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My dear sisters,
We have arrived here safely in the Falklands after a cruise which found us undergoing severe trials and surreal encounters. Mary I hope you are much recovered from your illness, and Elizabeth that you watch over Mary and preserve her. To cheer you both, I shall write you of the most curious event which took place during the first few months of this year 1842.
As I have told you I keep a journal which will be the property of the Admiralty upon returning to England, recording mainly the movement of the ships and the ice, the weather, sightings of animals and the capture of specimens, it is a most dull book, and I did not record in its pages any of what I am about to recount to you. This letter, being a private document, shall not fall under the eyes of the Admiralty and it is of the utmost importance that it does not. I know that Mary can keep a secret well so you must induce Elizabeth to follow your lead & remain safely within my confidence.
The new year begun with the crew exhausted from three days of festivities while locked in the Pack – the snow sculpture of Venus which was shared pride of me and my good friend Terror’s second master Davis wore draped over her bosom Captain Ross’s frock, having been tossed there at the conclusion of the Quadrille.
There were many weeks left in the navigable season ahead & we knew Capt Ross meant to push South once more, but I was already tired of the barrenness of the Pack, and the dearth of opportunities to examine botanical specimens. If not for Ross’s great kindness to me on this expedition I would be in a distressing position with little to do and few friends aboard with whom I can discuss my work.
By the 4th Jan, ice lanes were not yet navigable by ship, but a procession of Penguins emerged onto our floe and were entertaining themselves by dancing in our cut-out ballroom, amongst the debris of our late celebration. These Penguins were not the familiar orange-breasted King species but a smaller type we had not yet met, black-headed with beady eyes. In the papers of D’Urville which I have studied intensely after acquiring them at Hobart they were described & he named them Adélie after his wife. Some wife he must have, if these birds’ piercing stare and intensely spirited nature recalled her to him.
Ross and Crozier walked amongst them while smoking their pipe, like kings visiting their loyal subjects. Once they had gone, a great Skua swooped down and menaced the party of Penguins. I was eager to watch Nature take its course, but there was to be no death. The predator was fended off by a single Penguin! it flapped and cried at the would-be attacker, intimidating it into retreat. They are a feisty race indeed and induce much affection, reminding one sometimes of a combative A.B. or a friendly foul-mouthed Marine. Abernethy shot a few & one seal as well that day.
Despite our Captain and crew’s best efforts, after three days tacking and wearing, strong southerly winds found us at the same latitude we were at on Christmas day. We hove to and secured to a large floe upon which I was surprised to see a single Adélie Penguin. Displaying abnormal behavior it was very still, alone, most contemplative.
Officers and men of both ships were out taking their constitutionals on the ice. Dr. McCormick had his fowling-piece on his shoulder as always. He was very near to shooting the solitary lad, but Captain Crozier shouted “Avast that!” and prevented the carnage. The penguin was saved, though I wondered what sort of life it must live, seemingly abandoned by its companions.
I observed, from the deck of Erebus, the penguin gratefully following Crozier in its delightful waddle all the way back to Terror. I could not see or hear what occurred there but later heard from Davis that the men, eager always for amusement, had begged it be brought aboard as a pet, and Crozier after such sincere exhortation had finally given in.
McCormick was in a black mood all day, having been robbed of his chance to obtain an Adélie. I told him he could request one of Abernethy’s specimens or merely wait a few days before more appeared, as surely they would, but the soundness of this advice did nothing to improve his scowl.
Later that week, the ships were being warped forward yard by yard in the ice, which refused to give us up. Capt Ross brought me with him to visit Terror where I had the chance to greet my good friend the Opossum which had been brought from Sydney. A sleepy, sweet thing, the calmest of creatures, it was being greatly antagonized by the Adélie, which I believe as its nature must always have an enemy to go up against. This rivalry amused Capt Crozier greatly. Whilst there I made a sketch of the fellow which I have included below for to assist in your imaginings. He looked quite at home on deck, the Polar summer sun reflecting off his glossy feathers.
At the end of January we were terrorized with the most vicious weather. The heavy Antarctic swell, a driving gale, and ice all around, attacking the ships with villanous force. The rudders of both Erebus and Terror were damaged heavily, and it took the crew the concerted effort of days to craft and ship new ones, during which time we were wholly vulnerable and unable to navigate.
As soon as was prudent, a boat set off from Terror, and Crozier arrived to consult with Ross. Also arrived with him was Sgt. Cunningham, sent on an urgent mission to fetch me, for the Penguin had been injured and needed medical attention that neither Robertson nor Lyall felt confident they could give. It appeared that during the blow the penguin had been striding about confidently on deck as if to take part in the tacking and reefing, & been severely wounded by a splinter when one of our boats was stove suddenly by a berg.
