Part 16 (1/2)
At Secretary Robeson's request, the two surgeons general affixed their conclusions to the report: We, the undersigned, were present by request of the Honorable Secretary of the Navy, at the examination of Dr. Emil Bessel, in regard to the cruise of the Polaris Polaris and the circ.u.mstances connected with the illness and death of Captain Hall. We listened to his testimony with great care and put to him such questions as we deemed necessary. and the circ.u.mstances connected with the illness and death of Captain Hall. We listened to his testimony with great care and put to him such questions as we deemed necessary.
From the circ.u.mstances and symptoms detailed by him, and comparing them with the medical testimony of all the witnesses, we are conclusively of the opinion that Captain Hall died from natural causes, viz., apoplexy; and that the treatment of the case by Dr. Bessel was the best practicable under the circ.u.mstances.
That was it. Bessel, the chosen one, was above reproach. Bud-dington, for all his faults, was a civilian and could not be court-martialed by the navy. Tyson and his complaints were dismissed as the rambings of a malcontent. The poor performance of the crew? Well, they had suffered enough.
The board recommended that no action be taken against any of the members of the expedition. No further investigations ought to be undertaken, they wrote. To the relief of all the bureaucrats, the case was closed.
All the dirt was swept under the rug. But it made a sizable b.u.mp, ore that refused to flatten out of view.
The public's taste for Arctic discovery, for the brave men who risked their lives in that region, and especially for more details of what had happened to the Polaris Polaris remained unsatisfied. Already books about the disaster were in the works. The specter of the doomed s.h.i.+p continued to loom over the whole affair. Instead of being called the United States polar expedition, everyone referred to the exploration as the remained unsatisfied. Already books about the disaster were in the works. The specter of the doomed s.h.i.+p continued to loom over the whole affair. Instead of being called the United States polar expedition, everyone referred to the exploration as the Polaris Polaris expedition. expedition.
Charles Francis Hall was elevated to the status of a martyr. His only known photograph was copied and transposed onto various lithographs. In the first book published about the Polaris, Polaris, Hall's image appears as the frontispiece, sharing a page with a photograph of the saintly Dr. Elisha Kent Kane. Hall's image appears as the frontispiece, sharing a page with a photograph of the saintly Dr. Elisha Kent Kane.
The f rst book to hit the bookstalls tried its best to put a good face on the fiasco. William H. Cunnington appended The Polar The Polar Exploration onto Epes Sargent's onto Epes Sargent's The Wonders of the Arctic World, The Wonders of the Arctic World, published by the Philadelphia Book Company in 1873, just months after the rescue and hearings. published by the Philadelphia Book Company in 1873, just months after the rescue and hearings.
”From Official and Trustworthy Sources,” the subt.i.tle said. But no mention was made of the divisiveness that had rocked the expedition. Little was said of HalPs ranting about poison and nothing about Buddington's attraction to liquor. One example demonstrates the book's tone: It is known to our readers that when news of Captain Hall's death was first received in this country the grief and consternation in the public mind was intensified by rumors that he had been poisoned. As ill reports like ill news travel apace, it was soon in everybody's mouth that malice, engendered by jealousy or by distaste of his rule, had destroyed the daring and enterprising navigator. Secretary Robeson, with his characteristic promptness, determined to sift these vague charges, and fearlessly to bring the foul deed home to its perpetrator, or to prove their falsity and relieve the absent from their taint. He saw that a thorough investigation alone could effect this....
The cover-up had begun.
The authors quoted from the official report: ”We reach the unanimous opinion that the death of Captain Hall resulted naturally, from disease, without fault on the part of any one.” Grandly Sargent and Cunnington followed that with a sweeping paragraph: Thus, the vague rumors, and the more positive charges built on them, were swept away, and the people of the country, while sincerely mourning their eminent fellow American and heartily deploring his death, were relieved from the state of excitement that his supposed murder had naturally induced.
The next book out was not so kind. Arctic Experiences, Containing Capt. George E. Tyson's Wonderful Drift on the Ice-Floe, Arctic Experiences, Containing Capt. George E. Tyson's Wonderful Drift on the Ice-Floe, edited by E. Vale Blake, was published in 1874 by Harper & Brothers in New York. The publisher that had caught the first photographic image of the Tyson party saw the need for a more informative treat ment. edited by E. Vale Blake, was published in 1874 by Harper & Brothers in New York. The publisher that had caught the first photographic image of the Tyson party saw the need for a more informative treat ment.
