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The Gates of Hell: Sir John Franklin's Tragic Quest for the North West Passage
From one of our foremost naval historians, the compelling story of the doomed Arctic voyage of the HMS Erebus and the HMS Terror, commanded by Captain Sir John Franklin.
Andrew Lambert, a leading authority on naval history, reexamines the life of Sir John Franklin and his final, doomed Arctic voyage. Franklin was a man of his time, fascinated, even obsessed with, the need to explore the world; he had already mapped nearly two-thirds of the northern coastline of North America when he undertook his third Arctic voyage in 1845, at the age of fifty-nine. His two ships were fitted with the latest equipment; steam engines enabled them to navigate the pack ice, and he and his crew had a three-year supply of preserved and tinned food and more than one thousand books. Despite these preparations, the voyage ended in the ships became imprisoned in the ice, and the men were wracked by disease and ultimately wiped out by hypothermia, scurvy, and cannibalism. Franklin’s mission was ostensibly to find the elusive North West Passage, a viable sea route between Europe and Asia reputed to lie north of the American continent. Lambert shows for the first time that there were other scientific goals for the voyage and that the disaster can only be understood by reconsidering the original objectives of the mission. Franklin, commonly dismissed as a bumbling fool, emerges as a more important and impressive figure, in fact, a hero of navigational science.
Andrew Lambert, a leading authority on naval history, reexamines the life of Sir John Franklin and his final, doomed Arctic voyage. Franklin was a man of his time, fascinated, even obsessed with, the need to explore the world; he had already mapped nearly two-thirds of the northern coastline of North America when he undertook his third Arctic voyage in 1845, at the age of fifty-nine. His two ships were fitted with the latest equipment; steam engines enabled them to navigate the pack ice, and he and his crew had a three-year supply of preserved and tinned food and more than one thousand books. Despite these preparations, the voyage ended in the ships became imprisoned in the ice, and the men were wracked by disease and ultimately wiped out by hypothermia, scurvy, and cannibalism. Franklin’s mission was ostensibly to find the elusive North West Passage, a viable sea route between Europe and Asia reputed to lie north of the American continent. Lambert shows for the first time that there were other scientific goals for the voyage and that the disaster can only be understood by reconsidering the original objectives of the mission. Franklin, commonly dismissed as a bumbling fool, emerges as a more important and impressive figure, in fact, a hero of navigational science.
456 pages, Paperback
First published September 8, 2009
88 people want to read
About the author
Andrew D. Lambert
62 books39 followersAndrew Lambert, FRHistS, is a British naval historian, who since 2001 has been the Laughton Professor of Naval History in the Department of War Studies, King's College London
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Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews
December 27, 2015
Lambert wants to prove that Sir John Franklin was neither weak nor indecisive nor a poor leader. Unfortunately, every time he put forward evidence of same, to me, it looked like evidence that Franklin was exactly the things Lambert was trying to prove he wasn't: weak, indecisive, and a very poor leader, especially in a crisis.
Also, this book is not about "Sir John Franklin's Tragic Quest for the North West Passage." For one thing, part of Lambert's thesis is that Franklin didn't set off into the Arctic to discover the Northwest Passage at all, that he was collecting geomagnetic readings--if he was trying to find anything or reach anything, it was the magnetic north pole. But more importantly, this book isn't really about Franklin's last voyage. It's about Franklin's career beforehand, and about the search for Franklin afterwards--and decidedly about the scientific obsessions of the day--but there's almost no discussion of the voyage of the Erebus and the Terror and what happened to their crews. Since--carrion crow that I am--I was looking for a book about the catastrophe of 1845, I was disappointed that the title of the book and the content of the book did not match very well.
But I wouldn't even have minded that if the book had been a better book. I found Lambert to be a poor historian: e.g., after quoting at length Thomas Arnold's horrific letter to Franklin about Franklin's appointment as governor of Van Diemen's Land: "If they will colonize with convicts, I am satisfied that the stain should last, not only for one whole life, but for more than one generation; that no convict or convict's child should ever be a free citizen; and that, even in the third generation, the offspring should be excluded from all the offices of honour or authority in the colony" (95), Lambert, while asserting that "Arnold's potent mix of evangelical faith and moral purpose would be the key to Franklin's government" (95), entirely fails to mention whether Franklin agreed with him about the inheritable nature of iniquity or whether the ideas in this letter had any discernible influence on how he governed. And, honestly, I am going to regard with skepticism any historian of nineteenth century British naval history who can write the sentence, "For a man of faith, used to the honest, open and frank world of naval service where the national good outweighed personal ambition, the experience [of governing Van Diemen's Land] was traumatic" (137)--especially given how the behavior of many of the naval officers in this book blatantly demonstrates its falsity.
