Dancing Chief

Dancing Chief: The Tragic Life of Lieutenant Frederick F. Kislingbury

by Douglas W. Wamlsey

Reviewed by Frank Michael Schuster

Some thirty years ago, the name Douglas W. Wamsley was known only to those with an interest in the Arctic who read books from cover to cover, including the acknowledgments, illustrations and bibliography. Either the illustrations—which had not been seen elsewhere—came from his collection, or books, which were works that had been heard of at best, as they were scarcely to be found even in specialist libraries. The subjects of the articles in which his name appeared as a co-author or author were new even to experts. Otherwise, one could find only a few legal articles by him with titles incomprehensible to non-lawyers and with no connection to the Arctic. Clearly, he was a lawyer and collector with a passion for the Arctic. Wamsley remained an enigma. That was to change abruptly in 2009 with the publication of his highly acclaimed biography of Isaac Israel Hayes, in which he brought Hayes out of the shadow of his former expedition leader Elisha Kent Kane. In 2022, Big Wolf followed, another biography, this time on Frederick G. Schwatka, in which it becomes clear that this man was much more than just an adventurer who had found his way to the Arctic in the footsteps of Sir John Franklin, as he had been portrayed in most books about the lost Franklin Expedition.

In between, an article appeared in Arctic in 2014 on “The Arctic Exploits of Dr Octave Pavy”, the doctor of the US polar expedition of 1881–1884 under Lieutenant Adolphus W. Greely. The long-standing feud between the two men, which played a prominent role in Greely’s narrative and official reports as well as in later publications, has almost completely overshadowed and obscured Pavy’s image. Wamsley brought Pavy back into the spotlight and presented a far more complex picture of him than is found in most books and articles about the tragic expedition.

For those who still recall all this, it comes as no great surprise that Wamsley’s latest biography focuses on ‘a fringe player in the accounts of the Lady Franklin Bay Expedition,’ a figure who continues to play scarcely any role in the literature on the expedition to this day. Lieutenant Frederick F. Kislingbury (1846–1884) was originally Greely’s second-in-command, but, like Pavy, he too fell out with his commander, an incident that overshadowed everything else.

Interestingly, however, it was not the Arctic expedition that first aroused Wamsley’s interest in Kislingbury. As stated in the acknowledgements—which, once again, are just as worth reading as the bibliography—it was “a field report of his 1880 engagement at the Musselshell River, Montana Territory, whilst stationed at Fort Custer.” This chance discovery was not only evidently purchased for his own collection, but “led to a more dedicated search that culminated in this book,” because Wamsley, even whilst working on his book about Schwatka, “was intrigued by the thought of other Arctic explorers, whose frontier experience was considerable but completely untold.”

Consequently, we first learn a great deal about the military service and family life of Fred Kislingbury, who was born in England and emigrated to the United States with his parents. He volunteered for the US Army for a short time during the American Civil War. Apparently bored by his clerical work, he returned to the regular army shortly after the war had ended, where his life was initially no more exciting. In 1866, he married Agnes Bullock, the sister of Seth Bullock, the famous first sheriff of the notorious Western town of Deadwood, Dakota Territory, during the Gold Rush, known from numerous Western films and documentaries. Fred had four sons with Aggie: Harry was born in 1867, Walter in 1869, Douglass in 1874 and Wheeler in 1876. He spent most of his time with his family in what was then still the Wild West. For the most part, he commanded the so-called Indian Scouts fighting on the side of the US Army in the various Indian wars. He even adopted their languages and cultures, as he regarded them as equals – something unusual for the time. The fact that they clearly held him in high regard is evident, among other things, from the way they liked him, allowed him to take part in their ceremonies and subsequently even gave him the name ‘Dancing Chief’. 

Kislingbury was also dispatched to Texas to lay the telegraph line, during which time he met Greely and became friends with him. After his wife died in 1878, he asked Greely if he could join him on his planned Arctic expedition. As this expedition did not then materialize, he remained on the frontier and married Aggie’s sister Jessie, who now also followed him to the West. When she too died at Fort Custer in 1880, the devastated Kislingbury asked Greely once more if he could join the expedition, which was now going forward as part of the First International Polar Year 1882–1883, initiated by Carl Weyprecht. The American expedition was to carry out magnetic, gravitational and meteorological measurements in the north of Ellesmere Island simultaneously with other stations worldwide. If time permitted, the expedition was also to continue the geographical and natural history exploration of the Arctic. This offered Greely, as he told a reporter, the opportunity to advance further north than anyone before him via the channel between Ellesmere Island and Greenland or along one of the two coasts, following in the footsteps of the American expeditions led by Elisha Kent Kane in 1853–1855 and Charles Francis Hall in 1871–1872, as well as the British expedition led by George Nares in 1875–1876. Admittedly, this was something ‘that Weyprecht sought to avoid with the International Polar Year program – individualistic, glory-seeking attempts at geographical firsts’ -- but no one could stop him.

