Ice Blink: The Tragic Fate of Sir John Franklin's Lost Polar Expedition [Hardcover]

By the mid-19th century, after decades of polar exploration, the fabled Northwest Passage seemed within reach. In 1845 the British Admiralty assembled the largest expedition yet, refitting two ships with steam engines and placing the seasoned if somewhat lackluster Sir John Franklin in command of the 128-man expedition. After sailing into Baffin Bay, they were never heard from again.

Drawing on early accounts from relief expeditions as well as recent archeological evidence, Scott Cookman reconstructs a chronicle of the expedition in Ice Blink. Cookman, a journalist with articles in Field & Stream and other magazines, excels when firmly grounded in the harrowing reality of 19th-century Arctic exploration. When he speculates about what happened to the Franklin expedition, however, he is on less solid ground and his writing suffers.

Particularly overwrought is the promised "frightening new explanation" for the expedition's demise. Cookman suggests that it was caused by the "grotesque handiwork" of an "evil" man, Stephan Goldner, who had supplied its canned foods. This is hardly new. As early as 1852, investigators determined that the expedition's canned goods were probably inferior and canceled provisioning contracts with Goldner. How a hundred men survived for nearly three years despite lead poisoning and botulism remains a mystery. In the end, as Cookman himself acknowledges, the expedition was ultimately doomed by its reliance on untested technology such as the steam engine, armor plating, and canned provisions. These criticisms aside, Ice Blink is an interesting narrative of this enduring symbol of polar exploration and disaster. --Pete Holloran

In 1845, Captain Sir John Franklin sailed into Arctic waters, the latest of many navigators to seek a "Northwest Passage" from the Atlantic to the Pacific. With him were 128 stalwarts of the Royal Navy; up-to-date maps and sophisticated tools; three years' worth of ample provisions; and two advanced ships, iron-clad, steam-heated and steam-powered. The ships were never seen again. In 1859, Lieutenant William Hobson, sunburnt and frostbitten, trekked across remote King William Island and found the last remains of the expedition: two notes attached to a cairn, a small, stranded boat and human bones, some showing evidence of cannibalism. Freelance writer Cookman's ably researched, sometimes eloquent account follows the doomed voyage, then proposes to solve the enduring mystery. Stuck in the ice, the men of the H.M.S. Terror and Erebus lasted months with barely a look outdoors; when cooking fuel ran short, something sickened the men. Cookman identifies the culprit as botulism, conveyed by the canned goods furnished by contractor Stephan Goldner. "Pinching pennies and cutting corners," Goldner defrauded the Navy by giving Franklin's men canned meats and vegetables "shoddily made and improperly sealed." Cookman drapes his central story with short accounts of the people involved, including Captain Franklin ("plodding, sober," and "fame-hungry" but steadfast) and Goldner, whose record of defaults and frauds (delivering ruptured cans, missing deadlines, packaging bones as meat) led the Navy to cease doing business with him in 1852. Hard-bitten readers who last year clamored over Shackleton's adventures will take to this grimmer tale of unscrupulous contractors, diligent historians and brave British explorers who never made it. (Mar.)
Copyright 2000 Reed Business Information, Inc.

The two ships of the Franklin expedition set out from Greenland on July 12, 1845, to find the Northwest Passage. Two weeks later, they passed through Baffin Bay and were never seen again. "It was as if Apollo 11...had disappeared on the dark side of the moon," writes Cookman (whose "Man & Mission" videos about the Mercury 7 astronauts are a main attraction at the U.S. Astronaut Hall of Fame at Cape Canaveral). Here he examines the mystery of "the largest and best-equipped" expedition ever mounted, "the greatest Arctic tragedy of the age." Although he notes that what triggered the disaster may always be open to debate, his painstaking search through British Admiralty records reveals a possible cause: botulism, the deadly toxin resulting from improperly canned food, which he blames on the Admiralty's canned food contractor--"a scam artist" who "stalled, obfuscated, lied outright--and got away with it." Recommended for larger public libraries and academic libraries.
-Robert C. Jones, Central Missouri State Univ., Warrensburg
Copyright 1999 Reed Business Information, Inc.

