CHAPTER SIX
On the beach, Robinson searched for footprints and cairns and discarded boots but found only bear and fox tracks and an ancient walrus skull. He kicked it in frustration, and it exploded into powder. Bending into the cold wind, the three men clambered back up a steep gravel slope to the cliff top and pitched the tent on the snow-covered ground. Robinson ordered Billings to use the last of their fuel to prepare a meal of salt pork and cocoa. After eating, they left the stove on the stones outside the tent and slept.
In the evening, the ice was thick in the channel, encroaching upon the beach below. Plentiful the day before, the lanes between the floes narrowed and vanished as the pack fused into an interminable white desert. As Robinson and Adams pulled on their stockings and boots, Billings remained curled in his blanket. Robinson scowled down at him.
“Billings, get up,” Robinson said.
The man did not stir.
Robinson felt a surge of irritation. “Get up, I said!” He drew back a booted foot and made ready to kick the seaman.
“No,” said Adams, putting his hand on Robinson’s arm. He knelt beside Billings and gently shook his shoulder. “Come on now, Jimmy. Time to go.”
The young seaman sighed and sat up, bleary-eyed. “I’m tired, Mister Adams,” he said.
“I know, Jimmy,” said Adams. “But we have to go. We might find Sir John today.”
Billings rubbed his face and yawned. “Unknown Parts.”
“Yes, Jimmy. We are in Unknown Parts. But they shall be unknown no longer. Sir John is here too. Let us go and find him.”
Billings nodded and pulled on his boots. They walked along the edge of the cliff until they found a scattered collection of stones. Removing their provisions from the sledge, they dragged it over the snow. They gathered the largest stones they could lift, then moved them back to a site close to the edge of the cliff and began building a cairn. They placed the largest stones at the base and piled more atop each other until sweat soaked their undershirts and their breath rose like smoke. When the cairn stood five feet high, they stood back with their hands on their hips. Robinson reached into his knapsack and produced an iron message cylinder. He sat on a boulder, brought out his ink bottle, and wrote on a piece of paper.
“I shall tell them Captain Ross has cached provisions at Port Leopold,” he told Adams. “And that Investigator and Enterprise will sail west to Cape Walker when the ice in Barrow Strait clears.” He rolled up the message and put it into the cylinder, then searched in the cairn with his gloved hand until he found a niche from which it could not easily be dislodged. He placed another stone over the cylinder and straightened. “We are one hundred miles south of Cape Walker. If Franklin is there, Captain Ross will find him. So we must go south.”
“Sir John could have gone west from Cape Walker and become stuck in the heavy pack off Melville Island,” said Adams.
“I’m hungry,” said Billings.
Robinson looked at Adams. “I doubt Franklin went to Melville Island. Parry said that route was impassable, that the ice was too thick. Permanent ice, he said it was, not seasonal. Had not melted for decades.”
“It would be folly to discount Sir John’s courage.”
Robinson felt his temper bubble again. “You embroider the man too prettily.” Did Adams think Franklin’s courage alone could conquer the elements? Perhaps Sir John could batter his way through the ice with the sheer force of his character.
“I’m hungry,” Billings said again. He wheedled like an exhausted child. “Mister Adams, I’m hungry.”
Robinson glared at Adams. “For God’s sake, give him something to do. Make him be quiet.”
“Jimmy,” said Adams, “go and keep watch for bears, will you? Shout if you see one. I will give you some biscuit soon.”
Without a word, Billings stood and lumbered away.
Robinson watched him leave, his jaw clenched. I am marooned in the wilderness with a romantic and a fool, he thought.
“I see nothing odd in holding a man like Franklin in high esteem,” said Adams. “Sir John’s accomplishments are admirable. A man would do well to emulate them.”
Robinson did not attempt to conceal his disdain. “Which of his feats are so admirable? Losing half his men on the way back from Point Turnagain? Eating his boots to stay alive? Getting lost in the ice?” He lifted his knapsack onto his shoulder. “Let us hope you do not emulate him on this mission.”