Kislingbury entrusted his children to the care of his family or their godparents and set off northwards, presumably in the hope that, in a completely new environment following the death of his two beloved wives, he might find other, less gloomy thoughts.

Shortly after arriving at Lady Franklin Bay and establishing Fort Conger, Greely fell out with Pavy. He let the insubordination slide, however, as he could not do without the doctor, whilst his quarrel with Kislingbury led the latter—who felt out of place anyway—to quit the expedition, though tragically he did not reach the ship in time. He was therefore forced to stay, even though he no longer had an official role, “but even as an outcast he managed to contribute to the well-being of the expedition.” He was not only one of the expedition’s best hunters, but also collected scientific samples for the expedition during his solitary wanderings. When the supply ship failed to arrive as planned and the fort was abandoned, he even took command of a boat and sled. For as long as he could, he strove for the expedition’s welfare and remained optimistic, even as the expedition was slowly perishing on Pim Island further south, having unexpectedly found insufficient supplies on Littleton Island and at Cape Sabine.

Unlike Greely, Kislingbury did not return home alive. However, the controversy continued back home when rumors arose that Greely and the handful of survivors had only survived at the expense of outcasts such as Pavy and Kislingbury – which, as Wamsley demonstrates, is not true – whilst the accusation that cannibalism had even taken place cannot be entirely dismissed. Ultimately, this did not harm Greely’s career, and all four of Kislingbury’s children, for whom their father had worried so much, went on to achieve something – mostly with the railroads – even though Douglass’s attempts to follow in his father’s footsteps to the Arctic all ultimately failed.

This story is only partly new; there are certainly plenty of books on the Indian Wars and the Greely Expedition, though one need not be familiar with them, as the author focuses primarily on the life and family of Frederick F. Killingbury. The background information he provides is sufficient to understand nearly everything in the book.

Here and there, one might have wished for a paragraph or two more on the Indian Wars as historical background. Even if one is not American and therefore knows Indians mostly only from Hollywood films – having, unfortunately, heard nothing about Native American history at school as a child – Deadwood still rings a bell. However, it is somewhat difficult to keep track of the various wars and battles that are mentioned in passing, even if, like this reviewer, one read Dee Brown’s Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee as a teenager – which was decades ago now, though.

Elsewhere, too, there are occasional references in the text intended by the author as brief explanations which, whilst understandable to Americans of his generation, are likely to remain incomprehensible to younger readers. For example, he recounts what happened when the dog sledge expedition sent out by Greely to push further north along the north coast of Greenland than anyone had ever gone before reached its destination:

“With a touch of humour, Brainard carved the words ‘St 1860 x’, i.e., short for ‘started trade in 1860 with ten dollars’, the advertisement for ‘Drake’s Plantation Bitters’, a predecessor of the humorous ‘Burma Shave’ advertisements of another era.”

Perhaps some Americans still recall that between 1926 and 1963, the Burma-Vita company amusingly advertised its shaving cream on every highway across the country. As early as 1862, a certain Colonel Patrick Henry Drake had advertised his medicine in a similar manner, plastering the whole country with billboards bearing his enigmatic cryptonym at a time when secret messages were very much in vogue, not least because of the Civil War. Only when one realises that, with this act, Brainard declared this spot to be the end of a perfectly ordinary American road, does the humor become apparent.

A little more explanation and information regarding the origins of the First International Polar Year would not have gone amiss either. To describe Carl Weyprecht as a scientist is not entirely wrong; after all, in 1879 he did, based on his own experience, author a study on “The Metamorphoses of Polar Ice.” It was simply not for this reason that he had become the universally respected initiator of the Polar Year. Born in Hesse, in the heart of Germany, the captain of the Austrian Imperial Navy had, following a voyage in the summer of 1871 to the Barents Sea north-east of Spitsbergen, commanded the Austro-Hungarian North Polar Expedition 1872-1874, during which the archipelago named after the then Austrian Emperor Franz Joseph I was discovered. Although likely long known to the whalers and sealers of the Barents Sea, this discovery of land so far north was considered a sensation. This gave Weyprecht the attention he needed for his plans for international cooperation in the Arctic, the realisation of which he did not, however, live to see.

