Killigrew and the North-West Passage Read online

  ‘Only eight survived in all? Most Arctic whalers carry a complement of forty or fifty men. What happened to the others? Surely they can’t all have died when the ship went down?’

  In a short corridor on the lower deck, Killigrew briefly explained what Ursula had told him the night before about the ill-fated voyage of Liebnitz’s boat. ‘With your permission, sir, I should like to lead another sledge party on to the ice to search for the rest of the survivors from the Carl Gustaf,’ he concluded.

  ‘Not granted, Killigrew,’ said Pettifer. ‘At the rate the pack is moving, they’re probably nearer forty miles north of here by now. Even if you do find them, how will you get three injured men back here? Besides, the way the ice is shifting, there’s no guarantee we’ll be able to stay here. You might get back and find we’ve had to retreat to Upernavik.’

  ‘That’s a chance I’m prepared to take, sir. And I’ll lay odds I can find seven men in the crew willing to take that chance with me.’

  ‘I can’t spare eight of you. We’ll just have to wait for the pack to open, and pray for the deliverance of those poor fellows on the ice. Now be a good chap and ask Armitage to make some soup and a hot drink for the lady.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Tea or coffee, ma’am?’

  ‘Tea, please.’

  ‘Tea it is.’ Killigrew headed forwards.

  ‘Second door on your left, ma’am.’ Pettifer nodded aft, to where a Royal Marine stood on duty at the end of the corridor. The marine opened the door for them, and Ursula ducked through into a compartment about sixteen feet across and twelve feet deep, with bookshelves lining two bulkheads and lockers lining the others. A large table dominated the centre of the room, with six chairs arranged around it, and a bowl of assorted nuts set in the middle of the tablecloth.

  As Pettifer followed her in, a dachshund leaped from a basket and scampered across the room to jump up at him excitedly, yipping madly. The commander lifted the dog up in his arms and cradled her like a newborn babe while she licked his face.

  ‘Yes, yes, Horatia! No need to make such a fuss. Anyone would think I’d been on the ice for four hours with Mr Killigrew and his men, instead of just up on deck for a few minutes.’ He smiled apologetically at Ursula. ‘A gift from Mrs Pettifer, to keep me company,’ he explained, nodding to a framed calotype of a pinch-faced woman that hung from the side.

  ‘She’s adorable,’ said Ursula, referring to the dog. She tried to sound enthusiastic, because she knew that was what Pettifer wanted to hear. She had never had much time for dogs, or indeed animals of any description.

  ‘Isn’t she?’ Pettifer tickled Horatia’s stomach, and the bitch squirmed with delight. He crossed to the door on the far side of the day-room and opened it to reveal a small but well-furnished cabin. ‘There are plenty of cabins on board, but all the ones that aren’t being used for accommodation are full of stores at present. I’m sure we’ve used up sufficient stores to be able to make space for you, but until then do please feel free to use mine, if you wish to lie down. You must be exhausted after your ordeal.’

  ‘Thank you, but I am not tired. However, I would be grateful for a chance to… make myself fresh?’

  ‘Freshen up, you mean. By all means, ma’am. There’s a washstand in my cabin, and you’ll find a… ahem… a “seat of ease” on the quarterdeck.’

  By the time she had attended to her ablutions, a white-coated steward had arrived with a pot of tea and a bowl of steaming chicken broth.

  The steward poured out the tea. ‘Milk and sugar, signora?’

  ‘Sugar, no milk,’ she told him.

  He nodded. ‘One spoon or two?’

  ‘One, please.’

  The steward did not have to ask Pettifer how he took his tea. ‘Thank you, Orsini,’ said the commander.

  As the steward bowed and withdrew, a young officer squeezed past him and rapped on the open door with his knuckles. At first Ursula did not recognise him as the young man who had come to their rescue on the pack ice earlier that day. Gone were the mackintosh greatcoat, comforter, and the sealskin cap with its ridiculous if practical ear flaps: now he wore an epauletted frock coat with all the elegance of a dandy, and had a peaked cap on his thick, black hair at a jaunty angle. She had to admit he looked quite dashing.

  ‘Come in, Killigrew!’ said Pettifer.

  The lieutenant stepped smartly into the room and saluted the commander before bowing to Ursula. ‘Sir, would I be correct in thinking you intend that Frau Weiss should dine with you at supper tonight?’

