The Franklin Conspiracy Page 8

  Again, we may wonder if Jane Franklin saw anything suspicious in the captain’s changed reaction. Though she claimed to hope his “original impressions” might revive with time, she must have had her doubts. Nevertheless, she hadn’t chosen a civilian chief officer for nothing. She took her story to Parker Snow, who was also to serve as the ship’s doctor, even though he wasn’t a doctor. In an eerie midnight meeting entirely suited to her weird tale of ghostly writing, she laid out her haunting narrative. Snow’s response was everything Jane Franklin had hoped for. Pleased with herself, she thought, “At all events I succeeded in making his [Forsyth’s] Chief Officer, who . . . will have great influence over Capt. Forsyth, deeply and seriously impressed with the facts revealed.”4 In the end, though, even Parker Snow’s efforts would not be enough.

  A TALE OF DEATH AND FIRE

  In April, Captain Forsyth and Parker Snow set sail in the Prince Albert, a tiny clipper vessel of a mere ninety tons, built the year James Clark Ross had set out on his failed search. Their orders were to travel far down into Prince Regent Inlet past Fury Beach, and winter at Brentford Bay, from which they would send out search parties overland. Had Captain Forsyth succeeded in this plan, he would almost certainly have discovered the remains of the expedition on King William Island. At the very least, he would have received word of the lost ships from the Inuit at the bottom of Boothia Peninsula. Unfortunately, such was not to be the case.

  The Prince Albert soon encountered the other British ships (Austin’s four, Penny’s two, and John Ross’ two) in Baffin Bay off the west coast of Greenland. At this point, a startling incident occurred which, though only causing a small delay for the ships, continues to haunt historical accounts of the Franklin search like the ghost of Hamlet’s father.

  On August 13th, three ships—the Assistance and the Intrepid (two of the four Admiralty ships, the Intrepid being a stream-driven tender to the Assistance) under Captain Ommanney and John Ross’ small schooner Felix— spotted three Inuit men on the ice near Cape York, Greenland. Ross dispatched his second-in-command, Phillips, in the ship’s whaleboat, along with a native interpreter from Greenland named Adam Beck, to interview the Inuit. Unfortunately, though the Inuit apparently told Adam Beck something of tremendous importance, Beck could not relate the information since he could only translate into Danish! Ross had already continued on up the coast, so the searchers took Adam Beck over to Captain Forsyth’s ship, where there was a steward who could translate for them.

  The story that came out was astonishing. We will discuss Beck’s tale more thoroughly later, but the upshot was this: apparently, two naval ships had been beset in the ice and crushed not far away along the Greenland coast in the winter of 1846. The ships were attacked by a fierce tribe, with some of the crew drowning and others being killed by darts and arrows. The ships had been set afire.

  Considerable controversy erupted over this story at that time and again later. A second translator was found who proceeded to interview one Inuk, producing a completely different translation from Beck’s, “whom, as we are told, he called a liar and intimidated into silence; though no sooner was the latter [Beck] left to himself than he again repeated his version of the tale, and stoutly maintained its accuracy.”5 It was learned at that time that the North Star, sent out with provisions for James Clark Ross’ expedition, had spent the winter in the area and departed only the month before. Though it was generally thought the story had more to do with the North Star (a view still held by many historians) than with the lost expedition, ships were nonetheless dispatched to the area indicated by Beck’s version of the story, Wolstenholme Island.

  When nothing was found to support Beck’s tale, he was viciously assailed from all sides, with only John Ross standing by his interpreter. Sherard Osborn, one of the searchers, voiced the general consensus when he said, “Adam Beck . . . an Equimaux half-breed—may he be branded for a liar.”6 Ten years later, Charles Francis Hall, searching for relics of the Franklin disaster, encountered Beck in the north. Beck continued to insist he had told the truth, though by then he was emotionally ruined by his ordeal. When the final proof of the expedition’s last days was discovered on King William Island, of course, no doubt remained. Either Beck had lied or, as Pierre Berton wrote, “it was poppy-cock, a distorted rumour based on the death of a single member of the transport North Star.”7 It is difficult to imagine how a single “old sailing-donkey of a frigate” could multiply into a pair of three-masted naval vessels, nor how a single death could be turned into a massed assault involving darts and arrows. Still, we will have more to say about Adam Beck’s amazing tale at a later time.