Relying heavily on George Tyson's journal, the book widely disseminated the navigator's bitter accusations against Budding-ton, Meyer, and Bessel. Unlike Cunnington's work, Blake included testimony from the hearing, notes, and Tyson's journals. On December 22, 1873, two days before testifying, Chaplain Bryan had answered a letter from Blake requesting his thoughts on the number of people who had climbed the mast to look for Tyson's group. Sadly, Bryan answered with candor: ”During the winter I greatly regretted that I did not go up the masthead myself, but I never had an idea that I would have seen them.”
Blake's book fanned the embers of the persistent stories, causing them to burst into flames. The fact that the Geographic Society of Paris awarded the Gold Medal of the Roquette Foundation posthumously to Charles Francis Hall did little to dispel the rumors. Finally the U.S. government moved to quash the whole affair. It comm ssioned Rear Adm. C. H. Davis of the Naval Observatory to write the official version of the event. Published by the Government Printing Office, the Narrative of the North Polar Expedition, U.S. s.h.i.+p Narrative of the North Polar Expedition, U.S. s.h.i.+p Polaris appeared in 1876 and sought to be the definitive work on what had happened. To those alert enough to read the t.i.tle page, the words ”edited under the direction of the Hon. G. M. Robeson, Secretary of the Navy” must have proved troubling. Polaris appeared in 1876 and sought to be the definitive work on what had happened. To those alert enough to read the t.i.tle page, the words ”edited under the direction of the Hon. G. M. Robeson, Secretary of the Navy” must have proved troubling.
Davis's 686-page book, bound with a gilt cover, amounted to a ma.s.sive whitewash. Mesmerizing the reader with day-by-day minutiae, the admiral glosses over the conflicts and shortcomings of the expedition. Testimony, journals, and even the official inquiries are edited to present the most favorable picture. Viewed through Davis's rose-colored gla.s.ses, the Polaris Polaris expedition consisted of happy, singing comrades who had suffered bad luck yet went on in the best possible tradition of the navy. expedition consisted of happy, singing comrades who had suffered bad luck yet went on in the best possible tradition of the navy.
Nothing could have been further from the truth. But the ”official report” achieved its desired goal. The disaster of the Polaris Polaris expedition gradually faded from people's minds. expedition gradually faded from people's minds.
1968.
Nowhere along the coast of Greenland have I seen such a desolate strip of sh.o.r.e as the site of Polaris House and its neighborhood, and the first glance shows that the selection of the site was not a matter of choice, but of the direst necessity.-ROBERT EDWIN PEARY, 1898 Beneath a threatening sky, four men stood beside the pile of dirt and willow-laced stones that marked the grave of Charles Francis Hall. The time was August 1968, three years and three months shy of a century since the coffin of the commander of the Polaris Polaris expedition had been lowered into the frozen ground. Their presence was no mere coincidence. To stand on that desolate strip of rocky scree had taken months of hard work, research, and perseverance. The leader of this tiny group was Charles C. Loomis, professor of English at Dartmouth College and a renowned Arctic scholar with four previous explorations to the frozen North under his belt. His love of photography had led him to the Arctic, prompted by his filming of musk oxen on Alaska's Nunivak Island. Loomis was preparing a biography of Charles Francis Hall under a Smithsonian postdoctoral fellows.h.i.+p. expedition had been lowered into the frozen ground. Their presence was no mere coincidence. To stand on that desolate strip of rocky scree had taken months of hard work, research, and perseverance. The leader of this tiny group was Charles C. Loomis, professor of English at Dartmouth College and a renowned Arctic scholar with four previous explorations to the frozen North under his belt. His love of photography had led him to the Arctic, prompted by his filming of musk oxen on Alaska's Nunivak Island. Loomis was preparing a biography of Charles Francis Hall under a Smithsonian postdoctoral fellows.h.i.+p.
On their arrival the previous morning, a windless day and clear blue sky had greeted the group. The single-engine Otter leaped over the foothills ringing the plain and descended in widening arcs over the ice-free blue waters of Hall Basin. Following the scalloped sh.o.r.eline of Thank G.o.d Harbor, the aircraft touched down on a relatively level site a mile below the wreckage of Emil Bessel's observatory. The large tundra tires bounced and scrunched over the rough shale, and the radial engine sputtered to a halt.