Such additions would be helpful in these cases, but they are not necessary.

Of course, Wamsley – as a glance at the bibliography reveals – is familiar with the relevant literature. However, he relies primarily on archival sources such as personal letters, diaries and reports. In addition to memoirs, he also draws on the contemporary press, but without taking into account the opinions and interpretations of the journalists. He is concerned solely with information and statements from those involved.

The fact that he pays virtually no attention to what others have written about the expedition is not merely because Kislingbury plays only a minor role in it. Rather, if one reads between the lines, their interpretations and judgments seem too clear-cut to him. His professional background as a lawyer likely plays a role here. Instead of taking a clear stance, he prefers, like a defense attorney, to let the statements of those involved speak for themselves. He merely draws attention to similarities or contradictions between what different people say, or what a single person says at different times. This also highlights the problematic nature of statements and memories, a point Wamsley illustrates in the appendix to his book using the discrepancies between the field diaries, later records and Brainard’s even later memoirs.

By leaving it to the readers, like a jury in court, to form their own verdict, he also avoids the problem that many other authors, consciously or unconsciously, identify with the main subject of the biography, although one cannot deny that the author harbors a certain sympathy for Kislingbury.

However, the fact that readers must think for themselves and form their own opinions while reading does not mean that the book is difficult to read. On the contrary, Wamsley’s restrained, almost laconic style makes it easy and a pleasure to read. Clearly reproduced, well-organised maps make it easy to get an overview. The photographs appear to be reproduced at their original size, which is not a problem, apart from in cases where they are half of a stereoscopic image. In those instances, they could easily have been slightly larger. The images are well chosen, and here too a picture is sometimes worth a thousand words; for when one compares the image of Kislingbury and his scouts with that of the Greely, it becomes clear why the two were bound to clash, even though they were initially quite fond of each other. The dust jacket, designed as a skilful collage, also brings together this highly readable book visually, so to speak.

But that’s not all: anyone who now picks up one of the many well-known books about the Greeley expedition to read it for the first time or again, because their interest has been (re)awakened, will hopefully read it with a clearer and more critical eye, and realize that much of what is written is not as straightforward as it appears.

That aside, Douglas Wamsley has, in any case, once again achieved his goal: the story of yet another ‘Arctic explorer, whose frontier experience was considerable’ is now no longer untold, and will hopefully find many interested readers.

A Gift Before Dying

A Gift Before Dying by Malcolm Kempt

New York: Crown, 2026

US$28 eBook

Reviewed by Lena Leimgruber Haraldsson

There is a wide sea of thrillers set in the Arctic, but Malcolm Kempt’s debut novel, A Gift Before Dying, is different. Most entries in the Arctic thriller genre lean heavily on established tropes: wildlife biologists fighting poachers in action-heavy plots like Alice Henderson’s A Blizzard of Polar Bears or high-stakes military tech mysteries such as Dale Brown’s Arctic Storm Rising. While these books use the frozen landscape as a dramatic, often hostile backdrop for heroism, Kempt’s interest in writing clearly stems from the environment itself, rather than choosing the Arctic simply to fit a thriller mold. Having worked as a criminal lawyer in the remote Arctic for almost two decades, Kempt writes with the weary authority of someone who has lived the reality of the Canadian North rather than someone who has researched it in a library.

The novel follows a tightly wound 41-chapter structure that alternates between two deeply damaged perspectives: Sergeant Elderick Cole, a “Southern” policeman haunted by a botched investigation in Alberta, and Maliktu Kullu, a ten-year-old Inuit boy disfigured by a childhood fire. The story begins with a grim discovery: the apparent suicide of sixteen-year-old Pitseolala in an unlit apartment in Cape Dorset. Cole, however, notices inconsistencies that suggest a staged scene. As Cole navigates the bureaucratic and physical hurdles of a remote investigation, Maliktu undergoes a spiritual journey, guided by visions of his dead sister to “kill the devil”responsible for her death.

