Among the Islands
A rising swell and indications of increasing bad weather caused us
to hurry our departure from Tristan da Cunha; and when the whistle
was blown in warning the able-bodied population flocked aboard in
a last desperate determination to rid us of all our surplus gear.
Perhaps they were not to be blamed—they were mentally half-grown
children, no more—but by their behaviour on this occasion they undid
any good impressions we had formed of them. Greedy? That wasn’t the
name for it! Unashamedly, with clutching fingers, they started in
to scrounge whatever they could see. It was rather disappointing, I
must confess. Of gratitude for our earlier bounty they betrayed no
trace whatsoever. They had promised us fresh supplies in return for
the enormous amount of stores we had freely given them, but only at
the very last did they reluctantly disgorge two skinny sheep which
were hardly worth taking aboard.
One party of the steadier elders brought off mail-bags and oddments of
parcels for us to convey to Cape Town. They had forgotten to address
the parcels, and, when told of it, seemed to think we possessed
sufficient second sight to deliver the goods at the required addresses.
So active did they become at last that Commander Wild was compelled to
order them back into their boats, where they went sulkily, like whipped
children; but the narrow conditions of their lives, the hardships
they everlastingly endure, may cause these weaknesses of character.
Anyhow, we left them to their drear isolation, and in drenching rain,
with the ship’s decks woefully littered with the gear the islanders
had disdained to convey below, we put to sea on the next lap of our
journey—towards Gough Island.
An orgy of cleaning and stowing followed, in order to get the ship in
trim to face expected bad weather. Mr. Wilkins dredged for samples of
the sea’s bottom, but, alas! the dredge wire parted and all his trouble
went for naught. Sounding regularly every hour, through grey, bleak,
thick weather, we journeyed on, and, with the mist thickening, judged
our chances of even sighting Gough Island very remote. Nevertheless,
we sighted it dimly through the thickness early on the afternoon of
May 27, and by eight bells in the afternoon watch were close up with
it. At first a dense mist bank hid all of it, saving only a hundred
feet or so, but the mist soon lifted, and, sailing a hundred and fifty
yards off-shore, with the hands in the chains continuously sounding,
we saw a fairly lofty, rugged island with varied vegetation. The
outstanding feature of this island was the large number of spires and
minarets that seemed carved by the hand of man from the immemorial
rock; there were sharply pointed peaks, too, in quantities, and many
of these stood out like clustered chimney-stacks against the sky, so
that an impression of dense population was conveyed. Over the cliffs,
which for the most part rose sheer from the sea, small streams fell
in perpendicular waterfalls, as they do in Norway, so I was told; and
the wind, blowing hard, scattered these cascades into white clouds of
feathery spray, infinitely beautiful, long before they reached bottom.
Shortly after dinner we came to anchor in a bit of a bay at the
north-east end of the island, where a beautiful and very densely
vegetated glen opened invitingly to the sea. Near by the water had
cut a tunnel through the cliffs, forming a natural arch of some
magnificence; such arches we found were fairly common around the coast.
This snug valley branched and branched again into innumerable smaller
ravines and gullies, with thick growth a good three-quarters of the
way up the slopes, merging into what appeared to be an open grassland,
which continued to the summits of the highest peaks. Out from this
open land, in full view of the ship, there rose a very singular peak
of dome-like rock, absolutely bare, with precipitous sides, standing
well clear of all the rest of the land, and looking curiously like
some noble monument erected to the memory of the sailormen who had
perished in these wild latitudes.
Whilst coasting along close inshore we had sighted several other
anchoring grounds, though none of them, possibly, so good as the one
we had selected; and we congratulated ourselves on snug moorings as
we busied ourselves with preparations for landing. After a very early
breakfast the boat was lowered and stowed with instruments—geological,
meteorological, biological—with tents, clothing, cooking utensils
and stores to last for a stay of four or five days. Mr. Douglas, Mr.
