Free The Broken Lands by Robert Edric Page B

little, rose, called for their attention and announced that he for one was only too delighted to be sailing in a straight line for the Pole.
    “And why might that be?” Fitzjames asked him, prolonging the joke.
    “Because it occurs to me,” Vesconte said, “that if we are all to
get some feature or other named after us, then our best chance of finding those discarded, ignored or unwanted by others lies in that direction.”
    “Vesconte Island,” Fitzjames said. “How about you, Mr. Hodgson, Mr. Irving?”
    “Mount Irving,” Irving said, suggesting to them all that he had already given the matter some consideration.
    It was a great relief to Franklin to see that the uncertainty and disappointment of a few minutes earlier had been dispelled. He saw that Crozier still harbored doubts about the merits of what he had proposed, but knew that the point of divisive confrontation was passed. He unlocked another of his cabinets and took out a bottle of Madeira, suggesting that a toast be drunk to their first foray into unsailed waters. Afterward, it being Saturday, they drank their regular toast to wives and sweethearts.
    Later, as Crozier and his officers prepared to leave, Franklin took him to one side and asked him if he still had any serious reservations about the plan he had outlined.
    “I cannot deny that I am disappointed that we will make no further progress to the west this season,” Crozier said. “But I agree that a journey north might prove valuable for the reasons stated.”
    “And that we will be in a strong position to embark upon a full season’s exploration next year?”
    “That, too,” Crozier admitted. Glancing quickly around them to ensure that he was not overheard, he added in a low voice, “Parry is convinced that no navigable route lies directly to the west. Pushing so hard year after year broke his ships and his spirit. His loss of heart and disillusionment on his final voyage was terrible to see. I have great respect for the man, and for the Rosses too, but none of them will ever return to resume their searches.”
    The two men shook hands and Crozier called for his lieutenants to return with him to the Terror.
     
    They reached their Farthest North on the 17th of September, having left Cornwallis behind them and then sailed for four days among
the gradually thickening ice and smaller islands, some no more than exposed rocks, in the upper reaches of Wellington Channel. They achieved 77 degrees before the ice moving south forced them to turn. There was little danger of them being caught by this, it being mostly newly formed brash, as much liquid as solid. The daily temperature were falling, but not yet swiftly, and the Arctic night proper was still two months away.
    They were surprised not to encounter the permanent Polar ice this far north, but guessed that they might now measure the distance it lay ahead of them in hours’ rather than days’ sailing. At that latitude, the ice flow from the west was known to be heavy and rapid, and a watch was kept for any bergs appearing from that quarter.
    The next day was a Sunday, and they spent this cruising east along the edge of the ice. Occasionally they encountered a channel inviting them farther toward the Pole, but they were not tempted into these restricted waters where they might suddenly find themselves unable to maneuver or turn back.
    Franklin had been vindicated by his detour: the Passage did not lie to the north or the northwest.
    It was strange but comforting, Franklin wrote in his journal on the day of their Farthest North, how often he heard the Pacific mentioned by his officers and crew, much preferred by them all in conversation as a general destination than, say, the Beaufort Sea or Bering. Cook’s Icy Cape, he noted, was seldom mentioned at all, and he regretted that Cook should have chosen such a prosaic and uninviting name for his own Farthest East, having entered the Arctic puzzle from the west.
    They cruised for a further three