  Pettifer smiled. ‘Indeed, Mr Killigrew. Unless you have some objection?’ he added archly.

  ‘Of course not, sir. But in that event, as president of the wardroom mess I have been instructed by my fellow officers to request the pleasure of Frau Weiss’ company at supper tomorrow night.’

  Pettifer turned to Ursula. ‘If you feel up to it, of course?’

  ‘I’d be delighted,’ she found herself saying.

  ‘Then we shall look forward to your joining us at five o’clock post meridiem, or post whatever passes for meridiem in these latitudes,’ Killigrew said with a smile. ‘Just one thing. Dress is formal in the wardroom.’

  Ursula felt herself blushing. ‘Mr Killigrew, you’ll have to acknowledge that I hardly came on board equipped with formal evening wear.’

  ‘Then if I may be so bold, ma’am? Sir?’

  Ursula hardly knew what to expect, so she merely nodded her assent.

  Killigrew snapped his fingers, and Able Seamen Seth Endicott and Mick O’Houlihan marched into the room with a large quantity of clothing bundled in their arms. The lieutenant took one of the articles from Endicott and held it up for Ursula’s inspection: a magnificent gown of bright emerald silk, lavishly trimmed with ribbon, lace, and artificial flowers.

  ‘It is beautiful!’ she gasped. ‘But where in the world did you get it?’

  ‘Our mate, Mr Cavan, purchased it from a dressmaker of my acquaintance,’ explained Killigrew. ‘He’s about your size, ma’am – perhaps a little broader in the shoulders. I think blue would suit your eyes better, but the green will complement your auburn hair superbly, and it was this or Mr Latimer’s gown, which is bright yellow with scarlet trimmings.’

  ‘Such things are not… not standard issue in the British navy, I trust?’ she stammered.

  Pettifer smiled. ‘I fear Mr Killigrew is making game of you, Frau Weiss. I suspect this is merely one of the costumes Mr Cavan had brought on board for our amateur theatricals. Just one of the ways we plan to keep ourselves amused while we’re frozen into our winter quarters during the long Arctic night.’ He turned to Endicott and O’Houlihan. ‘You can lay those out on the bunk in my cabin.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Don’t look at me like that, O’Houlihan! Frau Weiss is using my cabin until one of the cabins we’re using as a storeroom has been cleared out.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Endicott and O’Houlihan trooped through into the cabin and disappeared for a few moments.

  ‘What play were you thinking of putting on, Mr Killigrew?’ asked Ursula.

  ‘The Winter’s Tale, ma’am. I believe Mr Cavan was thinking of taking the role of Perdita.’

  ‘You have a devilish sense of humour, Mr Killigrew,’ said Pettifer. ‘Are you sure Shakespeare isn’t a little too… shall we say elevated… for the hands?’

  ‘We were going to do The Silent Woman, sir, but Petty Officer Molineaux has been reading Julius Caesar to them and now they want aut Shakespeare aut nihil. I thought we’d do it with all the knockabout comedy, the way it was originally performed in the Bard’s day.’

  ‘With men taking the female parts,’ observed Ursula. ‘I wish I could be there to see it.’

  ‘We’d be delighted to perform for you, ma’am,’ said Killigrew, ‘but we haven’t even begun rehearsals yet. We were planning to do it for our Christmas Eve entertainment. By then I expect you’ll be safely home in Germany, with any luck. Not that we shan’t be sorry to lose your company, of
course, but we can hardly take you with us into the heart of the Arctic. We’ll be putting you on board the first whaler we encounter.’

  She nodded absently, rearranging the teapot, sugar bowl and her cup and saucer on the table before her so they formed the points of an equilateral triangle. Endicott and O’Houlihan emerged from the cabin and were heading for the door when Pettifer called after them.

  ‘You two! Since you’re so concerned about Frau Weiss’ sleeping arrangements, perhaps you’d be good enough to offer your services to Mr Latimer so he can get a cabin ready for her.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir,’ they chorused wearily, and Endicott punched O’Houlihan on the arm as they went out.

  ‘Will you have a cup of tea, Mr Killigrew?’ invited Pettifer.

  ‘Thank you, sir, but I’m due on deck in half an hour, and I really ought to pay a visit to the sick-berth beforehand.’

  ‘Nonsense, man, nonsense! The sick list can wait. Sit down. You could do with a hot drink inside you before you go back out into the cold. Orsini!’

