Experiences Afloat
Next day we hove up anchor and started off for Cape Verde. You’d
hardly think a small ship so full of men could feel lonely, but the
_Quest_ seemed to me to miss our late shipmates. We still carried
our passenger, however—Mr. Lysaght, who had intended to leave us at
Madeira, but who was so well liked aboard that he was persuaded to
stay on a little longer. Immediately on leaving Madeira we picked up
the fine north-east trades, and with every stitch of canvas we could
carry, bowled along nobly toward the South.
No doubt many interesting things happened aboard that never came
under my immediate notice, though you might think it was impossible
for anything to transpire within such narrow confines as those of the
_Quest_ without all hands immediately securing the fullest information;
but other better qualified pens than mine have dealt with them. I
am trying to give my own impression of this astonishing voyage as
it appealed to me: a raw landlubber and a somewhat young one. And
I suppose that to a mole, its own burrow is of much more importance
than even a European war.
What chiefly concerned me about this time was the cook’s mishap. Prior
to leaving Funchal, Green had run a fishbone into his hand, causing
him considerable pain, and rendering him useless during the rest of
the day; but with true pertinacity he stuck it out until the morrow
found his hand in a much worse condition; whereupon Mr. Douglas, our
geologist, volunteered to replace him in the galley. For, although all
hands had specific duties allotted to them as regards the expedition
proper—that is: one was meteorologist, another geologist, another
flying-man, and so on, when not actually engaged in scientific duties,
all took part and lot with the general crew. There was a good deal
of the Drake spirit about our leader: “I should not care to see the
gentleman who would refuse to hale and draw with the mariners” was
one of his mottoes, and so—the geologist became acting “Doctor,”
and celebrated his appointment by heaving the disabled cook from his
sanctum sanctorum, as, being a new broom, he wanted to make a clean
sweep. Let’s say Green’s hand recovered rapidly; we won’t blame the
breakfast; but at all events, Green returned to duty after that meal
was served, and so a possible mutiny was averted!
Beyond washing my clothes, this was about the only incident of the
day. Next day brought us sight of a noble Royal Mail boat snorting
magnificently along; and those who watched her regaled themselves
with moving accounts of the comforts and luxuries to be had aboard. As
Mr. Mason, our original cinema photographer, had returned to England,
Mr. Wilkins, the naturalist, deputized for him, and managed to secure
some very good shots at the moving monster. Daily duties, necessary
and time-absorbing, filled in the hours not unpleasantly, and the
usual even glide of day and night set in after its break in port.
There is no way of eating time so thoroughly as by keeping regular
watch-and-watch at sea: days slip into weeks, weeks into months, so
very smoothly as to be well-nigh imperceptible.
The summery weather conditions now necessitated something of a
change in our regular mode of life. The little wardroom, snug and
warm farther north, was growing unpleasantly stuffy; and the scorch
of the sun on the decks did nothing to mend matters. Consequently,
awnings were rigged on the poop, and meals were served beneath it
in alfresco fashion; a welcome change from the tinned atmosphere
of down below. So genial were the weather conditions that I felt
it incumbent upon me to celebrate the occasion, which I did to the
extent of a much-needed shave: the first for ten clear days; though
the private opinion of some aboard, I believe, was that I was growing
unnecessarily dandified! Others thanked me politely and vowed that
I had raised the water-line of the ship by a full two inches, thus
guaranteeing her seaworthiness if further bad weather came our way.
We began, now, to use the deck much more than down below; it was not
only our messroom and our music-room, but also our bedroom. Even the
gramophone seemed to appreciate the change to open air, for it did
its noblest this evening under the awning, when Shackleton’s favourite
airs were played all through and a spirit of mirth and cheer animated
all hands. Excellent amity prevailed: we were shaking down into our
places, fitting ourselves into corners, and determined to make the
best of these present good times in preparation for the prophesied
bad times ahead.