The sound of barking dogs woke them.
Robinson sat up under his blanket. Alarmed, he seized his shotgun, furious with himself for not hearing the animals approach. Then it dawned on him. Where there are dogs, there are ...
“Esquimaux!”
They pulled on their hose and boots and looked out from the tent. Twenty yards away, a man stood beside a small sledge, to which six dogs were hitched. Short in stature and bronze of skin, he was clad in a reindeer-skin parka and breeches and held a long spear in his mitten. He wore a pair of snow goggles fashioned from a strip of sinew and two round pieces of timber with a slit cut in each. He pushed his goggles up to his forehead and stared at the tent with wide black eyes.
Shotguns in hand, Adams and Robinson slowly emerged from the tent. The dogs began barking again as Billings followed, straightening to his full height. The Esquimaux shouted angrily and crouched, ready to attack or flee. He raised his spear as if to hurl it.
“No, no!” Robinson placed his shotgun on the ground and stood to face the man with both palms raised open.
“We are white men! Kabloona , we are kabloona !”
“Kabloona?” The man looked at Robinson’s raised hands and down at the shotgun, then at Adams. He shouted again and brandished his spear. Adams, too, laid down his gun and opened his arms. He forced a smile.
“We will not harm you,” he said in an amiable tone. “Friends. We are friends.” He glanced at Billings and spoke softly. “Jimmy, I think he is frightened of you. Sit down on the ground, will you? And be quiet for a while—there’s a good fellow.”
Billings sank to the earth. The Esquimaux slowly lowered his spear and fell silent. He continued to glare at them but did not attempt to approach. Robinson took off his cap to reveal his sun-browned features and pulled down the collar of his jacket to show the white skin of his neck. The Esquimaux took a step toward him, then another. He removed a mitten and slowly reached out to touch the exposed skin. He uttered a low sound in his throat and placed his finger gingerly on Robinson’s neck. He looked at his fingertip, then reached out again and rubbed the same area of skin.
“No, my friend,” said Robinson. “It will not come off.”
The man then turned and leaned in to look at Adams, staring intently at his blue eyes. Robinson felt the excitement build within him. Here was a better solution than scouring hundreds of square miles of frozen mud for a footprint. He cast a glance at Adams.
“This is an opportunity,” he said. “They will sledge a thousand miles in the summer when they go sealing. He may have seen them or knows someone who has.” He took off his glove and snapped his fingers at the Esquimaux. “Look here. Have you seen white men?” He pointed at Adams and drew a circle in the air around his own face. Then he pointed two fingers at his eyes and those of the man. “Have you seen kabloona , like us? With faces like this?”
The man looked from Robinson to Adams and back again but said nothing.
“Come now!” Robinson’s tone was impatient. He turned and made a wide sweep with his arm, pointing both north and south. “Have you seen kabloona ?”
“Perhaps we should give him a present,” said Adams.
“Yes, a present. Good.” Robinson slid the knapsack from his shoulder and swung it around before him.
The man retreated a step, alarm on his face.
“No, no.” Robinson raised his hands again. “You are quite safe.” He reached into the knapsack and brought out a packet of needles. He opened the packet, held a needle in his fingers, and displayed it to the man. “For you.”
The man frowned. He took a step closer and examined the needles from a distance. He made a sound of approval and uttered something in his tongue, a succession of clicks and hawking sounds in his throat.
Robinson again held out the needles. “Take them. They are yours.” He mimed the act of sewing. “Much better than bone needles.”
The man took another step closer, curious now. He reached out and took the small box from Robinson’s hand. They watched the man shake the packet of needles in his hand, then stow it away on his sledge.
Robinson pointed at the man and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “Where have you come from? From which direction?”
The man pointed to the southeast. Robinson’s stooped to look into the man’s face. “From Iwillik? Iwillik?”