  BETRAYAL OF THE BLACKEST HUE

  Meanwhile, the little Prince Albert—Jane Franklin’s ship—continued on course into Lancaster Sound. Reaching the mouth of Prince Regent Inlet, Captain Forsyth found heavy ice around Port Leopold (where James Ross had wintered). He sailed down into Prince Regent Inlet, just as Lady Franklin had instructed. But that was as good as it got. Approaching Fury Beach, the Prince Albert encountered more ice. Captain Forsyth decided nothing more could be done and promptly opted to return to England.

  It was betrayal of the blackest hue.

  There would be no winter at Brentford Bay, no sledge trips along the coast, no interviewing the Inuit. Jane Franklin had lavished a fortune of her own money on this expedition; she might just as well have flushed it down the loo. After Forsyth’s strange about-face regarding her story about Captain Coppin’s ghostly daughter, she had hoped his “original impressions” might revive; she had hoped in vain.8 His was the only ship sent to search this area of the Arctic and now he prepared to turn around and sail home as if the mission entrusted to him by Lady Franklin had been no more than a passing fancy.

  Jane Franklin may already have harboured some doubts about the captain’s sincerity. She had reason enough to be wary of anyone attached to the Navy. She had seen to it that his chief officer was a civilian, Parker Snow. But, though she had hoped Snow might have a “great influence” over the captain, what influence he had wasn’t enough. He begged Captain Forsyth to remain. He felt he could reach Fury Beach by ship’s boat, then take up the search by sledge along the coast—just as they had promised Lady Franklin. But the captain insisted the ice was too heavy and Snow didn’t feel competent enough to argue the point. As they returned back up Prince Regent Inlet, Snow must have been racked with a miserable sense of failure, remembering that eerie midnight meeting when Jane Franklin had told him of the ghostly vision: Victory Point... They were so close, and yet there was nothing he could do. In desperation, he suggested they might land at Port Leopold and search overland from that point. Predictably, they discovered that harbour still frozen as before.

  DISCOVERY AT CAPE RILEY

  Leaving Prince Regent Inlet, they met one of the American ships, Advance, also casting a discouraged eye over Port Leopold. By this point, all the search ships, American and British, were sailing in the waters of Lancaster Sound and Barrow Strait. Because of ice, the Americans had been unable to enter Smith Sound, far to the north in Baffin Bay, and Captain Penny had been saved from purgatory in Jones Sound when that entrance was found to be blocked by ice as well.

  Following the Advance, Captain Forsyth and Parker Snow crossed to Devon Island (on the north side of Barrow Strait), with the intention of picking up mail from the other ships before returning home [see map 10]. On the way they spotted two cairns on a thin limestone jut named Cape Riley, on the southwest corner of Devon Island at the entrance to Wellington Channel. Parker Snow went to investigate.

  Notes found inside the cairns revealed that one had been built by the crew of the British vessel Assistance, captained by Ommanney, which had been there only two days before. The other had been left by the American ship Rescue, which had arrived along with the Assistance. Ommanney’s note explained, “This is to certify that Captain Ommanney, with the officers of Her Majesty’s ships Assistance and Intrepid, landed upon Cape Riley on the 23d August, 1850, w
here he found traces of encampments, and collected the remains of materials, which evidently proved that some party belonging to her Majesty’s ships had been detained on the spot.” Then, more tantalizing still: “Beechey Island was also examined, where traces were found of the same party.”9 The note concluded with the report that Ommanney had set out for Cape Walker.