Turning-in on deck was an enjoyable experience: free air blowing
about your face makes for enjoyable rest; and it is possible, lying
under open sky, to study and marvel over the radiant glory of the
stars. There are no stars like those of the tropical skies; they are
bigger and brighter than seen in English skies, and seem not so much
to be set flat on a board as arranged in proper perspective. Why
anyone should frowst below decks when there is room above, I fail to
understand. Query, the wolf-hound, shared my opinion, for he slept
at my head all night and aroused me at daybreak by licking my face.
He showed promise of growing into a fine dog, and was already a good
friend to all aboard. You’ve simply _got_ to make a pet of something
at sea; and you are lucky if you are given so excellent an object
for your affections as was Query.
Fine weather at sea means—so I was told by those more experienced than
myself—an orgy of painting. The craze bit the ship’s company now,
and some wonderful decorative effects resulted. And the weather was
really fine—sunny sky, sea like glass, and never an awkward movement
to the ship, save for the long, even swell that was more like a steady
breathing of the ocean than an actual heave.
But lest too much fresh, sweet air should harm us and increase our
appetites beyond all reason, it was decided that now was the day and
hour to trim bunkers; so all hands turned to to chew coal-dust. The
engines were stopped and all sail was set. Once more our mechanical
heart was showing symptoms of valvular disease; and the engineer was
loudly of opinion that only extensive repairs and alterations could
save the situation. During the day the breeze freshened somewhat, so
that the good, clean rustling of the distended canvas sang a note
of striving; but fair though the breeze was, we made indifferent
headway; and in the evening the engines were started up once more.
It appeared as if the ship was annoyed at this interference with her
placid progress; for the first turn of the screw caused the hull to
give such a fiendish lurch that the entire galley did its best to
turn a somersault and capsized, spilling everything worth while over
the deck. A big can of boiling cocoa plentifully bathed the cook’s
legs; a tin of melted fat smothered the floor; and for an hour we
were as fully employed as we had any desire to be. Cooling fat leaves
much to be desired in the handling; and I was glad that I was over
my seasickness! All that troubled me now was toothache, and that was
getting better. But we mopped up the débris and scoured everything
white again, and turned in with the sweet consciousness of work well
done. Thinking it necessary, no doubt, to take his share in the common
toil, Query contrived to discover a flying-fish which had blundered
aboard in the blind fashion these fish have of doing things. It was
a very toothsome morsel—but not for Query!
My own individual duties during these days lacked nothing on the
score of variety. Turning-to at six o’clock, I proceeded to assist in
scrubbing decks—as they call it in the Navy; washing down, as it is
designated in the merchant service. A hose and a broom are in demand
for this sea-ritual. Having satisfactorily completed this sanitary
duty, I went aft and got all things in order for breakfast, and
served at table whilst my seniors ate. Simple enough in the telling,
but when the sea got up a bit, as it did about now, and the ship
grew lively, not so simple in the actuality. Since no right-thinking
man cares to have his breakfast spilt down the back of his neck, it
behoved me to be careful, as I had no wish to figure as principal
character at a coroner’s inquest. Another of my daily duties was to
scrub out Sir Ernest’s cabin. Don’t, please, carry away from these
pages an impression of a sumptuous stateroom. This sea-bedroom was
little better than a glorified packing-case: it measured seven feet
by six, and when you were in it you felt half-afraid to draw a full
breath in case you carried something away or burst the bulkheads
apart. The door of this cabin opened on the afterside; and on the
port side was the bunk, stretching the entire length of the room,
with drawers beneath and a single porthole above. A small washstand
stood against the forrard bulkhead; shelves well-filled with books on
the starboard side, and a small, collapsible chair completed the more
elaborate furnishings. In addition, fixed to the forrard bulkhead,
was a small, white-enamelled cabinet fitted with an oval mirror in
the door, and an emergency oil-lamp for use when the electric supply
gave out. That’s as good a description as I can give of this tabloid
apartment, where you could do everything humanly possible without
leaving one spot!
