"A thousand miles from land are we,
Tossing about on the roaring sea;
From billow to bounding billow cast
Like fleecy snow on the stormy blast."
|Steaming down the river we landed quite a lot of stowaways at Broughty
Perry about 4.30 P. M., just as it was becoming dark. Tea was served at
five,--my first meal on board the _Aurora_.
The Captain and myself sat on the starboard side of the table. Wm.
Adam, the mate, Alexander McKechnie, second mate, and Wm. Smith, chief
engineer, sat on the other side.
Immediately after tea, I went to my room as we were crossing the bar
and going out into a gale of wind. Everything was tumbling about, and
knowing that in a very short time I should lose all interest in my
surroundings, I began making things secure.
There were two berths. My bed was in the upper as it had a porthole, and
most of my belongings were stowed in the lower.
A lot of tobacco had become loose, so I put the little packages of it
between my bed and the side of the ship. The port was not screwed very
tight and leaked badly for a week or so. This saturated the tobacco and
generated an odor which added nothing to my comfort. The motion becoming
very pronounced, I turned in, and being tired, slept well.
[Illustration: 0038]
_February 1st_. Footsteps overhead and the singing of shanties on deck
awoke me at daybreak, but I was intensely ill, so stayed in bed all day.
My room was illuminated by a small light set in the deck overhead and by
a partially submerged port, so it was not cheerful. Above my head there
was a book shelf. I tried to read, but could not feel interested as it
was so very depressing to look forward to months and months of this
sort of thing. Matters grew worse as the day went on, the climax being
reached when rounding Duncansby Head; but respite came about midnight,
when we crept into Long Hope and let go our anchor.
_February 2nd._ Shouting and crying awoke me in the morning, and opening
the door of my cabin, I saw the Captain teaching two boys that the sea
was a bad place to run away to. They had been under an upturned boat and
the seas coming on board had almost drowned them out. Each boy promised
that he would never do it again. They were given two tins of mutton and
a small sack of ship's bread, and put on shore.
Long Hope is a well sheltered harbor, between the islands of Hoy and
South Walls. There was a pronounced smell of turf smoke about the place
and the land was half covered with snow.
Two other whalers were at anchor near by, the _Narwhal_ and _Polynia._
They had left Dundee ten days before us and bad been weather bound here
for that length of time.
I brought my gun up as there were some Richardson's skuas flying about,
but I did not get a shot at one. The mate, however, shot a herring gull
with it and this was the first splash of the ocean of blood shed by us
during the voyage.
Breakfast was a cheerful meal and the horrors of the North Sea were soon
forgotten.
At noon, the tide being favorable and the wind having gone down greatly,
we all three steamed out into the Pentland Firth. The _Polynia_ was the
first to move; I heard her anchor chain clanking on board to a well-sung
shanty. We started next, and as there were some good voices forward we
tried to outdo the others. The _Narwhal_ followed, never to return, as
she was lost during the summer.
Turning Brims Ness sharp, we kept on the Orcadian side of the firth; and
after passing Turn Ness, we laid our course for Cape Wrath. Across the
water we could barely make out Thurso. The land lies rather low about
the mouth of the Thurso river; but on the Hoy side the scenery was fine
and we soon sighted the Old Man of Hoy. During my trip to Orkney and
Shetland a few years before, I had spent several days on this island,
so was interested in seeing it now from the sea on this dismal
February afternoon. Its sombre cliffs are always grand, but the present
atmospheric condition made the scene impressive.
[Illustration: 0043]
The Old Man of Hoy, in the simple language of the guide book, is, "An
insular pillar composed of flagstones and shales. Across their denuded
edges there stretches the band of amygdaloidal lava which is capped by
the red sandstones to the height of four hundred fifty feet." I could
make out the Ward Hill, but clouds lay low on its summit. Near there
I had visited the celebrated Dwarfie Stone made famous by Scott in his
"Pirate." It is a huge block of rock twenty-two feet by seventeen and
seven deep. There is a passage in it with a bed like a ship's berth hewn
out on each side, and it had been, of course, the home of a Trold.
