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Authors: Robert Edric

BOOK: The Broken Lands
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“A husky,” he said. “So unreliable. She has been here a month with her sisters—” he seasoned the word with considerable contempt “—and their children, all of them having once again been abandoned by their untrustworthy husbands. If you were only to hear the accusations of theft which are conveyed to me daily. If only these people fell within my jurisdiction …--” He threw up his hands and clicked his tongue at the injustice of it all.
“She’s telling the truth,” Reid said quietly to Fitzjames. “My youngest son has a pair of slippers made by her and sent to him as a gift on his third birthday.”
Fitzjames looked to where the woman had been standing, but could no longer discern her amid the restless crowd.
Cheered by the prospect of an easy passage, Franklin told the governor to lead the way, ready now to put up with whatever had been prepared for them. He saw that they had been joined by four Lutheran ministers, all clutching large bibles and grimacing at everything they saw around them. All four men stared at him, and he found it hard to return their uncomfortable gaze.
They were led to a line of chairs, ahead of which a small area of ground had been cleared of its stones and boulders, these having then been made into a boundary circle. Franklin and the governor sat together, flanked by Crozier and Fitzjames. The governor’s party did not sit, but instead stood behind the line of seats, positioning the two flags in holes in the ground.
Calling for silence from the crowd, the governor took a rolled paper from his pocket and read aloud his speech of welcome, concluding by informing Franklin that a copy of this had already been dispatched to the Danish parliament.
Prompted by Franklin, the seated men applauded. Franklin then rose and offered his thanks.
These additional formalities concluded, the governor called for the crowd to clear a space so that the open ground might now be occupied by the two men waiting to move into it. The crowd obeyed, and as the men emerged into the empty circle a further cheer went up.
Wrestling was a common pastime in the settlement, its participants coming largely from the moored vessels awaiting departure. In this instance, one of the men was from Iceland, the other from Lincolnshire, Franklin’s home county. They were evenly matched in height and weight, and prior to making any contact they circled the ring growling at each other.
The fight began in earnest when the two combatants collided with their heads down and almost knocked each other senseless, and ended less than a minute later with the Lincolnshire man being lifted off his feet and thrown to the ground headfirst by the Icelander. He lay where he struck, groaning and fumbling around him. The Icelander declared himself the victor and presented himself to Franklin before returning to the more energetic appreciation of the crowd.
Several more bouts followed, most as brief and brutal as the first, some lasting for five or ten minutes, and one being concluded in a draw when, after twenty minutes, neither man was able to stand and continue.
Following this there was a long interval during which tea and food were served. It was by then ten o’clock and the sun was fully risen above the cliffs.
Surprised at the silver teapots and trays, and the fine quality of the china in which their refreshments were served, John Irving asked the governor how he had acquired them. At first the man was reluctant to answer, then waving his hand in the direction of the sea, he said, “The way we acquire most things in this starved place.”
Irving knew not to pursue the matter.
It would have been more conducive to informal conversation had the chairs been drawn into a group, but the governor insisted on them remaining in a line, keeping the sea and its breezes to their backs, as though by this simple expedient he might deny its presence.
Franklin was about to comment on this, when he was distracted by a group of men entering the ring carrying a strange wooden construction consisting of two poles lashed at one end, across which a short bar had been fastened. When positioned upright this looked like either the frame for a child’s swing or a crude and miniature gallows.
The governor asked if everyone had finished their drink. He became suddenly nervous and, watching him closely as he fussed among the men collecting the trays and crockery, Franklin felt a sudden chill. He saw Fitzjames signaling to him, but could not understand what he was trying to communicate.
In the crowd, men began to shout out; others started a low chant.
“Please, please,” the governor called to them, but with no success. He turned to Franklin and the others and shrugged apologetically.
At that moment, Reid leaned forward. “Sir John, Captain Crozier, do nothing. No interruptions.”
“What is it?” Crozier asked him. “Why has that flimsy contraption been thrown up before us?”
The governor put his hand on Franklin’s shoulder. “Sir John, I feel it is my duty to inform you that what you are about to see is the work of men from those vessels,” he motioned to the wrecks, “and surely by the most despicable among them. I am assured that no harm is to come to anyone, but nevertheless I have washed my hands of the whole affair. They insisted. When you did not arrive as expected several days ago, I felt certain the whole business would be over. But your delay in coming here …” He threw up his hands, absolving himself of any responsibility for what was about to happen.
“The thing is a gallows,” Crozier said suddenly. “A gallows, Sir John.”
“Mr. Crozier,” Reid said, his voice calm. “Let us be assured and wait to see what happens.” Of them all, he alone had noticed the suspicious and hostile glances from those among the crowd who had overheard them.
“He knows,” Crozier said, looking accusingly at Reid as he sat down.
“They are whalers, you have to understand,” the governor said, encouraged by support from this unexpected quarter.
“What they are has nothing to do with it,” Reid said.
“Of course,” the governor said. “I forgot.”
“What is it, James?” Fitzjames asked Reid when the others had looked away.
“I saw it once before. A dog had gone wild, killed two of its harness companions and then turned on its driver.”
Fitzjames considered this for a moment. “You mean they intend to hang a dog? To hang it here, on that device? A dog?” His disgust at the prospect was tempered by his relief.
The men in the ring formed themselves into a line, and as the surrounding crowd fell silent, their leader approached Franklin and Crozier. “I hope our sport today does not offend you, Sir John. We intend to hang a mad dog, not a working dog, but a scavenger from the settlement. It is customary that such animals be destroyed, and we intend to hang ours.” He deliberately avoided the eyes of the governor as he spoke. “I believe we have a fair case and hope you
will stay to watch. It’s true we have saved the hanging for three days, but no one would think any the worse of you or your party if you chose not to witness it.” He paused and saw that no immediate objection was forthcoming. “Then let me make our case. I am Jacob Seeley, first mate of the
Dotterel.”
Franklin was impressed by the speech, having expected some coarse and illogical explanation for what was about to happen.
“Seeley,” he repeated, recognizing the name.
“My brother Abraham is an able seaman aboard your own ship.”
“Of course. A good man.”
“And I wish it were me and not him who was going with you.”
“He is younger than you,” Franklin said, having formed a vague impression of the man, with whom he was as yet unfamiliar.
“This is his first voyage under cold-water colors.”
“Whereas you, I can see, are an old hand.” Franklin was more pleased than Jacob Seeley at the easy compliment, the connection made.
“My name was on the Admiralty list for when you next went.”
“Out of my hands, I’m afraid,” Franklin said.
“I know. I only hope that we now understand one another better.”
“Of course,” Franklin said, reassured even further.
Jacob Seeley turned away, acknowledging Reid and Hodgson as he did so. He called for one of the other men in the cleared circle to join him. The man approached and held out a bandaged hand for them to see.
“The dog,” Seeley said. The man removed his bloody dressing. Beneath it his hand was badly torn and swollen, the little finger bitten off completely.
“We were stacking ashore when the animal rushed at us and made off with a side of salted meat. My companion here was foolhardy enough to try and stop it. As you can see, he would have been wiser to let the meat go.”
“I assure you, the dog was not from the settlement,” the governor interrupted. “It lives out among the boats, fed and encouraged by the men out there.”
“Nevertheless,” Seeley went on, “you now understand our motives, Sir John.”
Franklin nodded. “My assistant surgeon.” He indicated Goodsir. “Perhaps when the proceedings here are completed …”
The injured man rewrapped his bandage and left them.
The dog was led forward by two men, each holding a rope attached to its neck, keeping it at a safe distance between them.
There was little ceremony to its hanging after such lengthy preliminaries. It was not a particularly large or ferocious-looking dog, and showed signs of the beatings and starvation it had endured over the previous days. One of its hind legs dragged uselessly along the ground and a long scar shone across its ribs. It made no attempt to escape from the men who held it. The two ropes were thrown over the crossbar and then pulled tight, dragging the dog forward until it stood directly beneath, its forelegs rigid. The proceedings were halted and words exchanged. Four men took hold of the ropes and drew in the remaining slack, forcing the animal to stand on its one good hind leg, its neck craned, its head up. At a shout from Jacob Seeley the four men pulled together, each of them calling out or grunting with the sudden exertion, and with that one pull the dog was raised to the top of the gallows, pedalling wildly until its neck broke, whereupon it fell suddenly limp, twisting and then shaking for a few seconds as its nerves received and then released the shock of its sudden death. It was inspected and lowered to the ground. The crowd cheered. A man approached and kicked the animal. It looked like nothing more than a dirty rag at his feet.
Looking up, Fitzjames saw that a small flock of expectant crows had gathered in the sky above, circling in the current of air rising off the cliff.
The dog was lifted by one of its paws and dragged away, its thin body contorting over the stony ground. Most of the crowd followed behind it, signaling the end of the proceedings. In the distance the small band had re-formed and was once again playing.
Despite the governor’s entreaties for them to remain longer, Franklin insisted it was necessary for himself and his officers to
return to their ships, reassuring him that they would be back ashore the following day.
He led his party to the rise overlooking the beach, where he was cheered by the sight of the
Erebus
and the
Terror,
stark and impressive upon the clean bronze plane of the sea.
They were accompanied by the governor and his party back down to the water’s edge, where the Lutherans now stood among their waiting marines and inspected them in the same grim silence as though they were exhibits in a visiting fair.
 