After daily breakfast I did whatever I was told to do—helped the cook
to clean the galley and prepare the meals, took a trick at the helm,
trimmed coal, gave a hand with the sails and rigging, and made myself
generally useful. As one of my shipmates said: “It was a pity we had
no clay aboard because I might have spent my leisure in making bricks!”
Wednesday, October 26, was a red-letter day: one to be recorded with
all due solemnity. I had my wages raised! When cleaning out his cabin
on this particular morning the Boss asked me what I had been doing
in Aberdeen in addition to scouting. I told him that I had been at
the University. Whereupon he laid the accolade upon my shoulders by
saying, in that deep, pleasant voice of his which seemed designed
to beat up against the fiercest gale that ever blew: “Well, you’re
pleasing me very much so far, and I want to increase your pay to
£12 a month. That will help pay your fees when you get back to the
Granite City.”
I was enormously pleased. It wasn’t so much the increase of pay as the
kindly words that accompanied the promise. I was giving satisfaction
to such a judge of humanity as Sir Ernest Shackleton! That was what
warmed my blood. I’d passed severe tests and was qualified to count
myself properly one of the adventurous brotherhood! It seemed to me
as if this honour had been bestowed on all Scoutdom, and I was glad.
Cape Verde Islands greeted my sight this morning, looming dimly into
view. By noon we were closing the coast, rugged and inhospitable.
Absolutely nothing but bare rock was visible; sun-scorched and lacking
entirely in verdure; bare rock rising majestically some fifteen
hundred feet into the clear air, never a tree to break its monotony,
apparently no soil in which a single blade of grass might grow. St.
Vincent has few charms at the best; it is used for little else beyond
a coaling station and a connecting link in the world’s submarine
cable system. Rain seldom falls in St. Vincent, and it is too remote
from the rest of the world to be fertilized by passing birds. Its
harbour, though, is a fine, natural roadstead, being composed of an
assortment of smaller islands, and the native divers beat anything
I have ever come across, though they are reputed to be as light of
finger as they are deft of movement in the water, and occasionally
they are apt to become truculent and peevish if interrupted in their
favourite hobby of abstracting such movables as they can lay hands
on. Not that it was necessary for an article to be movable. I was
solemnly assured by one who should have known that these same modern
buccaneers had on one occasion endeavoured to steal the funnel out
of the ship that harboured him!
Bathing off the ship was vetoed on account of rumoured sharks, which
did not appear to trouble the natives overly; but it was permissible
closer inshore, and we only too gladly took full advantage of this
opportunity. It was a delightful experience, for the water was so
balmy as to be like a continued caress.
At night a farewell dinner was given to Mr. Lysaght, who was to leave
us here and return to England, home and beauty. Throughout the journey
he had quitted himself in most manly fashion, refusing to succumb when
hardier men than himself went down, bearing part and lot in all that
happened with the greatest good cheer. His principal wish seemed to
be to continue aboard the _Quest_, indifferent to the call of home
and comfort; but this was not to be. The ship did herself well that
night: giving of her very best in food and drink, and the occasion
was one to remember.
Next morning I dressed myself decently and went ashore in company
with the geologist and the naturalist, Mr. Wilkins. At sea, I may
mention, we dressed as convenient and studied our personal appearance
very little, so that we often looked like a gang of scarecrows. The
nigger population of St. Vincent turned out to greet us—not out of
admiration for our noble selves, but with an honest—or dishonest—desire
for gain. They literally mobbed us as we set foot ashore: snatching at
our bags, thrusting diminutive donkeys under our noses, clamouring to
be permitted to show us the sights, and generally buzzing about like
gigantic flies. What they lacked in reserve they made up in enthusiasm;
but we considered ourselves quite able to look after ourselves. We
collected various tiny donkeys, and I found myself very greatly at
sea when I boarded my noble mount. Steering the _Quest_ was child’s
play as compared with navigating that ass at first, but one got the
hang of it after a while and contrived to make some progress ahead
instead of sideways.