I protested that I was not a veterinarian, but Sgt. Cunningham in his coarse way said that “one was good as t’other” and that surely I would not suffer McCormick to go in my place? I hurriedly agreed to go, not desiring McCormick anywhere near the Bird. In the gig on the way over to Terror Cunningham recounted to me how in the days preceding the storm the Adélie had grown more attached to Capt Crozier than ever, following him about on deck and sleeping in his cabin.
“The officers ‘ave been after Crozier to give the lad a name all week, see,” Cunningham said. “Not satisfied with ‘You there, penguin!’ when giving orders it seems. And all the time the Captain’s own steward’s peeved at the bird trying to bring Crozier his trousers, sharpen his quill-pen with his beak, that sort of thing.”
(Crozier’s steward being the incompent Taylor, whom Davis has complained to me much of & told me of how Crozier being the independent, stubborn, yet kind man he is had long taken to doing his own dressing rather than punish or dismiss Taylor, who is no villain but merely a dullard.)
“So Taylor, speaking out of turn if I do say so myself, sez to the Captain, ‘Why do you let him carry on as if he is your servant, sir?’ And then the Captain sez to Taylor, ‘Ah, because he enjoys it, but you needn’t worry about him taking your job, son.’ And then McMurdo, all confused-like, asks ‘Who’s Jopson?’ and Moubray cried ‘He’s not his Job-son, he’s your Job-son, sir!’ and then McMurdo sez, ‘Ah, you’ve named him Jopson, then, Captain?’ and Taylor standin’ there the whole time with a red face like a tomato, ‘twere the funniest thing I ever seen! And the bird waddling about the whole time, squawking away! D’you get it, sir? Your-job-son, Job-son, Jopson?” The Marine laughed his head off at this, and then resumed a sober countenance when he considered that the poor fellow might not ever waddle again, ere I was not able to heal him sufficiently.
I hope you will be proud of me to know that I was, in fact, able to effect a cure, & soon had the Penguin’s leg stitched and bound with confidence that it would heal within weeks.
“This is what you can expect, if you attempt to rise above your station, Mr. Jopson,” I told him sternly, securing the bandage. “Keep below-decks in poor weather. You have no hands to haul lines with, nor mouth to shout warnings.” His glare seemed somewhat accusatory but I daresay he could not deny the truth of my words.
He was advised not to swim again until he was healed, and thus his usual program of diving off the Gunwale into his frigid native waters for fish would be interrupted. I received Davis’s confidence that the men would take it upon themselves to supplement Jopson’s diet in the meantime through any means they could. Returning back to Erebus, McCormick inquired eagerly after the health of the Penguin, and to his great disappointment I told him that I was confident the lad would fully recover.
Sailing through the pack progressed in its usual desultory manner, full of fits and starts and heaving-to. The season was much worse than our last & it did not seem like we would beat our record of Furthest South nor come any closer to the Magnetic Pole. Contrary to my prior prediction we never saw any more Adélies, and though McCormick took plenty of King Penguins, Skuas, and Petrels, his anger at being denied his Holy Grail specimen grew until it eclipsed all other concerns, especially as it soon transpired one of Abernethy’s had been turned into sea-pie and the other had been improperly preserved & thus was already moldering.
When he was invited over to dine on Terror, I manufactured an excuse to go myself, having a superstitious fear that despite the doctor traveling unarmed, he might contrive a way to bring harm to the innocent Mr. Jopson, who had committed no crime other than being a Bird as yet un-shot & currently limited in his ability to flee.
The pampered lad had been well-provided for by the officers in terms of entertainment: his nest in the Great Cabin had next to it a heap of donated cloth, with which he was engaged busily in a project of folding and sorting. Such an industrious animal I have never met.
During dinner Crozier and Lyall were deep in conversation about algae, and though I longed to join in, this being one of my favourite subjects, I could not allow my attention to slip from McCormick. Soon he excused himself & as I disbelieved extremely his claim that he required the head I soon followed after.
From the door of the Great Cabin, I watched unobserved as McCormick produced from his pocket a glass phial full of a clear liquid and slowly approached the terrified Penguin. He had spoken offhand to me before about pursuing a project of killing Penguins with Poison rather than bullets or clubs: I knew that I had to stop him. I rushed in like a hero from Scott, shouting “Don’t you dare!” and, shocked, McCormick dropped the phial with a shattering crash.