In this absorbing account of the fabled 1845 Franklin expedition in search of the Northwest Passage, Cookman inculpates a novel malefactor in the tragedy: botulism. In the 1980s, three frozen corpses of expedition members were found and exhumed (Frozen in Time, by Owen Beattie and John Geiger, 1987). Autopsies revealed lead, fingering lead-soldered cans from the provisions. Cookman still arraigns the cans, or rather the shady victualler who supplied them, and, through explanation of the then-infant process of canning, opens his botulism possibility. Yet knowing the impossibility, short of the discovery of journals or supplies cached by the expedition, of finding out what exactly happened, Cookman still ably argues for his theory. He does so by artfully narrating a possible course of events in the expedition's demise, based on the one official note and bits of debris (including evidence of cannibalism) found by searchers sent to look for Franklin in the 1850s. Adventure readers will flock to this fine regaling of the enduring mystery surrounding the best-known disaster in Arctic exploration. Gilbert Taylor

Journalist Cookman thinks he may have a handle on what ``turned the greatest Arctic exploration of its time into the greatest Arctic tragedy of the age.'' The men of the Franklin Expedition, Cookman alleges, those bright stars in the discovery service of England's Royal Navy, died by the hand of a corrupt victualling contractor. Every man who embarked on the 1845-48 Franklin Expedition, the largest and best-equipped excursion sent in search of the Northwest Passage, died. No one knows why. Scurvy has been marked as the culprit, as has simple starvation, but Admiralty records do not support either contention. And it was in perusing those very records that Cookman, with a sharp eye for hard evidence, smelled a rat: one Stephan Goldner, a shady provisioner whose ludicrously low bid won the contract to supply the expedition. Not only would Goldner have had to cut corners like crazy to meet his bid, perhaps compelling him to employ lethal canning methods; Cookman also makes plain how a cooking process patented by Goldner could easily have allowed a quiet explosion of botulism bacteria in the ships' tinned goods. Cooking the tinned food was a luxury that had to be sacrificed when fuel ran low. The botulism then went to work, and, as Cookman paints it, botulism poisoning is not a happy way to die. A wider story, apart from the possible explanation behind the rapid die-off of the Franklin crew, concerns the notoriously dishonest world of ship provisioning. Cookman explains how seamen were as likely to find iron filings as grounds in their coffee, along with sawdust in their flour, saltpeter in the cheese, and crag-endsmake that pure offalin the canned meat. Certainly a plausible scenario for the Expedition's last days, presented cogently by Cookman, and making readers wince in its cruel irony: The killer thrived on what no human could do withoutfood. (24 b&w photos) -- Copyright ©1999, Kirkus Associates, LP. All rights reserved.

"A great Victorian adventure story rediscovered and re-presented for a more enquiring time." (The Scotsman, 26th August 2000)

"Absorbing.artfully narrat[es] a possible course of events in the expedition's demise, based on the one official note and bits of debris (including evidence of cannibalism) found by searchers sent to look for Franklin in the 1850s. Adventure readers will flock to this fine regaling of the enduring mystery surrounding the best-known disaster in Arctic exploration."--Booklist

"A great Victorian adventure story rediscovered and re-presented for a more enquiring time."--The Scotsman

"A vivid, sometimes harrowing chronicle of miscalculation and overweening Victorian pride in untried technology.a work of great compassion."--The Australian

It has been called the greatest disaster in the history of polar exploration. Led by Arctic explorer Sir John Franklin, two state-of-the-art ships and 128 hand-picked men----the best and the brightest of the British empire----sailed from Greenland on July 12, 1845 in search of the elusive Northwest Passage. Fourteen days later, they were spotted for the last time by two whalers in Baffin Bay. What happened to these ships----and to the 129 men on board----has remained one of the most enduring mysteries in the annals of exploration. Drawing upon original research, Scott Cookman provides an unforgettable account of the ill-fated Franklin expedition, vividly reconstructing the lives of those touched by the voyage and its disaster. But, more importantly, he suggests a human culprit and presents a terrifying new explanation for what triggered the deaths of Franklin and all 128 of his men. This is a remarkable and shocking historical account of true-life suspense and intrigue.

