#and a long forgotten lonely cairn of stones

[handfuloftime]

James Clark Ross to Edward Sabine, 11 August 1845:

I have letters from Crozier he says he has forwarded abstracts of Dip to you - His last is dated 13 July Whale Islands having cleared the Transport and dispatched her - He does not give very encouraging accounts of the season - but says the Whalers are realizing a rich harvest in Lat 73° on the Greenland coast

[greatlakes-gothic]

i'm in my northwest passage era

(elusive and mysterious, cause of death to many)

[thiefbird]

In a late celebration of Fitzbones Day, have the lyrics to the arrangement of The Northwest Passage I'm gonna record this weekend!

All credit to Stan Rogers for the song, this is just a little act of love for the archaeologists, historians, and countless other professionals who work on the Terror, Erebus, and walkout sites! I've left the first chorus and verse entirely unaltered, my work follows <3

Ah, for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage To find the hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea Tracing one warm line through a land so wide and savage And make a Northwest Passage to the sea Westward from the Davis Strait 'tis there 'twas said to lie The sea route to the Orient for which so many died Seeking gold and glory, leaving weathered, broken bones And a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones Ah, so many times they had tried the Northwest Passage To look for Sir John Franklin frozen in the Arctic Sea Tracing one worn line through a land by cold so ravaged Til they found a Northwest Passage through the sea Betrayed by their country, eating rotten food of lead Franklin's men left frozen ships, took to the land instead They began the walk out south to where Backs Fish River wells Six hundred miles not crossed ere each man fell Oh, time after time they have searched the Northwest Passage To find the men of Franklin lost before the Beaufort Sea Marked out line by line through a land so often scavenged To learn about the lives that once had been James Fitzjames fell early, sharing in his men's cold fates Not far from his own ship lost on King William Island's straits He laid for years unburied, knife marks cutting to the bone As all his men died slowly far from home Ah, again in time they did search the Northwest Passage Where Erebus and Terror sank far from the Beaufort Sea Listening this time to the long ignoréd message Of those who'd seen them sink into the sea Aglooka led men southward in hopes they could be found By Netsilik or trappers steady heading homeward bound He and many others lie waiting to be named One final pointless frozen English shame Till the end of time they might sail the Northwest Passage Hand in hand with Franklin enduring on the Arctic Sea Walk their endless line through a land that gently ravaged Their eternal southern passage from the sea Ah, one final time I will take the Northwest Passage And think on nameless men still reaching for the Beaufort Sea Trace their ghostly lines through a land we've left so damaged One mourning quiet passage to the sea

Also shout-out to @onefellsloop for the extremely funny suggestion to have the JFJ verse end

He laid for years thereafter, in his snowy resting place / Some hella awkward bite marks on his face…’

and making me snort water out my nose and almost onto a guitar

[andrew-rannells-mustache]

long-forgotten, lonely cairn of stones | The Terror x Stan Rogers - my playlist for @terrortracks Day 2: single artist or band

Some songs by Stan Rogers that remind me of the Terror, track list/key lyrics + honorable mentions below the cut :-)

1. Northwest Passage

“seeking gold and glory,

leaving weathered, broken bones

and a long-forgotten, lonely cairn of stones”

2. Take it From Day to Day

“no stranger, I, to the touch of steel

or the honest fear any man can feel

but I long for dust under my heels

and a pocket full of pay”

3. Make and Break Harbour

“in make and break harbour

the boats are so few

too many are pulled up and rotten

most houses stand empty

old nets hung to dry,

are blown away, lost, and forgotten”

4. Giant

“the wind’s in the north,

there be new moon tonight

but we have no circle to dance in it’s sight

so light a torch, bring the bottle,

and build the fire bright

the giant will rise with the moon”

5. The Puddler’s Tale

“there is a sign beside the gate

‘eleven days since a man lay dying’

now every shift brings fear and hate

and shaken men in terror crying”

6. Maid on the Shore

“there is a young maiden, she lives all alone

she lives all alone on the shore-o

there’s nothing she can find

to comfort her mind

but to roam all alone on the shore shore shore

but to roam all alone on the shore”

7. Half of a Heart

“that one behind you, on the padded velvet throne

don’t turn around! you’ve seen that kind before

wolves hang around here

and they hunt the woods alone

waiting for hearts

to wander through the door”

8. The Last Watch

“they brought me here to watch her in the boneyard

just two old wrecks to spend the night alone

it’s dark inside this evil place

clouds on the moon hide her disgrace

this whiskey hides my own”

Honorable Mentions

Canol Road - This song gives me such Hickey vibes (probably becuase it’s about a guy running away after murdering someone lol) but it ultimately didn’t fit The Vibes so! Snip snip!