Although I grant that there's nothing he can do about the overwhelmingly masculine nature of his subject matter, I was annoyed by his treatment of Jane Franklin, whom he called variously "Jane," "Lady Franklin," and "Lady Jane"--while never taking the liberty of calling her husband just plain "John." It's a small point, but indicative of the potential for much larger problems. He was also utterly uninterested in anyone who was not a commissioned officer, which replicates the social biases of his subject rather than examining them.
Ultimately, I found this book frustrating. Lambert is trying to exculpate Sir John Franklin from the judgment history has made of him, and he has written a poor work of history in the (failed) attempt.
Also, this book is not about "Sir John Franklin's Tragic Quest for the North West Passage." For one thing, part of Lambert's thesis is that Franklin didn't set off into the Arctic to discover the Northwest Passage at all, that he was collecting geomagnetic readings--if he was trying to find anything or reach anything, it was the magnetic north pole. But more importantly, this book isn't really about Franklin's last voyage. It's about Franklin's career beforehand, and about the search for Franklin afterwards--and decidedly about the scientific obsessions of the day--but there's almost no discussion of the voyage of the Erebus and the Terror and what happened to their crews. Since--carrion crow that I am--I was looking for a book about the catastrophe of 1845, I was disappointed that the title of the book and the content of the book did not match very well.
But I wouldn't even have minded that if the book had been a better book. I found Lambert to be a poor historian: e.g., after quoting at length Thomas Arnold's horrific letter to Franklin about Franklin's appointment as governor of Van Diemen's Land: "If they will colonize with convicts, I am satisfied that the stain should last, not only for one whole life, but for more than one generation; that no convict or convict's child should ever be a free citizen; and that, even in the third generation, the offspring should be excluded from all the offices of honour or authority in the colony" (95), Lambert, while asserting that "Arnold's potent mix of evangelical faith and moral purpose would be the key to Franklin's government" (95), entirely fails to mention whether Franklin agreed with him about the inheritable nature of iniquity or whether the ideas in this letter had any discernible influence on how he governed. And, honestly, I am going to regard with skepticism any historian of nineteenth century British naval history who can write the sentence, "For a man of faith, used to the honest, open and frank world of naval service where the national good outweighed personal ambition, the experience [of governing Van Diemen's Land] was traumatic" (137)--especially given how the behavior of many of the naval officers in this book blatantly demonstrates its falsity.
Although I grant that there's nothing he can do about the overwhelmingly masculine nature of his subject matter, I was annoyed by his treatment of Jane Franklin, whom he called variously "Jane," "Lady Franklin," and "Lady Jane"--while never taking the liberty of calling her husband just plain "John." It's a small point, but indicative of the potential for much larger problems. He was also utterly uninterested in anyone who was not a commissioned officer, which replicates the social biases of his subject rather than examining them.
Ultimately, I found this book frustrating. Lambert is trying to exculpate Sir John Franklin from the judgment history has made of him, and he has written a poor work of history in the (failed) attempt.
January 9, 2022
“Hell is a curious place; it exists in the minds of men and can be reached by a variety of routes.”
perhaps not the best book to start with when it comes to learning about the franklin expedition? i have no particular grounds to doubt Lambert’s conclusions, but he has a definite and specific Take that shines through the entire text, and while said take seems perfectly plausible, it fueled my hunger to dive into what others have written on the topic. in this sense, then, maybe The Gates of Hell IS the perfect starter book, because it certainly keeps you wanting to learn more. what bothered me frequently enough to keep this from being a 4 star review, however, was Lambert’s repeated slipping into the sort of flippant dismissal of historical figures he clearly dislikes while holding up those he personally approves of as The Good Ones that penetrates the worst of pop history. seemingly solid research and a measured analysis of the mystery at the center of the text save it from becoming too much of an opinion piece, though—3.5 stars if i could.
perhaps not the best book to start with when it comes to learning about the franklin expedition? i have no particular grounds to doubt Lambert’s conclusions, but he has a definite and specific Take that shines through the entire text, and while said take seems perfectly plausible, it fueled my hunger to dive into what others have written on the topic. in this sense, then, maybe The Gates of Hell IS the perfect starter book, because it certainly keeps you wanting to learn more. what bothered me frequently enough to keep this from being a 4 star review, however, was Lambert’s repeated slipping into the sort of flippant dismissal of historical figures he clearly dislikes while holding up those he personally approves of as The Good Ones that penetrates the worst of pop history. seemingly solid research and a measured analysis of the mystery at the center of the text save it from becoming too much of an opinion piece, though—3.5 stars if i could.