  At Pettifer’s roar, the steward returned within seconds, and was instructed to fetch a third cup for the lieutenant.

  ‘Herr Killigrew said you were with Sir Edward Belcher’s squadron?’ Ursula said, when the steward had gone.

  ‘Indeed, ma’am,’ confirmed Pettifer. ‘It’s a great honour to be serving as part of one of Her Majesty’s Arctic expeditions.’

  ‘Forgive me for asking, but… I did not see any other ships when I came on board. The others are nearby?’

  ‘You mean you haven’t seen them?’ Killigrew asked in some surprise. ‘We thought they were only a few hours ahead of us…’

  ‘It’s rather embarrassing, actually,’ said Pettifer. ‘As we were leaving the Whalefish Islands last week, we had the misfortune to get on shore. There was no serious damage, thank heavens, but it took us the best part of a week to get her off: we had to unload all our supplies to float her, and as you can probably imagine we have no shortage of those. Sir Edward was eager not to waste time waiting for us, the sailing season being so short here in the Arctic, so he pressed on and signalled us to rendezvous with him at Lievely Harbour. By the time we reached Lievely, we discovered that we had missed the rest of the squadron by a matter of hours: Sir Edward had waited for us for the best part of a week before losing patience and sailing without us. We’ve been trying to catch up with them ever since. Are you quite sure you haven’t seen them? Not even the smoke from their funnels, in the distance?’

  ‘No other steamships have passed this way, Captain Pettifer, I assure you. We were at Lievely ourselves three weeks ago, and no steamships have passed us since then. You must have passed them. You have made good time to have travelled so far in so short a space of time yourselves.’

  ‘Yes, we have been pushing the engines rather,’ Killigrew said drily, glancing at Pettifer. Ursula sensed this was a sore point between them.

  ‘Sir Edward is not a man who is noted for his tolerance of the misfortunes of those serving under his command,’ Pettifer reminded his lieutenant, and shook his head in bewilderment. ‘I cannot comprehend it. How could we have passed them without realising it? I know we’ve been caught in several fogs since we left Lievely, but even so, one would have expected to have heard something if we passed them in a fog: signal guns, perhaps, or ships’ bells.’

  ‘Perhaps the rest of the squadron stopped at Upernavik?’ suggested Ursula.

  Killigrew shook his head. ‘We looked in the harbour. There was no sign of the other ships.’ He glanced at Pettifer. ‘If we are ahead of the rest of the squadron, sir, perhaps we should wait here for it? Sir Edward won’t thank us for entering the Middle Pack ahead of him, and the fate of the Carl Gustaf is a timely reminder of the danger of ships travelling alone in the Arctic.’

  ‘You’re forgetting those poor devils out there on the ice, aren’t you, Killigrew?’ said Pettifer. ‘If a lead opens, I intend to take it at once, the sooner to bring succour to Frau Weiss’s shipmates, regardless of whether or not the rest of the squadron has caught up with us. Besides, it’s not as if we don’t know where the rest of the squadron is heading. We can rendezvous with them there.’

  Ursula arched her eyebrows quizzically.

  ‘Beechey Island, ma’am,’ explained Killigrew. ‘The Admiralty has instructed us to make it our base of operations.’

  ‘It was part of Franklin’s plan to spend his first winter in the Arctic there, and proof that he did so lies in the three graves discovered by Captain Austin’s rescue expedition two years ago,’ said Pettifer. ‘Sir Edward plans to search up Wellington Channel with Assistance and Pioneer. He’ll be wasting his time, of course.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ asked Ursula.

  ‘The Admiralty’s instructions to Sir John were to investigate Wellington Channel for a possible North-West Passage; but Lady Franklin has confided in me that her husband was always convinced that if there was a passage, it lay to the south, along the north coast of the American mainland. Perhaps Peel Sound links to Dease Strait; Lady Franklin is convinced that her husband may have disregarded Admiralty instructions and sailed that way rather than up Wellington Channel.’

  ‘Not that it makes any difference to us, sir,’ put in Killigrew. ‘Our instructions are to remain at Beechey Island as a tender to the North Star. Our depot ship,’ he added, for Ursula’s benefit.

  ‘No need to remind me, Killigrew.’ Pettifer grimaced, as if he had hoped for a more active role for his ship in the search for Franklin.