The Jeannie C. - I like the refrain of “I will go to sea no more” because it fits Crozier but I think The Last Watch fits him better + it calls back to his “this ship knows everything about me” line so that won out (also just to clarify, the “her” mentioned in The Last Watch’s lyrics is a ship, not an actual woman lol)

White Squall - I love this song and some of the lyrics fit but sadly it just wasn’t Terror-y enough to get a spot, what can you do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

*(Also if anyone reading this wants to check out Stan Rogers’ stuff but isn’t a fan of slower songs/ballads (which is like. 90% of this playlist) I suggest Acadian Saturday Night or Flowers of Bermuda, they’re two of my favorites! :-) )

[acheronist]

Starvation Cove by Ted Johnson

Ah, for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage

To find the hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea;

Tracing one warm line through a land so wild and savage

And make a Northwest Passage to the sea.

Westward from the Davis Strait ’tis there ’twas said to lie

The sea route to the Orient for which so many died;

Seeking gold and glory, leaving weathered, broken bones

And a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones.

First of all in love + delighted by the idea of getting poetry recs thru asks this fucking rocks

Second of all, this is …. interesting….. 🧐 most of the poetry i’ve read about the franklin expedition always has weird overtones of like…..british imperialism was fine 💔 they didn’t do anything wrong and suffered so much 💔 which i think is a bit insane actually. Because that’s a very crucial point of why they suffered in the first place….. like they really didn’t need to do all that for the sake of the imperialism and colonization…. It leaves a bad aftertaste in my mouth anyways

wanted to check out this ted johnson fellow tho for context of who was writing this one?

& FUCCCKKK i just got so distracted from the poetry analysis i’m so jealous of this guy actually

[arcanigenum]

Westward from the Davis Strait, tis there 'twas said to lie The sea route to the Orient, for which so many died Seeking gold and glory, leaving weathered, broken bones And a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones

[solittles]

if someone had told me two months ago that a song about the northway passage and its sentence "and a long forgotten, lonely cairn of stones" will make me burst into tears in the future, i'd ask that same person to admit me to a mental hospital because future me is clearly sick .

anyway this song makes me cry lmao thanks amc the terror

[a-krogan-skald-and-bearsark]

Men who want to die in the Polar Night should instead head for the Northwest Passage. It's westward from the Davis Strait, and it is tradition to leave weathered broken bones, and a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones.

girls go to college to get more knowledge. men go to svalbard to die in the polar night.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dungeon: King Ternshal’s Cairn 

The crash of waves, the cry of gulls, the lure of secrets held beneath ancient stones. 

Setup: There’s just something about a crumbling ruin that calls to those with an adventurous spirit, something ineffable that speaks to our inherent curiosity and draws us into the dark. Generations of brave souls have taken up the torch and explored such foreboding edifices, for no other reason than they were there to be explored. 

The Cairn is one such place, a lonely heap of rubble on a desperate spit of land that was once the mighty fortress of a terrible raider king. As the stories go, King Ternshal claimed that his fleet was so mighty it gave him dominion over the sea itself, which rightly angered the local deity of the depths who brought a great wave down to smash the king’s fleet and bury him alive under the stones of his mighty fortress. 

Adventure Hooks: 

Fisherfolk up and down the coast still tell of Ternshal’s folly, especially on stormy nights when they mutter that the old king must be cursing in his grave, once again invoking the seagod’s ire. The party might hear of such tales while waylayid on such a night in a cozy seaside tavern, enjoying the yarns of travelers and old sailors while they warm themselves by the fire. The tale will likely spin out of control, while folks add in stories about the vaults of treasure buried along with the plunderer king, or the curse of drowning that’s said to follow anyone who disturbs the ruins. 

While exploring the upper reaches of the Cairn, the party is ambushed by the wight of a mad treasure hunter wielding the raider king’s ax and jealously guarding the secrets of the ancient fortress. For its part, the ax is quite bored of crumbling chambers and damp ruins, and decides to side with the party during the ensuing fight. Now in possession of an easily distracted magical weapon, the party must find a way to keep their new acquisition occupied lest it go stir up trouble for them. 

There’s said to be a hermit who lives in the caste’s ruins, a holywoman possessed of uncanny insights and a mouthpiece for the gods. Some claim that she’s the ghost of Ternshal’s queen, but when the party encounter her, they’ll discover that she’s quite alive, if addled in the way that hermits often are. Thinking that she lives in a grand palace, the dwarven woman will offer the party a lunatic’s hospitality, interspersed with flashes of divine providence and  precognition. 