February 26, 2021
I wasn’t surprised to find that most reviews of this book lean significantly towards the negative. After all, it’s major audience - those interested in Franklin’s lost expedition- are likely adherents to the very myth that Lambert vividly (and in my opinion, successfully) attempts to deconstruct. Instead of the usual tale of horror and cannibalism, Lambert focuses largely on the policy makers behind both the ill-fated expedition and the rescue attempts it would necessitate; voyages that, at their heart, had very little connection to the quasi-mythic effort to locate a North West Passage, but were instead shaped by the scientific community’s interest in magnetism.
The book’s matter, and academic calibre, is very much at odds with a title that reads as a blatant attempt to attract readers of popular history. To be specific, readers who want to know all that is possible- even if it amounts to mere speculation - about the horrific ends met by the 130 or so men who died ingloriously on the artic mission. One can only assume this to be a fault on the publisher’s part, given Lambert’s preoccupation with freeing John Franklin from the bronze idol that popular history has encased him within.
As someone with nonexistent interest in wider Naval history or the study of magnetism, I nonetheless found myself actually quite captivated by Lambert’s account of the greater contexts behind the infamous expedition. Sometimes his writing can seem quite hurried, but I found this actually quite charming. Affording no more words to a heart attack, or accounts of cannibalism, than he does to a scientist lobbying the admiralty, Lambert’s prose is appropriately matched to his primary objective.
P.S.
keep your lemon juice well stocked and at room temperature
The book’s matter, and academic calibre, is very much at odds with a title that reads as a blatant attempt to attract readers of popular history. To be specific, readers who want to know all that is possible- even if it amounts to mere speculation - about the horrific ends met by the 130 or so men who died ingloriously on the artic mission. One can only assume this to be a fault on the publisher’s part, given Lambert’s preoccupation with freeing John Franklin from the bronze idol that popular history has encased him within.
As someone with nonexistent interest in wider Naval history or the study of magnetism, I nonetheless found myself actually quite captivated by Lambert’s account of the greater contexts behind the infamous expedition. Sometimes his writing can seem quite hurried, but I found this actually quite charming. Affording no more words to a heart attack, or accounts of cannibalism, than he does to a scientist lobbying the admiralty, Lambert’s prose is appropriately matched to his primary objective.
P.S.
keep your lemon juice well stocked and at room temperature
Read
April 28, 2022Very irritating writing style, gave up after 1.5 chapters.
August 23, 2025
DNF at about 75 pages in. Should have listened to the other reviews on this one.
May 17, 2016
Cannibal Empire: Science, Politics and Other Sources of Terror
This is, by far, the most civil, sedate book about cannibalism I’ve ever read. It’s focused on the expedition of Sir John Franklin, doomed British explorer seeking the famed Northwest Passage through the arctic ice, and perhaps some magnetic navigational data.
The set up was gruesome and gripping:
“We don’t know when it started, or who took the decision, but some time in May 1848 British sailors from HMS Erebus and HMS Terror began butchering and eating their comrades. We do not know if they killed the living, picking out the weak, the young and the expendable, or whether they confined their attentions to the dead. But make no mistake they ate their shipmates, not one or two, but forty or fifty.”
That’s the first paragraph of the prologue, and — understandably — I was hooked. But from that grim and fevered promise, the book slowed down dramatically, focusing on the minute details of Franklin’s career, the history of and impetus for (mostly) British Arctic exploration and the search for the Northwest passage, the key scientific and political players shaping the exploration landscape of the day and the ramifications of the disappearance of the Franklin exploration.
Not that it wasn’t interesting, it just wasn’t riveting, like other books on exploration I’ve read. And certainly not as riveting as one would expect for a book about a party of hale and hearty explorers doomed to the worst imaginable icy privations followed by scurvy-ravaged cannibalism.
Instead, it was a fine-grained, meticulous and scholarly look at the era and what seemed like an overly eager effort to rehabilitate the reputation of a possibly great man and reasonably good explorer who may have ended his career as someone’s supper.