  ‘You said there were six ships in the squadron in total,’ said Ursula. ‘If Sir Edward plans to sail north with the Assistance and the Pioneer, and your instructions are to remain at Beechey Island with the North Star, what will the other two ships be doing?’

  ‘The Resolute and the Intrepid?’ said Pettifer. ‘They’re to sail west in the hope of linking up with Enterprise and Investigator.’

  ‘Enterprise and Investigator?’ asked Ursula, losing track of all the different ships the Royal Navy had sent into the Arctic.

  Pettifer nodded. ‘The two ships that were sent into the Arctic via the Bering Strait two years ago, in the hope of finding a North-West Passage from the west, and linking up with Franklin’s ships. They haven’t been heard from since, either.’

  Killigrew grinned ruefully. ‘You might say that we’re the men who’ve been sent to find the men who were sent to find men who were sent to find the North-West Passage.’

  ‘The Arctic seems to be swallowing ships at an alarming rate,’ agreed Ursula. ‘Will anyone be sent to rescue you, if you become trapped in the ice?’

  * * *

  As Molineaux made his way on to the mess deck, one of the huskies leaped at him, barking furiously. Startled, the petty officer threw himself sideways against the bulkhead to his left before he remembered that the dogs were secure behind the wooden, straw-filled cages the carpenter’s mate had built on the lower deck.

  A city boy born and bred, Wes Molineaux had never had much time for animals. He had a particular phobia about dogs, ever since he had broken into a big house in London as a boy and been badly bitten by the Alsatian that lived there. Molineaux had known about the dog – that was why he had gone in armed with a drugged steak – but the dog had decided it preferred live meat and gone straight for his throat. He had got his arm up in time, an arm that still bore the scars of that encounter twenty years later.

  Able Seaman Erlend McLellan was working his way along the row of cages, feeding them fresh seal-meat.

  ‘Damn it, Mac, can’t you keep these bloody monsters under control?’ The Orcadian looked up with a hurt expression, as if by insulting the dogs Molineaux was insulting him, but said nothing. A taciturn man, McLellan had kept himself to himself during the voyage from Woolwich, as far as it was possible for an able seaman to keep himself to himself on one of Her Majesty’s ships. He seemed to prefer the company of the twelve huskies – bartered from the Inuit at the Whalefish Islands – to that of his s
hipmates.

  In fact, the Venturer was not as crowded as any of the other ships Molineaux had served on in the fourteen years since he had given up a life of crime to become a seaman. The crew of thirty was tiny; a sloop of comparable size might have a complement of a hundred men. The steam tender had more than its fair share of officers, so there were only ten petty officers, six able seamen and five marines to share the capacious mess deck.

  Except that much of the space of the mess deck was taken up with the dogs’ cages, and with barrels of salt junk or water, and crates of food preserved in the tin canisters that had been specially developed for the navy’s Arctic explorations. Not to mention the special equipment they were carrying for their expedition: sledges, sledge-boats, Halkett boats, scientific equipment, galvanic batteries, even barrels of chemicals for generating lighter-than-air gases. One of the more harebrained schemes that the Admiralty had taken up was a special fuse attached to an unmanned balloon. When they sent up the balloon, attached to the fuse would be hundreds of scraps of brightly coloured paper bearing printed messages to Franklin, telling him where they would be looking for him. As the fuse burned down, the papers would be scattered across the Arctic. There was even a printing press on board for printing the messages to tell Franklin where he could meet up with the men searching for him.

  To Molineaux it was all junk. If anything were going to find Franklin, it would be guts and determination, not newfangled gadgets.

  Born on the back streets of Saint Giles’ parish – one of the most notorious rookeries in London – Molineaux was the son of a layabout and a washerwoman. The layabout had abandoned his family when the going had got tough, and Molineaux had learned to fend for himself at an early age. He was six when he had taken part in his first burglary, and by the time he was twelve he had been the toast of the swell mob as the most skilled snakesman in England. But when he was seventeen a burglary had gone wrong and he had been forced to go on the run. Joining the crew of HMS Powerful had seemed like a good way of lying low until the hue and cry died down. By the time the 84-gun ship of the line had paid off after active service in the Levant, Molineaux had discovered a new way to make a living. Serving in the navy might not bring the same financial rewards as being a first-rate snakesman, but it brought rewards of a different kind: the satisfaction of doing something worthwhile, something that would benefit people other than himself, something that his mother could be proud of him for.