Challenges & Complications: 

The echoes of the sea-god’s wrath pervade the cliffs surrounding the Cairn, drawing in storms and bone crushing waves to harry any form of exploration. A party could expect to cross a thin land bridge under driving rain, escape lower chambers as they flood in sequence with the tides, or have to defend against attackers while maneuvering over rainslick battlements. 

Though her name is long forgotten, the hermit of the cairn was once a powerful wizard who took upon herself the burden of guarding a dangerous artifact: the mummified remains of a mage consumed by parasitic nightmares. Warry of the corpse’s psychic contagion, and fearful that destroying it would unleash the nightmares upon the world, the hermit hoped to use the isolated ruins as an arcane midden, preventing its exposure to waking minds while sure that her own psychic defences would hold.  They didn’t, and now centuries on the remnants of her learned life are scattered around the levels of Ternshal’s cairn, just waiting for the party to stumble into them. 

[handfuloftime]

Henry Yule, 2nd master on Erebus during the Antarctic expedition, writing to Joseph Dalton Hooker on May 2nd, 1845:

Little the 1st of the Terror is a very nice gentlemanly fellow, he was a messmate of mine for three years in the Dublin, he asked me all about Crozier, I told him just what I thought of him, that he was not particularly gentlemanly in his manners to his officers, passionate and at times very unguarded in his language. Do you think I said too much ill of him, Little did not much like my description of him. I told Little precisely what I thought for he is quite a gentleman and one whom I have a very great regard for, do you not think I did right because knowing his Captain’s character he will always be on his guard.

[handfuloftime]

M.J. Ross���s Polar Pioneers has the full letter:

My Dear Frank,

Altho’ I can entertain only very feeble hope of this reaching you I cannot let the Plover leave England without conveying a few lines from your old friend and messmate in the assurance of that continued regard and friendship which has been the source of so much happiness to us both. The Plover will convey letters also from your family and Moore will afford you any information relative to public affairs, so that I can have little to say beyond that which relates to myself. We are settled very quietly in the country and it will be a great happiness to us to see you again at our fireside. If we don’t hear of you having passed the Behring Strait & being on your way home before the end of the month, the Admiralty have determined to send two ships after you by Lancaster Sound and the command of the Expedition is to be in my hands & with Old Bird as my second I feel satisfied that we shall not be found wanting, altho’ I most sincerely trust there will be no occasion for our services. By the time this reaches you (if at all) we shall be at the East end of the Passage pushing our researches in all directions under the apprehension that some calamity may have befallen one of the ships or that they may both be enclosed in some harbour from which they cannot be extricated.

The Admiralty have behaved throughout with admirable liberality and judgement & I am sure will leave nothing undone that ought to be done. If we do not meet on our former ground of exertion how happy will be our meeting when we return to Old England, which I confidently hope may be the case before the end of the present year.

Anne is writing a note to accompany this and with the assurance of our united warm regards believe me to remain your attached friend & old messmate.

Jas. C. Ross

The feeeels

[rustandsky]

Leaving weathered, broken bones

And a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones

[annecoulmanross]

For the @theterrorbingo​ square “I serve at your command” – a song based heavily on “Northwest Passage” by Stan Rogers. Inspired by the Franklin Rescue Expeditions and those who searched for the remains of Franklin’s crew in the years 1847-1859, this adaptation is called “For Just One Man.”

(Forgive the scrappy voice recording, I don’t own a real microphone, and I haven’t sung in a while.)

1848 – Sir James Clark Ross, on board Enterprise

Ah, for just one man I would seek the Northwest Passage: To find my dear friend Crozier reaching hopeful out to me Tracing one warm line through the ice we’d learned to challenge When together we had sailed the Arctic seas.

In our bright and merry youthful days we’d seen these seas before And in my heart I’d wondered if we’d never see them more When my Ann told me to stay behind, we watched him sail away That hardiest explorer, Francis left that fateful day.

1849 – Dr. Robert Goodsir, on board Advice

Ah, for just one man I would seek the Northwest Passage: To find my brother Harry reaching ‘cross the sea to me Tracing one warm line through the waves than ‘neath us vanish Where he sought to know the answers of the deep.

And through the night we’ve sailed thus far to an unfamiliar world I think on Rae and Richardson and wonder what they’ve heard They say that men yet live out here but I can’t imagine how In all this ice, I see nothing living now

1850 – Sir John Ross, on board Felix

Ah, for just one man I would seek the Northwest Passage: To find the hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea Tracing one warm line through a land so wide and savage I’m to bring the Lady’s husband back with me.