The Tragic Fate of Sir John Franklin’s Lost Polar Expedition

What turned the greatest Arctic expedition of the nineteenth century into the worst Arctic tragedy in history? Ice Blink (the name sailors gave the haunting mirages formed by reflections off pack ice) probes one of the most enduring mysteries in the annals of exploration–the baffling disappearance of the largest, best-equipped expedition of its day. Led by veteran Arctic explorer Sir John Franklin, two ships and 129 handpicked officers and men sailed from Greenland on July 12, 1845, seeking a navigable shortcut to link the Atlantic and Pacific. It was the most technologically advanced mission of the nineteenth century–the Apollo program of its day. The ships were revolutionary: iron-plated, locomotive-powered, and steam-heated. They were equipped with desalinators, canned food–a recent innovation–the world’s first cameras, and other equally sophisticated gear. On July 26, Franklin’s ships were spotted by two whaling ships in Baffin Bay. They were never seen again.

Over the next fourteen years, more than fifty expeditions scoured the Arctic in search of Franklin and his men. In 1859, on desolate King William Island in the heart of the Arctic archipelago, searchers found evidence of catastrophe: a mountain of abandoned equipment, two skeletons, and a chilling message. Signed by the expedition’s second-in-command, it reported that Franklin’s ships, trapped in monstrous ice for nearly two years, had been deserted in April 1848. A total of twenty-four officers and men, including Franklin, were already dead, virtually all of them in the ten months before the vessels were abandoned. The 105 survivors had embarked on a desperate 900-mile march inland in an attempt to reach safety. Maddeningly, the message gave no clue as to what had caused the deaths and prompted the expedition to desert its still-sound ships and take its chances on the ice. In the years that followed, the skeletal remains of twenty or more Franklin crewmen were found scattered along their line of march, with gruesome evidence that they had resorted to wholesale cannibalism in order to survive. The rest of the party had vanished in the Arctic.

Whatever–or, more intriguingly, who-ever–was responsible for the Franklin tragedy will always be open to debate. In Ice Blink, Scott Cookman provides an unforgettable account of the ill-fated expedition, vividly reconstructing the lives and events of a voyage that began with the certainty of success and led instead into oblivion. Drawing upon original research, he also suggests a human culprit and reveals a terrifying new explanation for what triggered the expedition’s doom.

Ice Blink is a gripping adventure tale of an "infallible" voyage that failed monumetally, illustrating how mankind’s technology is mocked by Nature’s menace–and showing the best and worst in men.

Two of the most advanced ships of the time.
129 handpicked men.
A commander who had survived three previous Arctic trips.
Lost without a trace.
What happened?

For a century and a half, the question of what happened to the Franklin Expedition–the worst disaster in the history of polar exploration–has remained a puzzle. Now, based on original research in British Admiralty records, author Scott Cookman re-creates the full story of the ill-fated expedition and reveals a frightening new explanation for one of the most enduring mysteries in the annals of exploration.

Praise for Scott Cookman’sIceblink

"Ice Blink is a gripping tale of adventure overlaid with tragedy. Readers will come away from it with a fresh understanding–and a deep compassion–for the men of Sir John Franklin’s ill-fated polar expedition."–Nathan Miller, author of War at Sea: A Naval History of World War II

SCOTT COOKMAN is a nonfiction writer whose articles have appeared in such magazines as Field & Stream, Army, and America's Civil War. His "Man and Mission" videos, chronicling America's Mercury 7 astronauts, are the main attraction at the U.S. Astronaut Hall of Fame at Cape Canaveral. He lives in Atlanta, Georgia.

