Andrea Barrett - Voyage of the Narwhal

“Write if it pleases you,” Zeke said. “It’s hard to believe anyone will want to read such a thing, though. Not when they see what I have to say, the story I have to tell.”

From his pocket he took the black notebook Erasmus had seen so often during their journey. “It’s all in here,” he said, tapping the worn cover. With each tap, Erasmus felt a part of himself dissolve and reform as a version of William Godfrey. “My journey north and all I discovered, what happened to me after I got back to the ship and found you gone, my life among the Esquimaux— everything.”

Tap, tap, tap. “I’m going to marry Lavinia,” he added. “The minute I can arrange it. I’m tired of being alone. What happened to your feet?”

“I lost my toes,” Erasmus said. At least Lavinia would be happy; at least there was that. “Frostbite. What happened to your ear?”

“Polar bear.”

Erasmus couldn’t take his eyes off the black book. Zeke hadn’t taken it north; he’d left it behind; I have to travel light, he’d said. When Erasmus broke into Zeke’s locked box to retrieve Dr. Boerhaave’s journal, he’d seen Zeke’s black notebook waiting there.

THE EXTRACTS APPEARED in the Philadelphia paper two weeks later, appended to a reporter’s brief introduction and beneath a curious set of headlines:

EXPLORER RETRACES MUCH OF KANE’S ROUTE

ABANDONED BY His MEN RESCUED BY WIZARD’S

PROPHECY-DETAILED ACCOUNT OF LIFE AMONG

KANE’S ESQUIMAUX ESQUIMAUX SPECIMENS

HERE IN PHILADELPHIA

Zechariah Voorhees, given up for lost since the arrival here in November of the battered survivors of his expedition, has returned to us safe and well in the company of two of Dr. Kane’s Esquimaux. I spoke with Commander Voorhees at his parents’ home, where he greeted me cheerfully. Asked the question on everyone’s lips, he responded, “My men did the right thing. When I set off on my journey north, I set a date by which I would return. Three weeks after that date elapsed, the officers to whom I had delegated responsibility determined that the safety of the group demanded they attempt a retreat. That’s exactly what I would have wanted them to do. They had no way of knowing I was alive.”

He was alive though, remarkably. And has much to report. To his companions’ revelations about the discoveries on Boothia, among the Esquimaux possessing relics of Franklin’s ships, he has nothing to add — the account provided earlier by Mr. Erasmus Wells is true and accurate, he says. As is the account of the expedition’s winter in the ice. But since his men’s escape to safety he has passed an astonishing year among the Smith Sound Esquimaux discovered by our own much-missed Dr. Kane.

These kind people delivered him to Upernavik in May, where he learned of Dr. Kane’s tragic demise and was given a copy of Arctic Explorations by a Danish trader. Having read this aboard the ship that brought him home, he notes that Dr. Kane’s descriptions of the western side of Kane’s Basin are accurate in outline, but that his own explorations have added more detail to these areas. A corrected version of Dr. Kane’s map follows on Page 3. Commander Voorhees is already at work on a narrative of his stay with the Esquimaux in the most northerly settlement of Greenland. In the meantime, as a kindness to our readers, he’s generously provided a few extracts from his daily journal.

* * * * *

AUGUST 30, 1856. The men are gone; I can’t believe I missed them. The Narwhal lies frozen in a useless canal. Heartbreaking to see how hard they worked but I must be glad they failed; here is my winter home. Everthing aboard is scrupulously clean, provisions were set aside against my possible return, Mr. Wells left an note explaining what happened. I’m grateful but — four days! I missed them by so little, yet those days mean another winter here in the ice. I begin work today. I’ll spend part of my time boxing off a small section of the cabin, insulating it with moss and peat so it can be efficiently heated, and stripping siding for fuel. The rest of the time I must hunt as I’ve never hunted, trying to cache enough food for the winter. It’s an excellent time for walrus, if I can manage to take them by myself. The seals are fat, so are the musk oxen, and hares abound. I made a mistake last year, spending this month in a frantic struggle to escape rather than stockpiling supplies: a mistake I can’t afford again.

I’m here for the winter, there’s no denying it. The thing to do is face it. Make the best of it. Enjoy it even, learn from it. This is my chance to live, as nearly as possible, the way the Esquimaux live. To prove that a man willing to learn the ways of the north may live in relative comfort here. I have books, food, shelter; maps to make, a journal to keep. I may be a regular Robinson Crusoe.

OCTOBER 10, 1856. I rebuilt the partition, farther aft this time. I lined the bunk with fresh skins, I built a new entrance, I built what deckhouse I could with the wood they left me. I tore off the sheathing down to the waterline on the port side and chopped and stacked it. I put meat down in barrels and filled casks with blubber and oil. I cleaned the guns and moved all the ammunition into one dry place and counted every round; I’m growing short. I made new boots and a new jacket. I fixed the stove. Everything is perfectly snug. My tiny apartment belowdecks is easily heated and all is arranged in the most convenient and efficient way. With only myself to look after, no disagreements or moody men or those who pretend to be sick to avoid hard work, everything’s been easy. The body of the sun is gone, but the sky shines red and yellow and blue and the ice glows green and violet. And the hunting has been so fine it’s as if the animals give themselves freely to me. I’m ready for the winter, ready for everything.

OCTOBER 21, 1856. One minute nothing, the next a sledge track; it was like seeing a footprint in the sand. They appeared as I was cooking my supper — three of them, camped on the deck as I write this: Nessark, Marumah, and Nessark’s wife. Nessark was among the hunters we met on our visit to Anoatok but the other two are new to me. All three spent time with Dr. Kane two years ago and the woman, who is lively and intelligent, learned some English from him and his men. She calls herself Annie, and between her English and what Joe taught me we talk fairly easily. They’ve come to take me to their winter settlement, she says. They don’t want me in danger. I don’t know how they knew I was here.

I told them I was safe, I was fine, I appreciated their offer but I could care for myself. They withdrew for a long discussion, then returned and let Annie speak for all. She says they — I—have no choice. They’ve been sent here by their angekok— the word they use for their tribal wizard. This angekok had a vision, she explained. Some children among them sickened recently and two died. The angekok determined that this was because of me.

She asks if I remember Ootuniah, who visited us last year and befriended Joe during our stay in Anoatok. I do remember him very sharply. I felt he didn’t have our best interests at heart despite his gifts and this was proved when he loaned Joe the sledge and dogs I needed for myself. Now it appears that Joe told Ootuniah about the meteorite I found, the one he told me not to touch. When the angekok heard it had been destroyed, he decided I’d disturbed the iron stone’s spirit. Their children sicken, he says, because that spirit is angry I’m still in this country.

What was I to say? It was a stone, I told Annie. A big stone, which slipped from my grasp. I meant no harm. She says no one blames me, it’s understood that this was an accident and I’m not to be punished. Still, reparations must be made. The message the angekok sends is this: that I may pacify the spirit of the stone by making to them a free gift of all the iron that may be easily removed from the ship and transported on their sledges across the Sound. And by returning to their village with them, and allowing them to care for me. If I die here, the angekok says, I’ll pollute the land somehow. Thus I must allow them to guard me.