I turned my back on this land of Trolds, and went down the quarter-hatch
to see the second mate serving out lime-juice, tea, coffee, tobacco and
sugar to the men. I heard their names called and had a good look at
them as they came up. Our crew was a fine looking lot and the most
respectable body of men one could find on any ship, unlike the New
Bedford or San Francisco South Sea whalers, which carried very mixed
crews of every color.
Most of our men had spent the greater part of their lives in Greenland
waters, and though not well informed on current topics and very
superstitious, they were self-respecting to a degree and absolutely
fearless, and they were all of the same nationality.
Of course, life on board a whaler is much pleasanter than on any other
sort of merchantman, because the ships are well found and the crews very
large so that, except when actually engaged in sealing or whaling, they
have an easy enough time.
The captains in the trade were very humane men, many of them scientific,
and they treated their crews well. Amongst the harpooners were often
found men who had themselves commanded ships and whose stars, no doubt,
would again be in the ascendancy.
A few unsuccessful years, or the loss of a ship or two, would probably
cost a man his command, and bad luck cannot be avoided.
Before the second mate had finished serving out I retired, as the ship
was beginning to feel the heavy swell that was coming in, and by six P.
M. I was absolutely "under the weather," and it was blowing hard from
the northwest. We passed Cape Wrath about midnight. The following day a
strong gale was blowing with snow and the engines were slowed down.
_February 4th_. Blowing a gale, reefed mizzen set and main topmast
staysail, with the engines slowed down. During the morning a man was
hurt. He was carried aft and held on the cabin table while I--very
ill--and also held, sewed his scalp and dressed the wound.
_February 5th_. Strong gale. Ship under reefed mizzen and main staysail,
steaming slow. High sea running and sun obscured all day.
This applies to the state of affairs on the 6th, 7th, 8th, 9th and 10th,
during all of which time I enjoyed the horrors of _mal de mer_. I saw
by the log that we had spent our days under fore and afters with a heavy
sea running, but I made no original observations, keeping in my berth
all the time, wondering during my conscious moments what brought me to
sea and vowing that I would never set foot on a vessel again if spared
this time.
The ship's dog (Jock) was a rather sociable and sympathetic collie. He
spent a good deal of time with me, and I could not help admiring the old
chap when I knew that he really did not belong to any one, but always
turned up on the _Aurora_ about sailing time and made the voyage with
her. At St. John's, Jock had lots of friends and visited a good deal,
but he was always on board on sailing day.
_February 11th_. A mere shadow of my former self, I got up and did not
feel ill. My wash basin was in one corner of the room. I put my head
against the corner above it and by sticking one foot against the side of
the door and another against the lower berth, was able to apply a little
water to my face, but the swing of the ship was so great that it swished
nearly every drop out of the basin. I dressed and went to breakfast,
feeling absolutely well and ravenously hungry. After breakfast, tucking
my breeches inside my sea boots, I went on deck. The door opened aft. As
I came out, the stem of the vessel sank low as the bows rose on the
sea, and I saw a black mountain of water rolling from us. Getting to the
mizzen rigging on the port side, I put my arms in the shrouds and stood
on a spar lashed on deck. It was very dark for the hour and blowing the
greatest storm that I had ever experienced, the wind fairly shrieking
through the rigging.
We were steaming half speed and had a reefed mizzen and main staysail
set. Looking forward, I saw the little ship taking tons of dark water
over her bows. It came off the forecastle in a cataract, and rushing aft
between the engine room and bulwarks, it surged upon the poop. We only
had a few feet of free board and were making terrible weather of it. The
atmosphere was full of water, as the tops of the waves were blown off in
sheets. A great splash came over the quarter about this time and fairly
engulfed me. Then I learned that it was better to wear one's sea boots
inside instead of outside the trousers.
This was sufficient for the day, so I retired below to change and dry.
During the evening, the Captain showed me our position on a chart which
was glued to the cabin table under the cloth. We were not yet half way
across.
The 12th, 13th and 14th were all equally awful, but I had my sea legs
and a good appetite, so was thankful. The only pleasure I had was
standing on the bridge and watching the ship burying her bows into the
big seas and the water coming in tons over the forecastle and filling
the main deck. She was indeed a wet ship in bad weather.