Kempt’s portrayal of Inuit communities avoids the romanticized imagery often found in Northern fiction. Instead, he presents a “pressure cooker of social ills” driven by “[h]arsh weather, rampant substance abuse, lack of treatment resources, and pure isolation.” The lack of basic infrastructure is palpable; Cole’s smartphone becomes an “overpriced dictation machine” because there is no reliable cell service. The housing units are identical, overcrowded pre-fabricated units where “violence lingered as a potential solution to every problem.” Kempt describes a world where the “never-ending night” of winter is strangely comforting because, like the drifting snow, “it hid the ugliness around him.”

As a non-Inuit writer, Kempt approaches the depiction of Northern communities with notable care. At times, the descriptions carry a slight sense of obligation, as if the narrative pauses to ensure that readers unfamiliar with Arctic life fully grasp the structural conditions shaping it. Yet this impulse ultimately strengthens the novel rather than weakening it. The explanations are measured and respectful, and they help situate the story within the broader realities faced by many Northern communities. The issues Kempt depicts (overcrowded housing, strained infrastructure, substance abuse, high rates of suicide, the weight of isolation, to give just a few examples) echo widely documented experiences in Inuit regions. Importantly, these conditions are not framed as exotic tragedies of the Arctic but as complex social realities affecting both Inuit and non-Inuit residents of the North. In this way, the novel’s attention to detail feels less like exposition and more like a careful act of witnessing.

The environment is clearly not just a setting; it is a character that dictates the logic of life and death. The ground is so hard with permafrost that an excavator is required for a shallow grave, and the cold is so absolute that a body in an unheated apartment becomes frozen solid within hours. Kempt uses this environment to ground his foray into what might initially appear as magical realism. Maliktu’s connection to his sister transcends the psychological; he sees her face beneath the frozen water, her “eyes blank, her mouth gaped wide,” and later, in the room where she died, she physically interacts with him by talking to him, and he feels her phantom breath “hot and tangible on his skin.” Yet these moments do not feel like a literary flourish imposed from outside. Instead, they resonate with the long tradition of Inuit storytelling in which the spiritual and physical worlds coexist, and where the land, the sea, and the dead remain active presences in everyday life.

However, perhaps the most daring aspect of the novel is the narrator and main character, Sergeant Cole. He is a man in the throes of a downward spiral, self-medicating with blue and white pills and an alcohol problem to cope with the botched investigation that ruined his career and his family. His rage is often misplaced and terrifying; in a moment of extreme psychological pressure, he executes a chained, suffering dog in front of a group of children -- a choice that stays with the reader and forces a difficult reckoning with Cole’s character. 

The novel reaches a fever pitch in chapter 30, during an exorcism scene. As an evangelical preacher, Avon Desmond, attempts to cast out demons from a suicidal teenager, the room dissolves into a maelstrom of chanting and holy water. The tension of the community’s trauma explodes when Cole, disoriented by the noise and discomfort, discharges his weapon three times into the floor. His subsequent punch to the preacher’s chin is a visceral moment of a man finally breaking under the weight of burnout in a place that will “burn you alive if you let it.” The motif of burning alive functions both as a chilling metaphorical warning and a literal threat that bookends the novel's climax.

The meaning of the title, A Gift Before Dying, resonates throughout the narrative. It suggests that in a landscape defined by suffering, the gift is often a release from consciousness or trauma. Early on, Cole reflects that being able to sleep would be a gift and later, after a self-destructive outburst, he notes that losing consciousness was a gift. The gold cross Maliktu recovers is also considered a gift before dying, a token of protection Pitseolala may have intended for her brother. Ultimately, the gift is Cole’s final transition. In the final chapter, as he succumbs to his wounds he suffered during a fight with the antagonist and Pitseolala’s killer, he enters a spiritual iglu. There, he finds Pitseolala who takes his hand and blows out the flames of her lamp. It is a peaceful, spiritual ending that elevates the book from a standard procedural to a profound meditation on the Arctic soul.

A Gift Before Dying is a remarkable work of Arctic noir. Kempt’s prose is raw, capturing both the beauty and the quiet isolation of the North while exposing the jagged, unhealed wounds carried by the people who live there. The novel moves confidently between procedural investigation, psychological descent, and spiritual reckoning, creating a narrative that feels both grounded and hauntingly otherworldly. In doing so, Kempt elevates what could have been a conventional Arctic thriller into something far more resonant: a meditation on trauma, survival, and the fragile threads that bind communities together in one of the most unforgiving landscapes on earth. For readers who think they already know the Arctic thriller, Kempt’s debut is a necessary, and chilling, education.