Two days after their arrival three Eskimos climbed aboard the
Erebus
, one of whom spoke English, and who asked to see Reid. They waited at the rail as Reid was sent for. On the water below sat a dozen kayaks and two larger umiaks, filled mostly with women and children, and all of them silent and watching the men above.
Reid arrived with Fitzjames and greeted the Eskimo, the two of them holding each other in a clasp until the man finally stood back. Fitzjames envied the ice-master his easy familiarity with the natives, and the firm roots of his affection for them. He himself had had few dealings with them, and his knowledge of them was formed largely of other men’s tales, some apocryphal, some fantastic, and most tainted by ignorance and fear and contempt.
Reid introduced him to the man. “He lived in Dundee and Whitby,” Reid said.
“And two miserable Faeroe summers,” the man added, and laughed.
They were joined by Thomas Blanky, ice-master on the
Terror
, who came through the waiting boats calling to the individuals he recognized. He too was greeted by the man, and the two masters listened to his reports of the Middle Pack and the movement of spring storms in the bay.
Several of the waiting women then climbed aboard and traded small bone and obsidian carvings for pieces of cloth and other trinkets.
Goodsir appeared as the man with whom Reid had spoken was
about to leave, and he persuaded him to wait a moment longer so that he might make a sketch of him. When he had finished the man climbed down to his canoe and paddled swiftly away, his companions following behind him, until one by one all the small craft were turned and moving across the bay, looking as light and precarious as surface-skimming insects.

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