Time and clear flying weather are especially precious to every bush pilot. A storm might loom over the horizon at any moment, flipping the plane or forcing an unwanted stay. Hurriedly the pa.s.sengers unloaded their gear and stepped back. The plane's engine coughed to life, belching a cloud of oily smoke. Revving the engine, rhe pilot, W. W. Phipps, spun the nose into the light wind and took off, trailing a cloud of glacial silt and pebbles. Phipps would return in two weeks, weather permitting. The men were on their own.
As Loomis watched their link to civilization vanish into a silver speck, the utter and terrible isolation of this place struck him. One minute they had been flying b.u.mpily along, encased in a marvel of modern aeronautical engineering, and the next instant the four of them were standing alone on a desolate plain. Stretching as far as their eyes could see was a steely ocean and a brooding umber land that killed humans with total indifference.
Half-dazed, the four men pitched camp and wandered about the plain. They walked to the ruins of BessePs observatory. The four wooden walls built by Chester and Coffin lay shattered and blown down as if ripped apart by a bomb blast. The Arctic winds had flattened the unwanted building, but ice and snow had not destroyed the traces of that fateful party. Instead, the cold had preserved things that would have vanished long ago in warmer climates Wandering about the wreck of the observatory, the four stepped back a century in time. The same bra.s.s nails, ice saw, cast-iron stoves, shards of gla.s.s, and sc.r.a.ps of sailcloth abandoned by the original Polaris Polaris expedition lay at their feet. In their hands they held objects that men long dead had touched. One of Loomis's companions, ex-marine Tom Gignoux, recently back from a tour of duty in Vietnam, uncovered a wooden board on which Sgt. William Cross of the doomed Greely expedition had carved his name before the land killed him. Gignoux recognized the round ice b.a.l.l.s scattered about the ruins for what they wereice grenades, b.a.l.l.s of ice packed with gunpowder, constructed long ago by the crew of the expedition lay at their feet. In their hands they held objects that men long dead had touched. One of Loomis's companions, ex-marine Tom Gignoux, recently back from a tour of duty in Vietnam, uncovered a wooden board on which Sgt. William Cross of the doomed Greely expedition had carved his name before the land killed him. Gignoux recognized the round ice b.a.l.l.s scattered about the ruins for what they wereice grenades, b.a.l.l.s of ice packed with gunpowder, constructed long ago by the crew of the Polaris Polaris in their futile attempt to blast the s.h.i.+p free of the ice. The black powder retained its explosive properties in the cold climate. in their futile attempt to blast the s.h.i.+p free of the ice. The black powder retained its explosive properties in the cold climate.
Upon their arrival, the Arctic looked benign. Overnight its mood changed. Pewter clouds scudded overhead, so low that they appeared touchable. The sea took its cue from the darkened sky and turned leaden.
Unlike the spa.r.s.e numbers of explorers who had pa.s.sed Hall's grave, these modern visitors came to open it. After nearly one hundred years of questions, these men sought answers. During his research for Hall's biography, Loomis was troubled by the hasty judgment by the Navy Department's board of inquiry and its disregard of conflicting testimony. Studying the journals and transcripts gave Loomis no strong feeling that Hall had been murdered. He would later write in his book, Weird and Tragic Sh.o.r.es: Weird and Tragic Sh.o.r.es: My conclusion was, not that Hall certainly had been murdered, not even that he probably had been murdered, but only that murder was at least possible and plausible. The conclusion of the Board of Inquiry that he died of ”natural causes, viz, apoplexy,” also was possible and plausible, but it had been reached hastily and only by ignoring much of the evidence that the Board itself had wheedled out of the witnesses. Secretary Robeson had been under considerable pressure to end the investigation; scandal was in the making.
The unanswered questions prompted Loomis to seek an autopsy.
Reaching this point had not been easy. Flying to the remote site aboard a single-engine Otter, they quickly crossed the straits that had baffled so many before them. But surmounting the miles of red tape that had blocked their travel took months of dealing with the Danish Ministry for Greenland. Putting forth the argument that an autopsy would rightly have been ordered if Hall had died under suspicious circ.u.mstances in modern times, Loomis requested permission to visit the grave and disinter Hall's body.