Soon Crozier was at the door, gazing upon the scene with suspicion, and though the evidence of the surgeon’s treachery was in pieces on the floor, the Captain is a canny sort, and, knowing McCormick’s nature, could surely tell what had almost taken place.
News of the attempted attack soon spread throughout Terror, inducing in the men a hatred of McCormick such as I had never seen. Sailors being superstitious sorts, Jopson had become their good-luck charm. The Doctor, it seems, had not thought to expect deep affection as a barrier in acquiring his Specimen.
He was grimly silent as we returned to Erebus, neither speaking to nor looking at me. Upon arrival he went directly to the Captain. Regrettably in the habit of gossip I take closely after our dear Mother, who surely would not begrudge me the eavesdropping I conducted that evening.
“Will you not allow him his eccentricities, as you allow me mine?” Ross was saying.
“But a penguin as companion? It goes against all reason, sir! And a specimen of such fine condition, which could contribute much to Science if I was only allowed to –”
“Robert,” Ross said sternly, “I am as much of a sportsman as anyone, as you know well, but the bird is not yours to kill.”
“Better it be killed now with a single shot than slowly sicken and die – for what do you think will happen when we take it north, out of its natural range? It will not live to see the Equator, I can promise you that. And do you want the French to be the only ones with the privilege of dissection, when they have already won the prize of naming? Don’t you wish you could have named them Annie-penguins?”
I could perfectly imagine Ross’s fond smile at the mention of his betrothed. “Of course I wish that,” he said. “But we might see more, any day now – I assure you I will pass the word to the men to be on the lookout – and in the meantime, I ask that you refrain from visiting Terror.”
“Yes, sir.” There came the sound of a chair being pushed back. After a moment McCormick said, “Sir… do you not worry?” About Crozier, was the unspoken conclusion.
“Frank is a disappointed man,” said Ross quietly. “It's only natural he seeks friendship wherever he might find it. His disappointment in Hobart will weigh heavy on him for some time...”
My heart at that moment went out to poor Crozier. I too had experienced disappointment in Hobart-town: so wrapped up had I been in my own doomed pursuit of the beautiful Miss Franklin that I had barely comprehended Crozier’s parallel misadventure with Miss Cracroft. And had I not doted over my Rabbits and our grouchy Tomcat for weeks after? Had I not cradled the Opossum in my arms for days on end after leaving New Zealand, contemplating the immortal mystery of the female species?
Davis and I are in the habit of passing letters to each other via any willing party going from ship to ship, so I heard much of Jopson’s adventures in that manner: he had made a nest of ballast-stones in the Great Cabin; he continued to supplant Taylor, going so far as to stand behind Crozier’s chair during meals; he had developed a taste for grog; he was generous in providing fish for the officers’ table; he had reached a détente with the Opossum.
We were well into February by the time I visited again & deemed Jopson sufficiently healed enough to swim. The next day, back on Erebus, I was quietly below working on my botanical drawings at my desk in Ross’s stern cabin as we ran west under all plain sail, when noise from above indicated a commotion up on deck.
“He came right up over the side, sir!” said Abernethy. “God’s wounds, what a creature…!”
I instantly perceived what had occurred. McCormick had been skinning a Skua, his precious fowling-piece leaning up against a crate nearby, when Jopson propelled himself out of the water and onto the Deck, and, casting his piercing gaze about, spotted both McCormick & the unguarded gun. Shewing great deviousness, he had knocked the gun onto a coil of rope, so that it pointed directly at the Doctor, and then gripped the trigger with his beak, prepared to fire.
McCormick was frozen in place, terrified. Spotting me approaching he cried, “Christ preserve me! Joey, do something! Get it away from there!”
“Stand down, Jopson,” I said, with all the authority I could muster.
“It doesn’t understand you, man, it’s a D—-d bird! Kick him!”
This angered me more than it ought to have, for in my close connexion with Mr. Jopson I had developed a conviction going against all logical sense that he could understand me & quite well in fact. “Jopson, you may not use the gun against the Doctor. It is his property, and you must respect another man’s property. But should you wish to approach him bare-handed, that is your prerogative.”
This was enough for the Penguin, dropping the gun, he flew forward in a rage and began to batter McCormick with his flippers and beak. All hands had given up work and were watching the exhibition with surpassing interest, even the First Lieutenant, who said to me in a wry undertone, “It is high time that a Bird avenges himself on the Bird-Killer, and brings honour to my family name.”
At last McCormick admitted defeat, crying out, and the Penguin, appearing satisfied, gave one last peck before waddling over to the side and launching himself back into the water, speeding back towards Terror and home.