Wilkins, Major Carr, Argles, Naisbitt and myself formed the landing
party, Commander Wild taking charge of the boat with the two doctors
and the chief. The water was delightfully clear and calm, and landing
was a comparatively easy matter to seasoned veterans such as we had
now become. A few yards back from the stony beach were two small
huts, one an unlovely structure of corrugated iron, its roof lashed
down to ensure against the risk of being blown away by the furious
gales that rage here almost all the year round. The second hut was
a rude but substantial structure of rounded stones from the shore,
and looked like a relic of prehistoric times. Even its thatched roof,
which had come adrift in places, suggested uncared-for antiquity. And
all around and about these two shacks lay the debris of a deserted
flyaway mining venture—pickaxes and shovels, pans and sieves, a
centrifugal machine, a pump and suction-hose. Various food stores
and cooking utensils were lying about in both huts, and in the iron
erection we found a cooking-stove in good working order. We pitched
our own tent securely and stowed all our gear away in the sound hut,
enjoying all the sensations of those making unexpected discoveries;
for what all this assortment of derelict gear actually meant was
something of a mystery. It showed, however, that the place had been
visited at no very distant period; the general impression was that
a search for diamonds had been conducted here. A box half-filled
with matches was found; we struck one and it ignited immediately, a
surprisingly good advertisement for the tightness of the hut whence
they were collected. Then, in a little cave to the right of the huts,
we discovered a stone bearing an inscription, “F. X. Xeigler, R. I.
Garden, J. Hagan, W. Swaine, J. C. Fenton: Cape Town: 1/6/19,” showing
that years had elapsed since this futile quest had been abandoned.
No further evidence offered; the exploring party, apparently having
searched here and searched there for precious natural loot, seemed to
have dumped down their tools, disheartened, and gone clean off the map.
The glen was interesting; we divided ourselves into parties to explore
it, each party taking a separate branch. In the bottom of the valley
a torrent brawled and tumbled amongst large boulders, and trekking up
this path was a difficult and arduous matter, as Wilkins and I found
to our cost. But in the blessed name of scientific research obstacles
only exist to be overcome, and on we went. Many trees of island wood
greeted our eyes as we progressed, and what struck me particularly
was the number of extremely beautiful parasites which grew thickly on
these trees. Wilkins secured samples; very fragile they were, and of
great length, their colour being for the most part a pale yellow-green.
After proceeding a mile the stream fell over a precipice into a narrow
gorge, so, striking off sharply to the right at this juncture, we
climbed a slippery slope of rock covered with a soaked matting of
mosses. This slope soon became almost vertical, and our way was beset
with difficulties. We had to dig our feet into the wet mould, which
fetched away continually from the bare, dripping rock below, or else
secure precarious foothold on the short tree-ferns, which themselves
were very insecurely rooted. But there was all the thrill of discovery
in the adventure; it was just like exploring a perfectly deserted
island on which we might be required to exist for unnumbered years;
and the feeling that the unexpected was going to happen round every
corner was very strong.
Thus, after struggles unending, we reached the summit, one of those
rugged pinnacles we had observed from the ship prior to landing. Even
at this considerable height the vegetation was profuse, whilst on
every side the land rose in similar steep and rugged eminences. From
this vantage-ground we were able to discern the easiest route to the
island’s summit. For the first fifteen hundred feet it lay through
the thick growth of the glen and the left branch of the left fork.
Then our best way appeared to be to take to one of the grassy ridges
which separated the innumerable gullies and ravines converging on the
main glen. Having discovered so much, we also discovered that the day
was so far advanced that it was time for us to make our way back to
camp; and the return journey was not such hard going as the outward
venture. For myself, I simply slid down the greasy moss helter-skelter,
breaking up every now and then by clutching—and uprooting—a tree-fern.
Mr. Wilkins preferred shooting waterfalls to this method, but there
was not much to choose between the two, both being equally wet and
equally rapid. After dinner most of the shore party indulged in an
orgy of mice-hunting; for the huts swarmed with the little beasts—the
only living relics of the mysterious expedition whose traces we had
discovered.