The Danes referred Loomis to Count Eigel Knuth, an archaeologist and Arctic explorer who advised Denmark's Ministry for Greenland on proposed projects in its northern region. Knuth found the idea of digging up Hall's grave, which he had visited and considered ”a hallowed place,” totally repugnant. Only after flying to Copenhagen to meet with Knuth could Loomis change the old explorer's mind. Loomis promised to return the grave to exactly the condition in which he found it.
Now he stood beside the grave with William Barrett, Tom Gig-noux, and Dr. Franklin Paddock, a pathologist. Paddock would perform the autopsy.
Things change slowly in the Arctic, and they hoped Captain Hall's body would speak from his grave. The recent studies on lead poisoning of Sir John Franklin's party gave reason to be optimistic. The frozen and well-preserved bodies of Royal Marine W. Braine and seamen John Hartnell and John Torrington, unearthed on Beechey Island in Lancaster Sound, provided useful information as to their deaths. Those men had died in 1846, long before Hall.
With some trepidation Loomis watched as Gignoux unroofed the shallow grave. Encased in ice, the Arctic retained its grip on the dead man. With luck the body would be perfectly preserved. The pine coffin appeared intact, even though the top was almost level with the ground. As the professor watched, he recalled the men of Hall's command laboring in the long night to carve the shallow grave out of frozen soil. Gignoux's task proved just as daunting. The layers of ice forced him to dig and shovel hunched over the coffin.
Suddenly the fetid odor of decay rose from the coffin. Loomis felt his heart sink. The mound of dirt had protected the pine wood, but the summer sun had melted the permafrost above the lid. Would the shallow nature of the grave defeat them? Was their quest in vain? Had Hall rotted in his tomb until only his bones remained? Loomis worried.
Gignoux's shovel caught a corner of the lid, splintering off a portion. Light fell upon white stars sewn on a field of blue. For the first time in almost a century, sunlight played upon an American flag that had flown when Ulysses Grant was president.
Loomis pried off the rest of the lid. The American flag covered Hall's face and the upper half of his body. Milky ice, melted and refrozen countless times over the century, encased the lower part of the body and held the back in its firm grip. Incongruously two stocking-covered feet poked through the sheet of ice.
Folding back the flag, Loomis studied Hall's face. Exposure to thawing and decay had altered the once-strong features. The robust beard and dark hair were gone, replaced by token wisps of brittle hair. Caught between the processes of mummification and decay, empty eye sockets and a sardonic grin greeted them. Minerals in the water had tanned what skin remained into a rich mahogany. In addition the dye from the flag had stained portions of the explorer's face blue, while the weave of the cloth textured the skin. To Loomis the face reminded him of a ”Rouault portrait.”
Performing the autopsy proved next to impossible. Frozen into the land he loved, Hall's coffin and body resisted all inspection. In a way his body had become an inseparable part of the land, as his spirit had. Wisely the men decided not to totally exhume the body. Working bent over the grave, Paddock found the internal organs totally dissolved into a frozen soup of ice. Unlike the bodies examined from Franklin's expedition, no viscera could be studied or tested. No stomach or intestines could be sampled for traces of poison or infection. No lungs could be examined for pneumonia or tuberculosis. And certainly nothing remained of the brain to tell whether it had suffered the stroke that Emil Bessel diagnosed. In despair the pathologist collected sc.r.a.ps of hair and a single fingernail.
With infinite care born of respect, the men restored the grave to its original state. It bothered Loomis that they could not avoid stripping away the ground willow that Hayes and Sieman had planted so long ago. Loomis himself replaced Noah Hayes's crowbar at its crooked angle.
During the two-week wait for their pilot, the specter of Captain Hall seemed to haunt them. In long walks they found themselves avoiding the grave site. The patterned face lingered in their thoughts. During that time the Arctic teased them with its changing weather, just as it had the men of the Polaris. Polaris. The clear Hall Basin abruptly filled with ice and icebergs. Ghostly fogs came and went. The clear Hall Basin abruptly filled with ice and icebergs. Ghostly fogs came and went.
On the group's return home, the fingernail and hair were sent to the Toronto Center of Forensic Sciences for neutron-activation testing. No mention was made of the specifics of the sample, so the center had no idea who ”C. F. Hall” was or the circ.u.mstances surrounding his death. Using neutrons to bombard the atoms in a test specimen causes that material's nuclei to become unstable. In the process those unstable nuclei decay, emitting electrons and protons. The half- ife of that decay and the type of particles emitted are specific for different atomic elements. Iron, silver, gold, and a.r.s.enic all give off unique patterns.