How then am I so different from the first men through this way? And now amongst the ice, like them, I’ve wandered all astray. I came to find a captain, at the Lady Franklin’s call Now I’m not sure I’ll make it back at all.

1857 – Sir Francis Leopold McClintock, on board Fox

Ah, those poor lost souls who had sought the Northwest Passage We have found the hands of sailors reaching out in silent grief Tracing all their lives through a land they could not manage When all the winter’s ice consumed the sea.

Upon the bare King William’s Land, ’tis there ’tis said to lie The tombs of those brave officers and many men who died; Seeking gold and glory, leaving weathered, broken bones And a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones.

+

Ah, for one last time we will face the Northwest Passage To find the hand of England reaching out in reckless greed; We trace one long line through a tale so sad and savage For those who sought the Passage to the sea.

[ana-landen-rdr2]

Seeking gold and glory,

Leaving weathered, broken bones

And a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones

[hungry-hobbits]

∞∞∞

;3c

Northwest Passage - Stan Rogers

Seeking gold and glory, leaving weathered, broken bonesAnd a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones.

Things We Lost In The Fire - Bastille

The future's in our hands and we willNever be the same again

Anna Sun - WALK THE MOON

We're gonna rattle this ghost townThis house is falling apart

[wishiwasntstillhere]

bitterburn: awful work

i’m writing an atla bitterblue!au, called bitterburn. this chapter is “awful work.” basic premise: ba sing se never falls, ozai is semi-banished and drags his family out to sea, the southern water tribe flees north to escape genocide and katara gets kidnapped along the way, so sokka goes after her. this part is set a little after sokka frees her, after they’ve escaped and found shelter in hama’s home for some time.

CW: death, funeral

...

Sokka wakes up with a start. He always does, these days. The first thing he does is check for Katara. She’s there in the other bed, her back turned. She’s there, and his boomerang is in his hand, and they are safe in Hama’s home.

He breathes out.

Sunlight streams through the window––he gawks. It’s almost noon.

“Hey Katara, wake up.” He nudges her. “It’s almost midday.”

She rolls over slowly and opens her eyes. “Midday? That’s awfully late.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised Hama didn’t come wake us up. Think she decided to give us a break or something?” He doubts it, but the corner of his mouth quirks anyway.

Katara sits up, movements sluggish. “I hope she’s alright,” she says. But she doesn’t move more than that, despite how she looks at the door. Her eyes aren’t right.

Alarm bell, is that you?

“You’re awfully tired,” he remarks, in an offhand kind of way. His eyes are probing. Bags under her eyes, weird bruise on her arm––was that there before? Dong, dong, dong. Warning. Sister in danger. Dong, dong, dong.

“Full moon last night,” she says. “I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”

Rolling out of bed, he gets to his feet. “We should go check on Hama,” says Sokka. He doesn’t bother watching her this time. No point, as long as she’s lying to his face.

“Yeah, okay,” says Katara, quiet.

-

At Hama’s door, Katara stills. Nothing seems wrong, but Sokka finds himself reaching for his boomerang anyway. 

“Katara, what’s wrong?” he asks, trying to be patient.

“Nothing.” He waits.

She doesn’t say anything else.

Nothing, huh?

Teeth gritted, he opens the door. Hama’s in bed, eyes closed in peaceful slumber. 

No, he realizes. Her chest is not rising. His steps stutter to a halt.

“She must’ve died in her sleep,” Katara says. Her voice shakes.

Shock courses through him, stiffening his muscles. “Did- did you know? Is that why you-?”

His sister stumbles back for a moment, eyes wide. “I didn’t- I-” Something in her eyes changes, and she lowers her arms, face downturned. “I knew she had died. I just… didn’t know what to do.”

He swipes at his eyes, furiously. Hama wasn’t Gran-Gran, but she was close. Sokka bites his lip, feeling another swell of hopelessness, another wave of sorrow-fury crash through him. Another guardian down.

But Katara needs him, and Hama needs to be buried. He sucks in a deep breath.

“Okay. Well. We need to…” What do they need to do?

How are they going to live? They can’t depend on Hama, they can’t depend on the inn anymore. He turns away from the body, looks at Katara.

First things first.

“I’m going to dig a hole. Can you-” He wishes he did not have ask this of her. They’ve buried enough family. “Can you prepare her body?”

Mute, she nods.

They get to work.

-

Digging is lonely work. It’s hot work. It’s awful work.

Sokka throws himself into the rhythm of it. The shovel cuts the dirt. Chht. He heaves it away. Thump.

He needs to figure out what they’re going to do next. Chht. What they’re going to do afterward. Thump.