At six the following morning we all roused out and had a gorgeous dip
in the stream—cold but invigorating—and then squatted down to a most
delicious breakfast of burgoo and bacon (burgoo, as the initiated
know, is sailorese for porridge). Immediately thereafter the work of
exploration was resumed, both parties joining forces until we reached
the first fork in the glen, where we separated. Mr. Douglas took
the right branch towards the huge natural monument of which I have
spoken before, Mr. Wilkins the left, according to the route we had
mapped out the previous afternoon. As the vegetation was dripping wet
we were quickly and thoroughly drenched. We tried for the most part
to keep to the bed of the stream, but as we constantly encountered
perpendicular and unnavigable waterfalls, we had to take to the slope
again and break a tedious way through big tree-ferns and island wood.
At last we came out on the open grasslands about two thousand feet
up, and here we made better progress. Mr. Wilkins shot a few finches
in true castaway fashion, to heighten the impression of our being
shipwrecked mariners; and once, hearing a loud cheeping, thrust his
hand into a hole and brought out, pecking and fighting protestingly
against the unceremonious usage, two large birds of the petrel family.
He also took specimens of a very unusual plant that considerably
resembled a young fir tree. There was little else to be seen here, so
we came to a halt a few hundred feet from the summit, on a small flat
ledge where was a providential pool of rainwater. Here we lunched on
biscuits and sardines, washing down the cold collation with draughts
from the pool, in drenching rain. I have eaten uncomfortable meals
under different circumstances, but never in all my recollection have
I eaten one in less pleasant conditions.
Nothing was to be gained by going farther, so we descended, sliding
as on skis downwards because the ground was so wet and slippery.
Battering again through the vegetation, which was for all the world
like walking up to one’s neck in water, we gained camp late in the
afternoon, as woebegone a pair of objects as even a desert island
could expect to produce. Robinson Crusoe on first landing wasn’t a
patch on us, and the Swiss Family Robinson were fashionable members
of highly civilized society as compared with our sorry selves. We
promptly kindled a huge fire at which to warm and dry, Major Carr
and Argles shooting large numbers of sea birds, which the vivid blaze
attracted. By dint of exercising a little imagination it was easily
possible to believe that we were the survivors of some maritime
disaster waiting—waiting for the appearance of a friendly sail,
constantly alert against attack by bitterly hostile savages.
The next day it was blowing hard and promising bad weather generally.
A big surf was running, and Commander Wild, finding it impossible to
land with the boat, had to yell his instructions to us on the beach,
so deafening was the noise of wind and breaking water, in addition
to instructions he threw us delicacies—crayfish and Naisbitt’s pipe.
Naisbitt welcomed the latter as a mother does her long-lost child,
for, lacking this vital necessity of civilized existence, he had
fashioned a wonderful and fearsome affair, which he treasures to this
day—a pipe composed of a chunk of driftwood and a stalk of tussock
grass.
Early in the afternoon the geologists set out with the intention of
gaining the ultimate summit. Towards nightfall the weather became
pronouncedly worse, and the wind, sweeping down the gullies with
hurricane violence, made us wonder if the island itself would remain
firm on its foundations. Rain and hail accompanied the wind, and away
above the peaks were white and glistening with driven snow. A wild,
bizarre night enough; and the sensation of being marooned and left to
our own devices was very strong, by reason of our lack of communication
with the ship, which was only occasionally visible through the noisy
squalls. What was happening to the geologists upon the distant peaks
we could only surmise. As there was nothing to be done to succour
them, we turned in at ten o’clock, amid the thunderous flapping of
the tent’s canvas, which battered about at such a rate that we felt
certain it must inevitably carry away. We were right. At four in the
morning it did carry away; a whole side was blown out. In rushed the
storm, roaring its delight at having penetrated our inner defences.
We had perforce to turn out, collect our belongings and store them
in the hut, where we continued our sleep with philosophical calm,
except for the irritation of the mice, which scampered all over us and
evidently thought we were manna sent from heaven for their especial
benefit.