The hair and fingernails of living subjects readily take up a.r.s.enic, making those tissues accurate markers of a.r.s.enic poisoning. The problem used to be the need for large quant.i.ties of tissue for a.n.a.lysis. Neutron-activation testing of minute quant.i.ties changed all that. Using neutron-activation a.n.a.lysis to search for a.r.s.enic received much publicity in the 1960s, when Sten Forshufvud used it to prove that Napoleon Bonaparte had been systematically poisoned with a.r.s.enic. By the mid-1960s the timing of the poisoning could also be determined by a.n.a.lyzing the deposits of the poison along a single strand of human hair. Each 5 millimeters of hair length represents fifteen days in the subject's life, while fingernails grow at 0.7 millimeter per week.
The report from the Toronto Center shocked everyone. It read, ”an intake of considerable amounts of a.r.s.enic by ”an intake of considerable amounts of a.r.s.enic by C. C. E Hall in the last two vjeeks of life,” E Hall in the last two vjeeks of life,”
Hall's fingernail told the story. The tip contained 24.6 parts per million of a.r.s.enic, while the base of the nail contained 76.7 parts per million, an enormous amount. a.r.s.enic was commonly used in the nineteenth century in various medicines. Fowler's Solution (pota.s.sium a.r.s.enate) was a common remedy for skin eruptions and fevers, and arsphenamine was the drug of choice for syphilis. Loomis notes,” 'a.r.s.enious acid,' comments the Dispensatory of the United States Dispensatory of the United States of 1875 in one of its longest entries, 'has been exhibited in a variety of diseases.'” Certainly a.r.s.enic compounds were among the medical supplies aboard the of 1875 in one of its longest entries, 'has been exhibited in a variety of diseases.'” Certainly a.r.s.enic compounds were among the medical supplies aboard the Polaris. Polaris. But there is no record of the pious HaH's ever having been treated for syphilis, and the only doc.u.mented medications and injections he received in the last two weeks of his life came from the hand of Emil Bessel. The doctor, for all his careful records, never mentioned using any a.r.s.enicals. But there is no record of the pious HaH's ever having been treated for syphilis, and the only doc.u.mented medications and injections he received in the last two weeks of his life came from the hand of Emil Bessel. The doctor, for all his careful records, never mentioned using any a.r.s.enicals.
Also a.r.s.enic was found in high concentrations of 22.0 parts per million in the soil surrounding the grave site. Some might have migrated into the body over the years. Prior treatments and the soil might account for the high levels at the end of the fingernail, but nothing other than ingestion or injection could have produced the extremely high levels found at the base of the nail. And such high levels would have to produce distressing symptoms.
After nearly one hundred years, Charles Francis Hall had cried out from his grave. He had been poisoned.
Suddenly all the signs and symptoms at odds with a stroke fall into place. The too-sweet taste of the coffee, the intense burning of Hall's stomach, the vomiting, difficulty swallowing, dementia, and paralysis are all consistent with acute a.r.s.enic poisoning. Even the curious blisters about Hall's mouth are late signs.
But who would have poisoned Hall? And for what reason? The cook and steward initially handled the coffee cup, but they had no reason to poison their commander. Certainly Buddington and Meyer had their differences with Captain Hall and might have handed him the poisoned coffee. However, those two men did not constantly attend Hall during his illness. No one could seriously suspect Tookoolito. Her loyalty to Hall was well demonstrated by her pledge to preserve his writing desk. Despite her efforts to save the contents of the desk, nothing emerged from Hall's papers to shed any new light on his murder. The faithful Morton also is above suspicion.
That leaves only one person with the knowledge and the ready access to a.r.s.enic. That same person was frequently by the stricken man's side, administering potions and injecting solutions of his white powder. What better way to poison a person than openly, under the guise of treating him as a patient? With all his prestigious degrees, no one would doubt Emil Bessel's treatment plan. Bessel must have used a.r.s.enic from the s.h.i.+p's supplies. Clever criminals commonly used a.r.s.enious oxide, which is odorless and tasteless. That substance would definitely not be in the medical supplies. The sweet, metallic taste in the coffee suggests that another a.r.s.enic compound was used.