  Map 10

  Charles Codrington Forsyth’s search and visit to Cape Riley, 1850

  Looking around, Parker Snow found the remains of a camp, most likely set up by Franklin’s crew to make magnetic observations. He collected some rope, canvas, and beef bones scattered about, then returned to the Prince Albert. Under the circumstances, Captain Forsyth might have been expected to hurry over to Beechey Island, to see what had been discovered there. Instead, he was determined to wring every last ounce of failure out of Lady Franklin’s sacred trust. Insisting the little Prince Albert could never survive the coming winter, he turned east and sailed back to England. When he faced Lady Franklin, Forsyth couldn’t even tell her what had been found at Beechey Island. All he had to show for his efforts (and her money) was the meagre discovery at Cape Riley, and Adam Beck’s dubious story of violent death on the Greenland coast.

  Sophia Cracroft, Jane Franklin’s niece, wrote bitterly to Parker Snow’s wife. “The men had the highest wages . . . the best equipment, moreover the season had been an extra-ordinarily favourable one . . . Every advantage seems to have been thrown away.”10 Did Captain Forsyth betray Jane Franklin? Is it possible he never had any intention of performing the search, but was acting under the orders of his naval superiors to effectively sabotage the only expedition dispatched to search in the right place? It seems the only way to explain his astonishing behaviour, carried out even in the face of his civilian chief officer’s opposition.

  In modern terms, we would say: they got to him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Deception of John Ross

  For when the One Great Scorer comes

  To write against your name,

  He marks (not that you won or lost)

  But how you played the game.

  Grantland Rice,

  Alumnus Football

  JOHN ROSS PLAYS THE GAME

  And what of John Ross?

  Ever since the spring of 1847, with Franklin gone for a mere two winters, the grand old man of Arctic exploration had fought a terribly one-sided battle, fighting, pleading, and cajoling to be sent out after Sir John Franklin. Jane Franklin hadn’t listened when he said he believed her husband was in trouble. She hadn’t listened when he said his nephew could not be trusted. No one had listened. Now, at long last, recognizing the futility of ever expecting the Admiralty to give him command of an expedition, John Ross—like Jane Franklin—decided a private expedition was the only way to go.

  Funded by public donation as well as by the Hudson’s Bay Company, Ross set out in April, 1850, aboard the 120-ton schooner Felix, accompanied by his own tiny 12 ton yacht Mary, acting as tender. In June, he stopped at Holsteinborg, where he acquired the unfortunate Adam Beck as interpreter. By August 10th he was in Baffin Bay along the Greenland coast, where he encountered the four-ship naval flotilla under Captain Austin. Three days later, the three Inuit men were spotted near Cape York, from whom Adam Beck may or may not have elicited a story of a massed attack on two naval ships frozen in the ice near by. But though John Ross bravely defended his interpreter against the accusations of his co-searchers, he nonetheless reported, “In the meantime it had been unanimously decided that no alteration should be made in our previous arrangement, it being obvious that while there remained a chance of saving the lives of those of the missing ships who may be yet alive, a further search for those who had perished was postponed.”1

  His argument was strange; was he suggesting that Franklin, after having lost a number of his crew to an attack by Greenland natives (and one ship burning!), would still have continued on into Lancaster Sound? The others thought Beck was making the whole thing up; their decision to continue on seems reasonable. But Ross?

  Is it possible Ross knew something the rest of them did not, something that allowed him to view Adam Beck’s story in a different light? Perhaps he thought the story was true, but believed it did not refer to a location on the Greenland coast. Over the years, others have considered this possibility and searches have been undertaken in places considerably closer to King William Island. Is it out of the question that Ross may have had the same such thought?

