, accompanied by two Inuit interpreters he had recruited, arrived safely back at Fort Enterprise on January 27. Back appeared on March 17. He had been gone for five months. A simple entry in his journal sums up his ordeal. “I had traveled 1,104 miles on snow shoes,” it states, “and had no other covering at night, in the woods, than a blanket and deer skin, with the thermometer frequently at −40 deg. and once at −57 deg.; and sometimes passing two or three days without tasting food.” It had been an extraordinary ordeal, but Back and his companions had succeeded in keeping the expedition alive.

In mid-June, fortified by the new supplies, the Franklin party set off for the Coppermine River, and its ultimate goal, the uncharted Arctic coast. It was not until July that the ice melted sufficiently to allow them to use their canoes. For the first 117 miles, the voyageurs had to haul the canoes on sleds over the unmelted snow and ice. But Franklin soon encountered an even bigger problem. As the expedition crossed into Inuit territory, the Indian hunters, frightened of the natives, became increasingly terrified. When, upon reaching Bloody Falls (rapids located about nine miles above the mouth of the Coppermine), they came upon an Inuit encampment, the Indians abruptly turned and left for home. Franklin was left with only two men who had the ability to hunt—his French-Canadian interpreters—and they, too, soon indicated that they wanted to leave. Realizing that he could not afford to lose them, Franklin refused and ordered his officers to watch them closely for the rest of the journey, lest they escape. As if this was not problem enough, Franklin was aware that the voyageurs, who had never seen the ocean, were terrified of what they feared it held in store. Keeping them in line once they reached the coast would be yet another challenge. Though he kept it to himself, Franklin had to admit that what had once promised to be a risk-free adventure had turned into a journey fraught with peril. Painfully, he would note in his journal that the expedition had engendered “a great intermixture of agreeable and disagreeable circumstances. Could the amount be balanced, I suspect the latter would much preponderate.” He had no idea what a gigantic understatement that would turn out to be.