I worried I would be disciplined by Ross for my role in the incident, but it appeared McCormick was far too embarrassed by what had occurred to make anything resembling a report to the Captain. Thus ignobly ended the Doctor’s quest for an Adélie.
Late in February we reached a new Furthest South, six miles further than last year, fine sailing, surrounded by those pretty circles of Pancake-Ice which speckled the smooth, dark-blue Southern swell. As Terror tacked in the spot we had sounded, across the water I heard the men cheer, joined in by Jopson’s unmistakable squawk.
I will forbear from describing in too great detail the calamity that befell us on 13th March, save that it was the moment over the last three years when I believed myself closest to death, and there is likely no one on board either ship who would not say the same. It was only Divine Will which saw us through, delivering the Captains the full use of their masterful powers of navigation and leadership. And it was only God’s hand which can be seen in the event which transpired next. For you see, my tale is not only one of an unusual pet.
Terror signaled for me to come across, immediately after it was established we had been miraculously preserved. I hoped it did not mean one or both of their surgeons were seriously injured.
“We found him on deck,” Davis said, frantic when I arrived. Like all of us, he was showing signs of shock. “Was just lying there. No one saw him come up – should've been below - no one saw it happen - the Captain wouldn’t let us touch him, moved him down here himself –” I did not understand at all what he meant.
Then I was taken down to Capt Crozier’s cabin, and saw that in the round nest of stones which had been Jopson’s domain, lay curled a young man. He was naked as a new-born, and had the face of a stranger, but in the sheen of his black hair I recognized, to my shock: the Penguin.
“I swear,” said Crozier, “I had nothing to do with this.” The way he said it, as if positive I had assumed something of the kind, made me wonder if he had perhaps wished upon a falling star.
Getting down on the deck I approached the stranger, and passed some spirits of ammonia from my medicine kit under his nose to awaken him. His eyes flew open: they were the most unearthly pale colour. He tried to struggle upright, but was very weak; he opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead coughed, and out came a tremendous gush of seawater, as well as a variety of small Fish. The poor fellow seemed to be in some pain, & very confused, & quickly Crozier crouched down to hold him up beside me.
“There, there,” said the Captain quietly, stroking the boy’s head. I perceived I was trespassing upon some private moment, & moved away.
In the month between the great collision and our arrival at the Falklands, I spent more time aboard Terror than ever before. Mr. Jopson required a great deal of attention getting used to his new situation and, with little else to do, I found myself enlisted as governess, school-master, steward, & companion to our erstwhile Penguin.
My knowledge of human anatomy, however hurried my education, was greatly useful as I was able to tutor him efficiently in the usage of his hands and limbs. His glee in being at last able to handle silverware & cloth was infectious: he went into ecstasies merely to stopper and unstopper a decanter.
His adjustment was helped greatly that he was greeted with love and affection by nearly all aboard Terror. They applauded him as he took his daily turn about the deck, his stride soon losing every vestige of the old waddle.
Once he could move about with confidence, and dress himself, it was time to teach him to talk. Noises aplenty had already been made: of affirmation, displeasure, confusion, delight. But the first English word that came whole and understandable from his mouth was, happily, “Captain!” upon Crozier’s entrance into the great cabin. I do not think I was mistaken that a tear sprang to the Captain’s eye to hear it. The mutual affection between him and Jopson was if anything increased now that it could be truly mutual, and not just the relation of man to animal.
Some things I was unable to tutor out of him entire. I could not induce him to blink with anything resembling human frequency, or keep regular sleeping-hours – nor could I tame his combative streak. The intelligent Sgt. Cunningham found the solution to the latter: boxing-matches held in the forecastle on calm evenings. Now equipped with fists instead of flippers, but still with a Penguin’s unnatural stamina, Mr. Jopson could go for round after round. One boxing-match per week was sufficient for the boy to be perfectly well-behaved the rest of the time.
I write “boy,” but in appearance he was about my age, and strikingly handsome, though he did not appear to know it. My medical examinations uncovered no abnormalities: if not for remnants of eccentric behavior, one would have no way of knowing he was once possessed of Feathers & Beak.
Being that I could not accompany him at all hours of the day, still having some other responsibilities, and that his company was in much demand, he spent a great deal of time on deck and in the Forecastle. When associating with the sailors, he dropped his H’s & swapped his V’s for F’s with such fluency you would readily believe he was born and raised in the East End (while in the presence of the officers he spoke quite properly). The men taught him all which I knew not of, but which was essential to life at sea, such as repairing clothing, climbing rigging, & singing Sea-Songs.