Nothing I saw ashore here altered my first impression of the Cape
Verdes. They are, without exception, the barest, poorest lumps of
land I’ve ever seen. St. Vincent, like the other islands, is purely
volcanic in character, and what is not bare, vitreous rock is simply
dry, reddish volcanic earth that contains no fertilizing qualities,
so far as I am aware. There had been no rain for two years prior to
our arrival; there was naturally no herbage growing, all was sheer
sun-scorched rock and blazing heat, tempered only a little by the sea
breezes. As nothing will grow ashore beyond a few miserable stalks of
maize on the higher slopes, the inhabitants, set down there for their
sins presumably, would starve but for another island in the group.
From this island they secure water, which is ferried across in boats,
and also all their cereals and fruits, though these are nothing to wax
eloquent over. Even this water is not very palatable; it is obtained by
boring down to a great depth, and as there had been no rain to liven
the springs, the general result was stale and unlikeable. Until it is
boiled and sterilized it is practically undrinkable. So that, taking
one thing with another, it is not surprising that occasionally quite
large numbers of the native population die off from sheer starvation.
Their staple food is ground maize, and when it becomes scarce, as it
so often does, they are in a bad plight.
We travelled up into the hills quite a distance, thanks to our donkeys.
Joining Mr. Wilkins I went bug-hunting; we successfully pursued
butterflies, caterpillars and other creepie-crawlies. Mr. Wilkins added
a small lizard to his bag, and seemed delighted; whilst Mr. Douglas
contented himself with his own particular hobby: studying the dykes,
and hills, and volcanic formations of the island, collecting certain
specimens that interested him on the way. Some of the butterflies,
which we bagged in considerable numbers, were rarely beautiful,
and seemed, in my opinion, to be wasting their time at St. Vincent.
There’s a Scots lament called “The Barren Rocks of Aden,” but the
man who composed it had never seen St. Vincent, or he’d have decided
that Aden was nothing to make a song about.
Coming back, we seemed so much too big for our donkeys as they braved
the precipitous slopes that out of sheer humanity—to say nothing of
respect for our necks—we dismounted and proceeded afoot along the
scorching rocks which seemed to burn through our boot-soles as if we
walked across red-hot lava. The impression I received was of a weary
plodding through a hopeless desert, and this suggestion was increased
by the great swirls of vultures that were everywhere overhead. How
they lived on St. Vincent I do not know; maybe, like the Maltese,
they took in each other’s washing, or fed on one another.
Here, again, the Western Telegraph Company gave us warm hospitality:
a rousing good evening with dinner and a sing-song to follow. By
way of a leg-stretcher, and in order, I suppose, to rid ourselves
of the superabundant energy accumulated in the close quarters of the
_Quest_, we then let ourselves go; had a go-as-you-please rugger match
in the passage—much to the consternation of the nigger servants—and
generally took the place apart. When a score of hefty Britishers feel
within them the spirit of movement things are apt to get smashed.
But a rough-house is a good thing occasionally, and I dare say we
should have had one or two aboard but that we were too much afraid
of bursting the ship apart.
Whilst we sported others toiled, for we found to our unbounded
satisfaction on returning in the ghostly small hours, that the
_Quest_ had been coaled and we were saved the grimy irksomeness of
that unpleasant labour. I was glad enough, I assure you, for though
I don’t profess to be any more afraid of work than the next fellow,
there’s a lot of fine, heartfelt joy in knowing that someone else has
done your job! Late aboard never meant late abed under Shackleton;
six o’clock found me resuming the daily task. A homeward-bound liner,
by which Mr. Lysaght travelled, replenished our lockers with fresh
provisions—much better than the stringy goat obtainable ashore—and also
granted us the inestimable boon of a ton of ice for the freezer. Ice
counted for a lot there near the Line; but the time was to come—yet
why anticipate?
During our enforced stay in St. Vincent our engines were once more
tuned up, in the hope that the usual discords they played would cease.
Visitors naturally came and went, for anything the least little bit
out of the ordinary is an event in that sun-baked wilderness; but,
with the engines reported fit and ready again, we once more put out
to sea.