It’s Worth Telling
The stories behind the stories...
Off the southeast coast of Baffin Island in 1861, Arctic explorer Charles Francis Hall stood on the bow of the George Henry, staring into an icy expanse of night. Winter winds howled, cutting through the ship’s rigging and whispering of the countless lives claimed by this unforgiving wilderness. Hall had come to the Arctic seeking answers about Sir John Franklin’s lost expedition. How had Franklin and his men succumbed to these desolate conditions? Scurvy, starvation, and the bitter cold had surely played their parts. Yet, as Hall braced himself against the chill, he felt the mystery of their fate deepen into something greater — a sense of dark awe rolling off the endless, shadowed waves.
Later that evening, Hall retired to his cabin. He removed his outer clothes, which the mist of the sea had dampened and lit a candle next to his cot. He gently picked up his Bible, which sat on a small wooden table next to his bed. He thumbed through it to Psalm 86:8. He quietly mouthed the words as he read them “Among the gods there is none like unto Thee, O Lord; neither are there any works like unto Thy works.” Whatever dangers lurked beyond the ship, he resolved to face them. He closed the Bible, whispered a prayer for his continued safety, and blew out the candle. He was asleep moments after his feet left the cabin floor.
As Hall slept, there was a rumbling above deck. His peace was suddenly shattered by chaos and shouting. Heavy footsteps echoed through the ship. Hall sat straight up in his bed. What was going on? What had the men seen that had them in such a state? He cautiously began to reach for his boots but before he could reach them there was a thunderous knock on the door. The voice of the ship’s captain rang out, trembling with panic.
“Come above, Hall, at once! The world is on fire!”
Rushing topside, Hall was greeted not by flames, but by a breathtaking display of the Aurora Borealis. Green and red ribbons of light danced across the heavens, illuminating the frozen sea. For centuries, these celestial phenomena had confounded and inspired those who witnessed them. The Danes believed the lights were reflections of swans frozen in the Arctic. Slavic legends spoke of fire-breathing dragons that descended to earth to seduce women, while Greek and Roman myths described the chariot of the dawn goddess streaking across the sky. To some, the lights were omens of doom; to others, signs of good fortune. Mythology, after all, has long been our way of explaining the inexplicable.
Today, we understand the Aurora Borealis as the result of solar winds interacting with Earth’s magnetic field. Yet the human impulse to create stories about what we cannot fully understand remains strong. In a world brimming with complexity, we’re quick to explain what confounds us — sometimes with an ounce of truth and a pound of opinion.
Faced with the unknown, we often rush to conclusions, shouting warnings into the void. But perhaps the better path is Hall’s: to look directly into the confusion, to pause, to wonder, and to seek a deeper understanding. The Northern Lights were never a sign of doom; they were a marvel to be witnessed.
John Bucher is a mythologist and storyteller. He serves as the Executive Director for the Joseph Campbell Foundation and is the author of six books.