During the rare hours when Capt Crozier absented himself from duties, he too kept company with Jopson, though I was not privy to those meetings, only to Taylor’s impotent indignance at being prevented from doing his work while they were closeted together. Not that he did much work anyway, now that Jopson had learned how to do laundry. Poor fellow, he was not only sadly idle, but he had been trounced by Jopson in a boxing-match and his black eye was the laughing-stock of his mess.
One day in late March I entered his Cabin (the empty Berth belonging formerly to Lt. Kay) for our daily letters lesson to find him disappeared. A poll of the men soon pointed me to the Maintop.
“Mr. Jopson!” I hailed him with a wave.
“Hullo, Dr. Hooker!” he shouted down at me. “Come up and join me!”
With shouted encouragement from an amused Davis on the Deck below, I managed to summit the Maintop without incident. Jopson was staring out towards the south: distant Bergs, magnified by the tricks of the Polar Horizon. Soon we would be leaving the ice behind. “Do you wish to go back?” I asked. I had, perhaps, been remiss in not asking him more questions – in not inducing some reflexion upon his past form, his past life – but I am far from a Chaplain, and truthfully was fearful that any answers he might give would only prompt more questions of soul & body which I am unprepared to contemplate.
“I don’t,” he said. “I’d like to stay here, sir. On Terror, always.”
He raised his hand up and turned it around, admiring it in the curious, clear Antarctic sun. It was dappled with dark hair; as well-formed as the rest of him, capable of doing what he wished it to.
“But when this voyage ends?”
“Ends, sir?” he asked, tipping his head in a very Penguin-like manner.
“We shall return to England in a year, perhaps two, and the ships will be paid off. What do you suppose you will do then? Surely the men have told you stories of England.”
“Oh, yes. I’m very curious to see it. Are there many fish there, do you know? Well, even if there aren’t, I suppose I’ll like it much better than I liked the ice.”
I recalled the great distance he must have swam & walked to be found where he was, on the day Crozier had saved him from McCormick’s gun – how he had been quite alone – how he had taken so readily to life on the Expedition, as if it was the chance he had been waiting for all his life.
Not all men are happy to be men, and would much rather be something else – a flower, a cat, a stone – or else, be nothing at all. I suppose the same must be true of Penguins.
As we pursued a northwesterly course in early April, nearing the Falklands at last, the Captains discussed what to do about Jopson.
“I’ll enter him on the muster rolls, and backdate it to the commissioning of the voyage,” Crozier said confidently. “But what of a Christian name? He is certainly a Christian now.” This, directed at Moubray, who had been placed in charge of teaching Jopson the Bible.
Moubray said, “We ought to name him after you, Captain. Francis Jopson, that’s got a ring to it, don’t it, sir?”
But Crozier would have none of that. “Certainly not. I was thinking, perhaps – James.”
“Yes?” said Ross.
“No, I meant we could call him James.”
Ross was very amused at this. “And burden him with ‘Jimmy’ as a nickname? Bad enough that I am called by it on occasion. … How about Thomas? For he knows the ice as well as Abernethy – or Tom Blanky!”
A wide grin split Crozier’s face at the mention of someone I took to be an old friend of the two Captains, and it was quickly agreed by all present that Thomas would suit him marvellously. Called into the wardroom, Jopson was informed of his recent christening.
“Oh – thank you, sir,” he said, clearly overwhelmed by the occasion. Handshakes all round – even Taylor gritted his teeth to congratulate him.
As I write this now, we are safely moored in the harbor at Port Louis, a terribly desolate place, bleak and swampy. We had no mail upon arrival from anyone, save a recent Navy List which announced Crozier’s promotion to Post-Captain.
Trained efficiently into Civility, Jopson knew better than to press his whole body to Crozier and squawk in jubilation at hearing this news, as he might have done if still an affectionate Bird. But Crozier must have seen something in his countenance which spoke of a suppressed desire, for he took the initiative to embrace Jopson himself.
We all wonder what our Mr. Thomas Jopson might do when we return to England. His aptitude for cold-water swimming, even as a man, would make him quite the valuable fisherman, but he evinces no desire to do anything but follow Captain Crozier about, picking up after him & pecking him into bed when he goes too long without sleep, &c. Crozier, for his part, does not seem to mind.
Dearest sisters, though this strange tale of mine may be difficult to believe, I hope it has brought you some manner of entertainment, not to mention education. To see how closely related are animals and men – that one, thanks to an act of Providence, might become the other – has given me food for thought for a lifetime. The print proofs of my friend Darwin’s new book, kept close to me always since leaving England, have become worn and ragged with re-reading, so determined am I to perceive in his observations of differentiation and change the intention of the Divine.
I remain
Your most affectionate brother,
Jos. D. Hooker