The man became excited and beamed at Robinson. He beat his chest once. “Iwillik!” He nodded.
“He is from Repulse Bay, then,” said Robinson.
“What about ships?” Adams knelt, brushed aside some small stones, and smoothed out a flat area of earth. With his gloved finger, he drew a crude diagram of a ship in the dust, outlining a large hull with three masts rising from it. The man bent forward and carefully inspected the diagram.
Robinson pointed out to the ice-choked channel. “Like this. A big ship. Umiak. Kabloona umiak!” Robinson spread his arms wide to indicate something of great size, then raised two fingers. “Two big ships!”
The man stared at them, then shook his head. He gestured at the ice pack with another stream of guttural sounds and clicks and grunts. He looked from Robinson to Adams and back again.
“I think he says there could be no ships in that ice,” Adams said.
Robinson addressed the man again. “Where might we look, then? For kabloona ?” He held both hands out to his sides, palms up. “ Kabloona , which way?”
The man cocked his head and muttered to himself. He shrugged and pointed to the southwest. Robinson conferred with Adams. “Do you think he means they are to be found that way? Or that they might be?”
Adams tried again. He pointed to the southeast in the direction of Repulse Bay. “ Kabloona? That way?”
The man shook his head vigorously and pointed again to the southwest.
Robinson sighed. “Should we believe him? He is but one man.”
“He has no reason to lie about coming from Repulse Bay. And if he did, there is every chance he would have encountered Franklin if Sir John had gone that way.”
Robinson pointed to the south and asked him about reindeer. “Tuktu?”
The man frowned and waved his hand dismissively. He pointed at the seal meat on his sledge and then at the ice-filled channel to the west, making an undulating motion with one hand.
“No reindeer, then,” said Adams. “He is only fishing and sealing.” He whispered to Robinson. “Do you think he would agree to travel with us? He could show us the best route, hunt for us.”
Robinson looked doubtful. “He knows we have no dogs. We cannot match his pace. At least, not while there is still snow on the ground.”
“We could offer him payment.”
Robinson considered this. He wished he had learned more than a few words of the Esquimaux tongue. He looked into the man’s face, then pointed at himself and Adams and made a beckoning motion.
“Will you join us? Show us the way? Hunt for us?”
The man stared at him, uncomprehending. He looked at Adams, then back at Robinson.
Robinson suppressed an urge to seize the man by the throat and throttle him. He took a deep breath and tried again, pointing to himself, to Adams, and then back at the man. “You. Come with us.” He held out his shotgun. “What if I gave you this? If you help us find kabloona ?”
The man blinked at the shotgun, then silently regarded the two men. Robinson held out a bag of shot, but the man showed no sign of understanding. He took the bag and peered inside, then pulled the drawstring and bounced the bag in his hand, the lead balls clacking against each other.
Then Robinson decided to try a different tack. “Do you have food?” He pointed to his throat, lowered his hand, and patted his stomach. He moved his hand around his belly, then pointed at the man’s sledge. The man nodded and made an enthusiastic sound. He looked curiously at the two men’s sledge and spoke again.
“He expects an exchange,” said Adams.
“Of course he does. It is what they do. Let us trade.”
Robinson again inspected the contents of his knapsack. This time he brought forth a knife, which he displayed between his thumb and forefinger. He gestured at the man’s sledge.
“For some food. A trade.”
Nodding vigorously, the man stepped forward with a smile and took the knife from Robinson. He clapped him on the arm and beckoned them to approach his sledge. The three men knelt beside it. The frame and crossbars of the sledge were made of bones lashed together with sinew. The runners were rolls of frozen animal skin. The man unfastened the sledge cover and lifted it to reveal a dozen char, frozen like small logs. Beside the fish was a large chunk of dark-red meat. A thick layer of blubber was attached along one side. With his new knife, he chiselled at the frozen mass until half a dozen of the fish came away in a solid block; then he sliced away a five-pound hunk of the meat. He lifted them from the sledge and handed them happily to Adams.