Maybe they can sell the inn, get some coin. Chht. And then where? Thump.

They had planned to go up North, before. Chht. He had hoped Hama would be able to help. Thump.

But it’s not the first time they’ve made the journey by themselves. Chht. They can do it again. Thump.

Someone wanders into his line of sight. Old Man Ding peers at him curiously. Chht. This is sure to be good. Thump.

“Noticed you weren’t here on Market Day. Things alright up in the inn?”

Sokka pauses, wiping his brow. “Our great aunt passed away last night.”

Ding’s brow furrows. “Ah, but she was so young! Oh, last night was the full moon––she didn’t wander off, did she?”

One of Sokka’s brain gears does a funny little creeeeak.

The full moon…

“No, sir,” he says, looking at the shallow hole he has so far.

“Ah,” says Ding, scratching his head awkwardly. “Should’ve known, that’s what all the digging was for.” His face droops into solemnity as he addresses Sokka again. “I’m sorry, young man. Please carry my condolences to your sister. Do you have incense?”

Ah, shoot. “No,” says Sokka, wary. “Or at least, I’m not sure where Hama keeps- kept it. She usually got it out.” He hopes that passes.

“Ah, then you’ll be needing some for the funeral. I’ll see if I can secure any for you, get it back here tonight. Have you no white clothes?”

“No,” says Sokka again. White is for mourning, he knows that much… “We didn’t expect to- We didn’t expect to stay so long, or for her to-”

The old man nods. “Well, that’s just bad luck. Shouldn’t be wearing red, anyhow. Don’t forget to hang some white on your door, let people know. Don’t want any customers coming in while you’ve a body in the house still.”

He fumbles, an artless “Oh right, I forgot- that. Thank you.” Old Man Ding walks away.

In his haste to make sure Hama received the proper rites, he’d forgotten where they were. Would the funeral be suspicious? Would their departure be reported? What does a Fire Nation funeral even look like, anyway?

He gets back to work. Chht. Thump.

They need to bury Hama. And then sell the inn, and then leave. As quick as possible. It’ll be a real shame if they can’t get a good price for the inn, but Sokka feels a large sense of urgency in their departure. 

Chht. Thump.

A whisper of cloth. He looks up.

“I’m done,” says Katara. She looks wrung out.

He casts a glance down at the hole. “I’m almost there.” He feels the hours piled on him in dirt and sweat and longs for a bath. “Listen, Old Man Ding came by. He’s going to bring incense later tonight. I don’t know… I don’t know if he’s going to stay to watch, so whatever you want to do before then, Water Tribe stuff... probably- try and do it before.”

“Oh,” she says, but it’s like there’s not enough air in the word. He doesn’t need to look up to know there are tears in her eyes again. Yeah.

He wishes they were allowed to keep just one thing.

Katara has hung the white by the time Ding comes back, and he hands them the incense. Sokka looks at it blankly for a moment, trying to fathom how this is supposed to go, and doesn’t even grab it. In the end it’s Katara that moves, bowing with the flame in her hands and thanking him hoarsely. 

Luck, ironically, is on their side for once. Ding bows back, and leaves them to the burial.

They wrapped her in a sheet, the closest thing they had to the skins and furs she would have been wrapped in at the Pole. Together, they lower her into the shallow hole at the base of the tree.

There are words meant to fill the space, here. But Sokka is too young to have learned all the chief’s duties. All the funerals he’s attended were for kin.

“She was… the last of the Southern Waterbenders,” says Katara.

“May her next life be peaceful,” he prays. 

Sokka casts the first mound of dirt, then Katara.

It’s silent work, filling the grave again. Easier than before, and harder. When it’s done there’s nothing left to show but a dark, uneven patch of earth.

Katara lays Hama’s comb at the head of the grave. “I know we can’t leave it, but…”

Sokka nods. Earlier he had amassed a pile of stones, so they take each one and lay them down over and around the come. A tiny cairn for a silent burial.

They’re not sure exactly what to do about the incense. They settle for lighting the incense and letting it smoke from a small pot in front of the cairn, like what they’ve seen in passing at shrines. The smoke has a heavy smell to it.

On the short walk back to the inn, Sokka puts his arm around his sister. She shudders, sniffles, and breaks away to make them dinner. He gives her her space.

The night is long. 

He listens to his sister weep, wide awake. He listens to the house creak, the wind whistling.

Moonlight brushes their window screen. It’s waning. Does she feel it? Had Hama felt it as strongly as his sister seemed to?

Last night was the full moon––she didn’t wander off, did she?

Full moon last night. I didn’t sleep well.

She must’ve died in her sleep.

He wonders.