The pinnacle was I
Armed to the teeth for the time
Thunder brought forth by wind in sail
Fell barrage, rain on fellow man
Blood-spangled banner my song
'Now let her rest', they said
'We're at peace, thank God
Cover her in tarp, lay her to bed
Vases we'll make from her barrels
And fill with a garden of flowers'
Stowed, condemned to grow mold
Ship of the line, forced to resign
Vermin and birds left to console
No matter, fate's legal tender
Everything must die
Ah, cries from on high!
'Lift that tarp, raise her anchor
And melt her guns to make plate
This ship's destined to head North
So fit her to manage this weight!'
George was the first
Hardly left before we were back
Then came the age of Victoria and Ross
Heroes, returned, closer to the passage
A passage I was soon to cross
Hearts robbed, hearts given
One of a pair, the other for my sister
Of each a captain would command
Brave Franklin embarked on Erebus
And fair Crozier on my sturdy boards
London-town now far away
Chance of return slipping by the day
Rime and ice; taking their swipes
Come-on heart, don't stop, fight!
But I ran out of blood a month ago
From one tomb to another
No flowers for my missing barrels
These men, they'll die in my hold
Caught in the pack, not a drop of hope
I ferried these damned souls
So I lie, below thirty feet and sky
The only cadaver with sails
'T'was Terror the shepherd
Took poor Crozier to his grave'
I knew him as Francis...
He knew me as home
Ah, my favourite piece of history; the ill-fated Franklin expedition of 1843, the last great voyage into the unknown, at least until the 1960’s. I’ve always had a mild obsession with this particular event, partly due to the mystery surrounding it, partly due to AMC’s dramatisation.
Terror and Erebus were eventually found, funnily enough, not far from where local Inuit oral history had said they had been. Two large ships bound in ice had passed through open channels in the pack, they said, and so the story was passed from generation to generation, at least until someone had the idea and the technology to follow up on it!
So they lie, below the cold surface of the North Sea, perfectly preserved. Although, there’s still little in the way of evidence to suggest what might’ve actually happened on that ill-fated voyage. Did sloppy soldering on their lead-lined food tins turn the two crews mad? Did they make camp, stuck in pack-ice, only to eventually abandon ship; no alternative other than to attempt a hike to safety? Or perhaps an Inuit folktale, once thought fiction, had found the ice-bound ships and leapt into blood-stained fact? We might never know.
Some Inuit legends tell of a lone wanderer that had been encountered by hunters; a wanderer wearing a captain’s hat some 750km from where the ships had been left…
Maybe it was a ghost? Maybe it was Crozier?
Perhaps. Perhaps not.
Auf Wiedersehen
AJ Carney 