Free The Broken Lands by Robert Edric Page A

said, and waited for silence. “These suggest that if a permanent obstruction—ice or land—should be encountered to the southwest of Cape Walker, then we are to consider the alternative of passing between Cornwallis Island and North Devon if Wellington Channel is open.”

    A moment of stunned silence met this remark. Several turned back to the chart and studied it.
    “North!” Edward Little said. “They suggest we sail north from here? But what will that achieve? Surely they must be aware of the fixed ice in that direction.”
    “I believe they are, Mr. Little,” Franklin said.
    Crozier joined his lieutenant at the chart. “Then they want us to sail on a useless errand simply to satisfy themselves that it cannot be done.” He slapped his palm on the table.
    “And in doing so we eliminate a full quadrant for those who might come after us,” Franklin said calmly. “Surely it is the nature of all exploration and probing in this place that we move forward only by first eliminating all the blind alleys and false turns that we cannot help but make in our first groping forays. You and I have stumbled often enough in the darkness and over blank charts in the past, Francis.”
    “Which is why I want to waste as little time as possible doing it again.”
    Franklin resealed his orders and waited again for them to fall silent.
    Realizing that to argue any further would only create bad feeling between his commander and himself, Crozier asked him to outline his intentions to them in greater detail. Acknowledging this conciliatory gesture, Franklin reassured them all that he was as convinced as they were that the continuation of the Passage did not lie to the north.
    “Cornwallis Island,” he announced, replacing the chart on the wall with another which showed the island in greater detail. “For obvious reasons, its southern shore is well-enough charted. It is my intention to explore north along Wellington Channel and pass beyond the northern shore of the island—assuming of course that it is an island and not simply a small piece of someone’s imagination set adrift amid this fearful waste of ice and howling darkness.”
    They all laughed at this, even Crozier, and Franklin knew that they were once again with him.

    “‘Our nightmares are not their nightmares,’” Crozier said, repeating the well-worn phrase of Sir John Barrow with which they were all familiar.
    “Precisely,” Franklin said. “We are here, gentlemen, and we are here alone. They, on the other hand, must inhabit their offices and their salons and every now and again visit a traveling light-show or panorama upon which to feed their imaginations.”
    “Bravo, Sir John,” Graham Gore called out.
    Uncharacteristically, Franklin bowed in acknowledgment, the gesture soliciting further calls and applause. “Not so fast, Mr. Gore. I daresay that upon our return we too may be reduced to the status of sideshow exhibits.”
    “But what a sideshow,” George Hodgson said, rising and standing as though he were posing for a bust of himself.
    “Indeed. But let us not get carried away so soon with our speculations. It is my intention, in the days of sailing remaining to us, to travel as far north along Wellington Channel as the ice will allow. And when we can go no farther we will turn south and return via the west coast of Cornwallis. It is also my intention, again depending on the condition of the ice, and the speed with which the coming winter closes in on us, to find a safe harbor in a sheltered bay on the south shore of either Cornwallis or Devon Island.” He stopped speaking and waited for their comments.
    “How far will we get?” Fitzjames asked him, coming to the chart and examining it more closely.
    “Your estimate is as good as mine.”
    “Seventy-six degrees, seventy-seven?”
    “Possibly. Like a great many others who have come before us, we can never truly know where we are going until we arrive there.”
    Vesconte, who had so far said very