“Splendid,” said Robinson. He smiled. “Thank you.”
The man laughed and nodded. He pointed to his dogs and then at their sledge and spoke again.
“He wants to know where our dogs are,” said Adams.
Robinson shook his head at the man. “No dogs. We pull.” He went to the sledge, put the track rope over his shoulder, and mimed hauling it over the ground. The man stared open-mouthed for a moment, then erupted in laughter.
Inside the tent, the stench of seal blood and ordure rising from the Esquimaux made Robinson cough. His hands black with grime, the man produced a sealskin bag, from which he took a shallow oval-shaped stone. On this he placed a quantity of seal blubber and a wick rolled from a handful of dried moss. Striking two lumps of pyrite together, he lit the lamp and sat back as the three men cooked their fish over the tiny flames.
Robinson offered the man a piece of salt pork. He sniffed it cautiously, nibbled it, then grimaced and spat the morsel out. He cut several long strips from the chunk of seal meat on his sledge. Throwing his head back, he crammed as much as possible into his mouth before taking his knife and slicing the strip of meat off at his lips.
Robinson searched their bags for a gift that might buy the man’s allegiance. He brought out his sextant. The man held it upside down, peering closely at it, then tossed it on the floorcloth. Uninvited, he seized Adams’ knapsack and began rummaging through it. He curiously examined Adams’ Bible and sniffed at his ink bottle before dropping both items. He reached across and seized Robinson’s telescope, running his fingertips over the milled edge of its brass ring.
“Like this,” Robinson said. He stood and opened the tent flap. Light streamed in. Robinson held the eyepiece to the man’s eye. In astonishment, he pulled his head away and made a low noise in his throat. He clasped the telescope to his chest. Robinson took it from him gently.
“I’m sorry, my friend,” said Robinson, “that was only a demonstration. You may look at it, but this is one item I cannot spare.”
The man sat back, his face empty of expression. He stood to leave.
“Wait!” Robinson called.
The man ignored him. He left the tent, went to his sledge, stowed his lamp and sealskin bag, and threw several handfuls of seal blubber at his dogs. The starving animals snarled and fell upon it, snapping at each other in desperation. In seconds the blubber had vanished. The dogs stood on the snow, licking their snouts and staring at the man.
“He cares greatly for his dogs,” said Adams. “And they for him, it seems. I have rarely seen such a bond between a man and his animals.”
“I like dogs,” said Billings. “I like it when they lick my hand.”
Robinson frowned at him. “Never try to touch one of these. It will take your hand.”
Billings looked down, a wounded expression on his face.
“They will not hesitate to eat their dogs when they are starving,” Robinson said. “Or they will cut the throat of one dog, slice the carcass into pieces, and feed it to the others.”
The man checked the dogs’ harnesses and boarded the sledge. Without a glance at the three Royal Navy men, he unrolled a sealskin whip and made a sound in his throat. The dogs responded as one, bounding away to the north with the sledge in tow. The three remaining men shivered in the cold breeze as the sledge vanished into the white light, its runners hissing on the thinning snow. The man on the sledge did not look back.
“And if a family member is old or sick,” Robinson said, “they will take them out into the wilderness and leave them there.” He shook his head and turned to walk back to the tent. “Savages.”
He sat on the ground near the cliff’s edge and watched the ice pack move beneath high clouds crowned with halos of light. He was reduced to trusting the word of an ignorant native. The wandering sealer had said there were no reindeer here and no white men to the southeast. If Franklin had gone east, there surely would have been signs of him at Fury Beach. We are blocked by water to the west; Captain Ross searches to the north. There is only the southwest. It is the only possibility left. Adams thinks we are being taunted. I am not sure he is wrong.
The wind freshened. The light behind the clouds dimmed, turning them grey at the edges. Soon they would swell and darken. They were running out of time.