I will say that, frozen environment aside, the turn-of-the-century men of science inhabited a brutal landscape — different only by degrees from the Arctic — in which fortunes rose and fell on capricious whim, and they often seemed to eat their own.
Also, Franklin’s widow was clearly an amazingly focused and tenacious — driven — woman. She dedicated her life and vast amounts of resources and political capital to first trying to rescue him, then trying to find his remains, then tamping down the ugly smear of cannibalism and, finally, by trying to carve out and preserve his place in history. She was able to shape the press and bend the political world of her day with a fierce determination and canniness that make even the most seasoned of today’s public relations professionals seem like underprepared amateurs.
This is, by far, the most civil, sedate book about cannibalism I’ve ever read. It’s focused on the expedition of Sir John Franklin, doomed British explorer seeking the famed Northwest Passage through the arctic ice, and perhaps some magnetic navigational data.
The set up was gruesome and gripping:
“We don’t know when it started, or who took the decision, but some time in May 1848 British sailors from HMS Erebus and HMS Terror began butchering and eating their comrades. We do not know if they killed the living, picking out the weak, the young and the expendable, or whether they confined their attentions to the dead. But make no mistake they ate their shipmates, not one or two, but forty or fifty.”
That’s the first paragraph of the prologue, and — understandably — I was hooked. But from that grim and fevered promise, the book slowed down dramatically, focusing on the minute details of Franklin’s career, the history of and impetus for (mostly) British Arctic exploration and the search for the Northwest passage, the key scientific and political players shaping the exploration landscape of the day and the ramifications of the disappearance of the Franklin exploration.
Not that it wasn’t interesting, it just wasn’t riveting, like other books on exploration I’ve read. And certainly not as riveting as one would expect for a book about a party of hale and hearty explorers doomed to the worst imaginable icy privations followed by scurvy-ravaged cannibalism.
Instead, it was a fine-grained, meticulous and scholarly look at the era and what seemed like an overly eager effort to rehabilitate the reputation of a possibly great man and reasonably good explorer who may have ended his career as someone’s supper.
I will say that, frozen environment aside, the turn-of-the-century men of science inhabited a brutal landscape — different only by degrees from the Arctic — in which fortunes rose and fell on capricious whim, and they often seemed to eat their own.
Also, Franklin’s widow was clearly an amazingly focused and tenacious — driven — woman. She dedicated her life and vast amounts of resources and political capital to first trying to rescue him, then trying to find his remains, then tamping down the ugly smear of cannibalism and, finally, by trying to carve out and preserve his place in history. She was able to shape the press and bend the political world of her day with a fierce determination and canniness that make even the most seasoned of today’s public relations professionals seem like underprepared amateurs.
January 30, 2012
This reads more like a biography of Sir John Franklin, rather than the specifics of the tragedy of his last expedition. Excruciatingly detailed and Lambert seems to put Franklin on some scientific or naval pedestal every chance he can get, which is all well and good, but it also reads defensive of him. I know a lot of books have flawed Franklin for various reasons, this book tends to feel like a lashing out against them. It is meticulously plodding the detail and importance of the magnetic science of the day, even going as to say that this was one of the primary reasons for the fated journey (yet nearly contradicts his own declarations in the evidence), and I won't even begin to tell you how annoying it is to not have a worthy MAP of the final voyage. Romanticized paintings are nice in a book, sure, to evidence the cult of Franklin legend, but give the reader a good solid map of what you are talking about. The book is OK, well researched enough, and the "Politics of a Tragedy" section is fascinating, but with the defensive perspective and not really specific to what the title of the book indicates, it is a little misleading. The conclusion of the book really nails the Franklin fate on the head; using only the existing evidence and weeding out any speculation. For that part, the book is well done.
May 12, 2014
This book is a joke. I could go on forever about its bias and its inaccuracies, but I think the author himself said it best towards the end:
"In history the most plausible explanations are the ones that require no flights of imagination, speculation or guesswork, and do not stray beyond the evidence. Historians should check that their evidence would stand up in a court of law."
Good advice. I only wish he'd followed it.
"In history the most plausible explanations are the ones that require no flights of imagination, speculation or guesswork, and do not stray beyond the evidence. Historians should check that their evidence would stand up in a court of law."
Good advice. I only wish he'd followed it.
April 19, 2012
A rather dry account of Frankilin's life, not very inspiring. need to find something better !
Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews