SHIPWRECK
On Monday July twenty-sixth we struck a hidden rock off Northumberland
Island which is at the mouth of Whale Sound away up at Latitude 77
degrees and twenty minutes north, on the east side of Baffin Bay. We
were cruising around the island trying to locate some Eskimo whom we
wanted to get on board to help us hunt. We were just getting into the
good game territory. The evening before we saw seventeen walrus from
the deck.
Captain Bob had been told back at Cape York that certain Eskimo were at
places where they usually lived, but when we got in sight of them the
tupiks were deserted. These people move about a lot following up where
the hunting is best, and probably the fact that the ice had gone out of
the fjords and bays unusually early had made them change about
unexpectedly.
Anyway, we were pretty close in shore, examining four sod houses on a
point. A big wall of rock stuck out of the mountain behind, coming down
toward the water. It is what geologists call a “dyke”—harder rock which
stands up under the rain and snow, like a wall, with the softer stuff
sloping down from it on either side, sort of washed away.
Well, this “dyke” evidently stuck well out underneath the surface of
the water. Afterward we found there was deep water on both sides of it,
right close up. But we managed to hit the very outer knob of it, about
ten feet or so below the surface.
It was about twelve thirty in the morning when we hit, broad daylight
of course, with the sun shining brightly and fortunately no wind or sea
running. It was very, very exciting. I was almost thrown out of my bunk
when we hit. There was a jar and a jolt and then everything stopped. We
had often hit into light ice, which jarred the vessel a bit, but never
anything like this.
As quick as I could I put on my pants and was just getting on my
stockings when Dad called down from the skylight for all hands to get
on deck and never mind dressing. I woke up Bob Peary and Doc and we all
rushed on deck.
We moved oil casks for half an hour from the after part of the ship to
the bow so as to take the strain off the stern where the vessel had
struck and was sticking on the rocks. It was just high tide when we
hit. We raised the foresail, jib and jumbo and had the engine going
full speed, but she didn’t budge. Then, as the tide began to leave us,
we took a lot of stores ashore in our dories and started in to do what
we could for the next tide.
The Morrissey was listing on her port side at an angle of forty-five
degrees or worse, and everything was in a dreadful mess on board. You
just couldn’t stand even on the dry deck and where it was slimy with
oil, as most of it was, the only possible way to get around was to hang
on to a rope. And at that, what with moving around the heavy oil drums
there were plenty of bad spills. Cap’n Bob cut his hand badly and Doc
bandaged it up right away. Down in the cabins everything was in a heap.
It was funny to see the clothes hanging on hooks from the ceiling stand
right out crazily at a wild angle from the walls, like drunken men.
The tide went down leaving the vessel high and dry, except for the bow
which was in the water, tipped down at a bad angle and the stern up on
the rocks. Cap’n Bob lashed ten empty oil drums on either side close to
the keel at the stern, to help raise her when the water came in.
We just had to be ready for any emergency in case the Morrissey proved
to be hurt so badly she couldn’t float, or especially if a storm came
up which would have broken her to pieces quickly and made landing stuff
very hard and perhaps impossible. And you must remember we were nearly
one thousand miles from the nearest Danish settlement and more than
2000 miles from Sidney, the nearest big place.
One thing we put ashore at once and very carefully was the emergency
low power radio set with which Ed Manley, our radio operator, could
keep in touch with the world in case our big outfit on board was lost.
That little set which might have been so awfully important was given us
by the National Carbon Company who make the Eveready batteries.
And then the noon tide came and we were dreadfully disappointed. For
the water didn’t rise to within about three feet of the midnight tide
when we struck, so we were left with no hope of getting off until the
next tide. And that was pretty bad, because all that listing and
pounding was dreadfully hard on a vessel, and would surely break one up
less strong than the good old Morrissey, which is built of oak and is
unusually sturdy.
But the water did get high enough to wash in over the deck on the low
port side, even if the vessel couldn’t raise. There was a bad leak
strained in her side and she leaked so badly we all had to help bail
with pails lowered with ropes through the skylight into the mid-ships
cabin. We couldn’t use the pumps because she had such a bad list, and
tip forward, that they didn’t get at the water.
My bunk and two others filled up with water all mixed with oil, and my
things, especially in the locker underneath, got pretty well spoiled.
Luckily someone lifted out my bedclothes.
The stove in the galley and in the after cabin had to be put out, as
there was danger they would spill over and set the ship on fire. The
big galley stove was braced up with seal hooks to keep it from sliding.
Billy the cook moved in to shore and kept making coffee there so the
men had something hot to help keep them going. Before it was all over
most everyone had been working continuously more than forty hours. I
was at it more than twenty-five, and was pretty dead tired.
The Captain ordered all the food put ashore and there was a lot more to
do, lashing more casks and trimming the cargo and moving gasoline to
land, for the motor boat in case we got stuck, and kerosene for the
primus stoves. Then, too, they put out the big heavy anchor, taking it
in the dories quite a way from the ship and dropping it, so that we
could haul on it with the windlass.
While the tide was down there was a lot of work to do on the banged-up
bottom of the vessel. The false keel, which is a big timber on the very
bottom below the real keel, was pretty well ripped off aft of the
mainmast, and a lot of oakum was loosened out of the garboard seam.
Lying down on the wet rocks we filled in a lot of oakum, which is a
sort of fibre like shredded bagging or say potato sacking, with
caulking tools, which is a blunt kind of chisel and a mallet or hammer
to pound the stuff into the seams or cracks.
Then we got a lot of Billy’s dish washing soft soap and mashed it up
with a hammer and worked it in our hands into a kind of pasty putty. We
put this in on top of the oakum. We worked in the water until the tide
got up around our boots, and then climbed the ladder up on deck. I was
able to help quite a bit on this job, and afterward there was plenty to
do bailing.
On shore we put up one of our small tents and took in most of our
things, like sleeping bags, blankets, guns and ammunition. Everybody as
best they could threw their things together to land. It was exciting,
and exactly as if we were abandoning the ship. And awfully sad, too, to
see our fine Morrissey all soaked with water and oil, and everything
thrown about so terribly.
After the unloading work, and after the men had had a mug of coffee and
hardtack and whatever Billy could dig out of the cans, it was pretty
nearly high tide again, along about eleven o’clock at night. The sun,
of course, was always about the same distance above the horizon, only
at a different point, so it seemed always a sort of bright afternoon.
We were terribly lucky not to have it stormy.
All hands were called on board and while three men worked the pumps the
others manned the windlass. We had the big anchor and a small one out,
to pull on with the windlass.
There was a good wind coming up so we had to get her off then or she
would surely break up and leave us there. After working for an hour or
so we were just about to give up when the wind freshened more. Cap’n
Bob ordered all sails hoisted. Everyone got on the halyards and pulled
as hard as they could. The wind flattened out the sails and the engine
went full speed ahead. But for a good many minutes she held fast and we
were most awfully discouraged.
Then all at once there was an extra big wave and a puff of wind, and
suddenly she gave a sort of groan and slid free of the rocks. After
twenty-five hours we were off! We sure were glad.
Dad, Carl and myself went ashore to get the stores in order in case it
rained, while the Morrissey was taken around to leeward some place
where they could care for her better and see how things were. She
seemed to be leaking a lot, and the plan was, in case of the water
getting away from the pumps, to beach her.
We turned in right away, at about half-past two, I suppose. And when we
woke up it was two in the afternoon! We were pretty tired, I reckon.
And then, too, Carl had been quite sick and had had a pretty hard time
to keep going at all.
The Morrissey had disappeared. Of course we didn’t have any idea where
she was, but there was nothing to do but wait and fix things up as best
we could. The next day, in the fog Carl and Dad went out in the motor
launch to try to locate the crowd, but they did not find the vessel.
So we built a sort of house, the craziest house you ever thought of.
Robinson Crusoe never saw a funnier one. It had three walls, all made
of food, mostly, with a big sail pulled over for a roof and some tarps
to help out. The strongest wall, where the wind blew from, was built of
flour sacks laid up on boxes of tinned vegetables. There were bags of
potatoes, crates of onions, barrels, dunnage bags, hams and bacons in
those walls. Anyway, we felt we had plenty to eat for quite a time. We
were especially glad to have a fine lot of specially made Armour
pemmican, presented by Dad’s friend, Herman Nichols.
We had two big bear skins and these we put on the damp ground with a
tarp for a sort of floor. With a primus stove, which works with
kerosene, we were quite comfortable even though the wind did blow the
sails nearly off the roof. We weighted them down with big rocks, and
tied heavy hams that Mr. Swift had given us by ropes at the sides.
I got quite sick and had to keep in my sleeping bag about the whole
time we were at “Shipwreck Camp.” It was pretty cold with no fire at
all to give heat, but we got along first rate. Dad explained that by
that time almost surely word would have gotten through from our
wireless that the vessel was off the rocks. The trouble was that the
water, at the time of the accident, put our wireless out of commission.
It took Ed Manley a couple of days to get it going right again.
The third day about noon, when Carl was cooking up some tea on the
primus, he glanced out of the door of our hut and saw four Eskimos
coming toward us a long way off on the side of the mountain. As they
got nearer we could see they all were carrying big packs.
When they got to the tent the man threw off a little baby he had been
carrying in a sling on his back. The mother had a bag of empty cans in
her sack, which we recognized as coming from the Morrissey. With the
few words we could understand, and a lot of motions and grinning—they
are always awfully good-natured and nice—our friends told us they had
been aboard the vessel and had been helping pump. She was at anchor on
the other side of the island. It seemed she was only a few miles away.
So after we had given them a feed, mostly a big can of peas which they
loved, Carl and Dad started to find the ship, leaving me to sleep. I
forgot to say that we gave the Eskimo some ham, which looked good and
they showed us they would like a taste. But they did not like it at
all. It was too salty. They use no salt in their meat, and can’t
understand us liking it. “Nagga piook” they said, making funny faces.
Which means, “No good.”
About midnight, eight hours or so later, I heard a yell and woke up to
see the Morrissey out in the bay beyond where she had run aground. Dad
and Carl were on board, and as the wind had gone down they had come
around to get the stores.
I was sent aboard and Doc told me to go right to bed and keep as warm
as possible. As my bunk was still pretty damp where it had been drowned
out, I turned in to Dad’s bunk in the aft cabin, where the fire was
going.
When I woke up we were under way and headed south. We planned to go
back to Upernivik and beach the vessel there and make repairs. With so
many on board it seemed better to Cap’n Bob and Dad not to risk trying
to make any repairs on the north side of Melville Bay, which is apt to
be a very dangerous place to cross.
If the Morrissey had struck on a rising tide everything would have been
all right. One often goes aground up here where hundreds of rocks and
reefs aren’t shown on the charts and where all the information for
sailors is terribly incomplete. But of course things like that always
happen at the wrong time. It was just hard luck. When the wind came up
it was either break up or get off.
I have written this in the after cabin as we cross Melville Bay going
down to Upernivik. The boat has been in a terrible mess, but is pretty
well straightened out now. And everyone has about caught up on sleep.
Around my bunk and Mr. Kellerman’s the boards are crushed in. That’s
from the great strain put on the frame and beams when the boat laid on
her side, so that when she moved or gave a little the light inner
framework of the bunks snapped.
Dad just asked me if I’d like to go again on another northern trip. And
of course I said I would. Really my answer was “I’d like to go anywhere
with Cap’n Bob.”