The morning breaking somewhat better, Commander Wild was able, with
careful handling, to bring the boat ashore and effect a landing,
taking off Mr. Wilkins and Naisbitt and their baggage. Naisbitt, who
is the unlucky man of the ship, contrived to carry out his usual act
of falling overboard whilst helping to ship the stores. Giving me a
rifle, they left me alone on the beach, to soliloquize in Selkirk
fashion as best I cared. I had a very pronounced Robinson Crusoe
feeling, I must admit—and the rifle failed to bring comfort to my
lonely soul, for there was nothing to use it against that I could see.
Standing on a lonely beach, holding an unnecessary rifle, struck me
as being waste of time, so I set to work, in true castaway style,
to employ myself—in making a meal. Food plays a large part in the
economy of desert-island life, and I was no exception to the rule. I
experimented to the extent of boiling a number of flint-like ship’s
biscuits until they were quite soft; then I poured off the water, put
in some baking-powder, and pounded the lot into a solid mass. Adding
salt, pepper and other condiments, I placed the mixture in one of
the mining pans, which I had previously smeared with dripping, and,
inverting another mining pan on top by way of a lid, proceeded to bake
my impromptu pie. I am in nowise disposed to brag about my culinary
masterpiece, but it really was quite good to taste; and I pass on
the recipe for Pi à la Gough Island to such potential castaways as
might happen to read these pages. The dish is cheap and uncommonly
filling—considerations worth while when lost to the resources of the
outer world.
Whilst I was busy, Query, who had accompanied us ashore and followed
the geologists, turned up, accompanied by Argles. Argles was full
of details of a bleak, comfortless night spent on the hill; he told
how, when starting for the summit that morning, he had fallen down
a steep place, so that he hurt his side and was compelled to turn
back. I sympathized, fed him, and we awaited the return of the rest
of the party, which occurred later in the day. Both Mr. Douglas and
Major Carr were very excellent imitations of drowned rats; their woes
clung thickly to them; their faces were blue and lacking laughter.
They’d reached the top, however, where they had been able to do some
useful work regarding surveys of the other peaks.
We turned in for that night on the floor of the hut—no more
experimenting with fragile tents for us, thank you—and the mice
carried on their best entertainment for our benefit, scampering about
us, over our faces, over our blankets, everywhere. One wakened me at
break o’ day by nibbling my nose; and deciding that discretion was
the better part of valour, we surrendered their citadel and turned
out. We packed up everything, as Commander Wild had determined to
take us off this day or perish in the attempt; for it was quite on
the cards that if he failed to-day a favourable opportunity might
not occur again for weeks, or maybe months. As Gough Island offered
scant entertainment either for body or mind, we were quite determined
to run all reasonable risks to regain the _Quest_.
The boat arrived about 8 a.m., and Commander Wild was craftily
bringing her inshore, slacking away on the anchor rope to prevent
her being smashed, when he saw the danger of the scend of the surf
lifting her and banging her bottom down on the unkindly beach. He
pulled off and made for the lee of a high cliff, which we ascended
after landing, with the aid of ropes, hauling our gear to its summit,
afterwards lowering the lot down the other side and sliding down the
ropes ourselves. Query presented a problem, as even a South Polar
dog can’t negotiate ropes; but some bright genius thrust him into a
sack and lowered him down willy-nilly, Query making no end of a fuss
of it all the while.
Fierce, very fierce gusts were coming away down the glen with a loud
screaming as of hordes of fiends, and the surface of the water was
curdled with spray, whilst the spindrift hurtled in blinding clouds.
Pushing off, we gained the _Quest_ after a stiff pull, and the ugly
old packet seemed to smile us a genial welcome, so homelike did she
appear to our eyes.
Anchor was weighed and we steamed along the coast for a short distance
to where a narrow island rose like a gigantic pillar out of the sea
for about two hundred feet. There the surf-boat went ashore again,
but, though a nasty swell was running, she came to no harm, because
a dense bed of kelp provided an ample buffer if at any time we hit
a boulder too hard. In the meantime Jimmy, who is a man of varied
accomplishments, slew the pig.
Accompanied, so it seemed, by his dying screams we got under way for
Cape Town and the joys of civilization.