  But where did Ross intend to search? Thus far, Ross consistently maintained he believed Franklin would have “put into” the ice off Melville Island, even though Franklin’s orders had advised against that. If he had wanted to lull the Admiralty into a false sense of security, this was the perfect cover story; on James Clark Ross’ advice, the Navy was planning to restrict its own searches to Wellington Channel and Melville Island. On the other hand, if John Ross knew about Victory Point, James Clark Ross knew he knew; this would go a long way toward explaining the Admiralty’s obstinate refusal to give John Ross a ship: they weren’t fooled one bit by his act.

  GETTING THERE FROM HERE

  One possible clue to John Ross’ true intentions might be found in the man chosen to act as ice-master during this expedition. That man was Thomas Abernethy. Back in 1830, when James Clark Ross had left the rest of his sledge party at the northern tip of King William Island while he continued on to Victory Point, it was this same Abernethy who had accompanied him. Only two men in the whole world had ever stood on the lonely, ice-battered shore of Victory Point. The one was John Ross’ nephew; the other was his ice-master. If James Clark Ross truly did see something extraordinary during that brief visit, Abernethy saw it too. And if John Ross wanted to return to Victory Point, there was no man alive better prepared to take him there.

  Yet, even if John Ross was lying, planning all along to make his way to Victory Point, how was he to get there? Thus far, the only way anyone had ever reached Victory Point (apart from Franklin, of course) was by travelling overland from Prince Regent Inlet. If there was another route, it was as much a mystery now as it had been when Franklin set sail five years before. The most probable route was the one Franklin had been ordered to follow—to Cape Walker, then southwest. Apart from that, there remained the slim possibility of at least two water passages from Prince Regent Inlet through Boothia-Somerset. James Clark Ross had been told by the Inuit that there was no lower passage, but that still left the higher one (which did, in fact, exist). It’s most probable that John Ross would have tried to follow the same route as Franklin. Unfortunately, there is no proof to be found here as to whether or not he was lying to the Admiralty about his destination. Whether he was headed for Melville Island or Cape Walker, his course would have been the same. Only if he had turned south at Cape Walker might we have known for sure, and before that question could be put to the test Ross received word of the Beechey Island find.

  Immediately, he altered course for Beechey Island. What thoughts went through his head? Even if he knew about Victory Point, even if he knew the dangers awaiting there, the possibility still remained that something had happened to the expedition before they could reach their objective. There was no doubt that the Arctic was filled with dangers aplenty, dangers of a more mundane sort, perfectly capable of wrecking even the strongest of ships and the hardiest of men. As well, could Ross be certain the danger he feared at Victory Point was contained to that locale? After all, it was in Lancaster Sound that he had so mysteriously fled at the sight of the supposed Croker Mountains, rushing past his sister ship “as if some mischief was behind him”2.

  WHAT HAPPENED TO THE NOTE?

  The British tender Intrepid had been the first to spot the stone cairn perched high and conspicuous on tiny Beechey Island. The island was connected to the vastly larger Devon Island by a slender causeway, a mere six feet wide at its narrowest, so it technically wasn’t an “island” at all [see map 11]. Going ashore, the landing party immediately found evide
nce that Franklin’s expedition had been there, but all their efforts were directed toward examining the cairn. It had obviously been set up to contain a message, and yet, though the searchers took it apart stone by stone, no note was found. It was a refrain to be played again and again in the following years: why would Franklin build a cairn, then forget to leave a message? In his book Quest for Franklin, Noel Wright wryly commented, “It almost seemed that an imp of mischief had deliberately confused the trail.”3 But historians have been loath to delve too deeply into the implications wrought by this puzzle, though the obvious solution could not help but cross their minds from time to time.

  Map 11

  Beechey Island

  Surely the only explanation is that someone stole it.

  It was one of the British navy ships which had first happened on the cairn and, in the scramble to tear apart the stone pillar, it would have been all too easy for one of the officers, under Captain Ommanney’s orders, to hide any message found lead-sealed in its metal cylinder—and to later open it in secret aboard the ship.