Excerpt from Ice Blink: The Tragic Fate of Sir John Franklin's Lost Polar Expedition by Scott Cookman

Chapter One: The Epitaphs

By Admiralty Order, 18 January 1854: It is directed that if they are not heard of previous to 31 March 1854, the Officers & Ships companies are to be removed from the Navy List & are to be considered as having died in the service. Wages are to be paid to their Relatives to that date; as of 1 April 1854, all books and papers are to be dispensed with.

-Admiralty Order No. 263

The only thing Sir John Franklin left behind were two faded ship's muster books. He sent them back from Greenland on July 12, 1845, just before his entire expedition-the largest, best-equipped England had ever sent in search of the Northwest Passage-disappeared in the Arctic.

By Admiralty regulation, the muster listed "the Names of all Persons forming the complement of the ships, with particulars." By twist of fate, this accounting proved the epitaph of Franklin and every man aboard.

William Orren's was typical. The paymaster simply listed him AB, or able-bodied seaman, aboard Franklin's flagship HMS Erebus. He was thirty-four that summer. He gave his birthplace as Chatham, Kent, near the mouth of the River Thames. He signed on with the expedition and appeared for duty the same day-March 19, 1845-exactly two months before it sailed.

Orren was either eager to get back to sea or, more likely, to collect the higher pay the Royal Navy offered for "Discovery Service." His previous posting had been the Woolwich dockyards, where skeleton crews manned a mothball fleet of ships laid up "in ordinary," or out of service. He'd been in the navy for fifteen years. His "first entry" was recorded at age nineteen, when he signed aboard the HMS Swan. He must've been a rather dull-witted fellow or happy being a simple jack tar, because in all those years he never advanced a grade in rank.

The muster book shows 16 shillings (worth about U.S. $55 in 1998 values) deducted from his pay for tobacco, slop (heavy) clothing, and a horsehair mattress. This wasn't much; an experienced sailor, his seabag must have been ready. Offsetting the deductions was two months' advance pay-l0 pounds and 4 shillings (about U.S. $688 today). At a time when a common laborer made 18 pounds a year ($1,210 U.S.), this was quite a windfall.

The paymaster counted the coins out to him at pay parade-ten gold sovereigns and four silver shillings-and by tradition placed them on top of his outstretched cap. Knowing he was bound for three years in the Arctic, with no ports of call or chance to spend it, the money was probably gone before he was-most of it gone on gambling, rounds of gin (a penny a glass), and prostitutes (sixpence for a "knee trembler" in an alley) before sailing.

Nothing more was ever heard of Able-Bodied Seaman Orren, or of Sir Franklin himself for that matter. Their names-and 127 others-were checked off in the muster books in 1854. On each page, an Admiralty clerk repeatedly made the same notation: "See Memo in Red Ink on Muster Table." There the clerk inked a single sentence:

"Officers & Ships Co. are to be considered as having died in the service and their Wages are to be paid to their Relatives to 31 March 1854."

Thus the Admiralty closed the book on the Franklin Expedition-the greatest disaster in the history of polar exploration and one that rocked Victorian England to its core. Franklin and the rest-129 hand-picked officers and men-were written off with no more explanation. Indeed the Royal Navy, stunned by the dimensions of the catastrophe, had no explanation to offer. Its most advanced, expensive, and sophisticated technology had inexplicably failed; its finest, most qualified personnel had inexplicably failed. It was as if Apollo 11, confidently embarked for mankind's first lunar landing, had disappeared on the dark side of the moon.

The shock was devastating, the failure to find a reason for it humiliating. The navy simply closed ranks and officially, bureaucratically, put an end to the whole affair.

For the families of the men who perished, the "Wages to be paid to their Relatives" were little comfort. The men had been missing for nine years before the Admiralty reckoned them dead, during which their loved ones had been living on nothing but hope. As the clerk forcefully underlined, they would be compensated no longer.

The cause of the disaster was never determined.

The Franklin Expedition remains one of the most enduring mysteries in the annals of exploration. Something-or someone-turned the greatest Arctic expedition of its time into the greatest Arctic tragedy of the age.

What, or more intriguingly, who was responsible will always be open to debate. But an answer to the expedition's fate lies, riddlelike, in its story. --This text refers to the Paperback edition.