_February 15th_. The Captain said that he had never seen a lower
barometer. A great gale was blowing and the ship was hove to. Bags of
oil had been put out on the weather side, but the oil did not escape
with sufficient freedom so they were hauled in and a lot of punctures
made with a knife, but this did not improve matters much. It rendered
the sea comparatively smooth to leeward and there was not so much spray
flying, but tons of water tumbled over us and we spent a dreadful day.
I tried the deck for awhile, but it was dangerous. At night the ship was
laboring fearfully and continued to do so for days.
_February 20th_. Another fearful day. I had occasion to visit the
topgallant forecastle to see the ship-keeper, who had hurt his knee.
There was a line from the forecastle door to the main rigging for
safety, as one was almost sure to be caught by a sea while going the
length of the deck.
Two men came aft for me, and watching our chance, we reached the
forecastle safe. Coming back, I decided to try it alone, so waited until
a tremendous sea had broken over us, then before she had time to take
another, I made a dash, but a body of water splashed over the starboard
side and forced me to climb up the inside of the main rigging and stay
there until some of it swept off the deck. Towards night the wind began
to moderate a little.
_February 21st_. Pitching and tossing as usual. Cloudy, but not much
wind; a nasty sea, however, and the canvas did not hold her steady.
Really in a heavy gale the storm holds a ship down to some extent.
The next day, however, the weather had moderated, so I tried stoking and
managed quite well. I also tried changing a fire, which was not such a
success, but I kept steam up and it was an interesting experience.
An end comes to all things. On the morning of the 23rd the ship for the
first time was on an even keel and some sun was shining through my deck
light. Hitherto attempts at washing had been unsatisfactory, as the
motion of the ship in a sea was so quick. Now, however, I indulged in
a complete toilet, and with a feeling of self-respect went on deck. The
day was cloudless and beautiful, the sea smooth as glass, and dotted
over it were white specks of ice. In a very short time the pieces of ice
became more numerous and larger, and when we were at breakfast we heard
and felt the ship crushing and bumping amongst them. By eleven A. M. a
breeze came up from the southeast and all sail was set, but by noon the
ship stuck hard and fast in the ice, and presented to me a wonderful and
beautiful sight.
Every stitch of canvas was set and drawing, and the engine going full
speed, but still for a time we did not move. Now was my chance to walk
about on the frozen sea, so I went out with the dog and we both enjoyed
a race, keeping very close, however, for at any moment the Aurora might
move. We came on board when the mate called, as a crack was appearing
ahead of the ship. We were now two hundred twenty miles from St. John's,
and expected to be in ice all the way. During the afternoon I went up to
the foretop and Valentine thoroughly enjoyed a half hour gazing at the
wonderful scene.
We were very seldom stuck for any length of time, a few bumps from the
ship being generally sufficient to open a crack.
[Illustration: 0051]
A great many of the men were on deck most of the day, and certainly
she was a heavily manned ship with her crew of sixty-five. Six of them
belonged to the engine room, eight were harpooners, who lived in the
topgallant forecastle, as did some of our tradesmen. Of these we had two
carpenters, a cooper, blacksmith, and sailmaker. The specksioneer also
lived there. He was the chief of the harpooners, a splendid old man
called George Lyon. Sixteen of our men were from Shetland, a quiet,
sober, industrious lot.
Standing on the forecastle, I watched the ship crunching through several
miles of young ice. She never actually stopped once. Her bows would rise
up on it, then huge slabs would tilt on end as she glided on. Sometimes
a long crack would open and let her slide in to be almost stuck. By
degrees she would gain way and probably steam into an open pool, to
strike the opposite side with considerable force, thereby opening a
crack in which she would repeat the performance. The engine is the
secret of ice navigation. With canvas alone we would have been fast in
the ice much of the time, while with heavier engines we could have gone
through heavier ice. The night was fine, and we managed to keep moving
on our course.
_February 24th_ was a glorious day. One would scarcely expect to find
such, weather in February in this neighborhood.
In the morning we passed through rather smooth ice. Occasionally there
were large ponds and in many of these I saw seals. Sometimes they were
plunging about in numbers, but generally a few heads only were visible
looking at us inquisitively as we passed. There were no bergs in sight,
but during the afternoon we passed some rafted ice which was piled up
six or seven feet above the floes, and once we were fast for an hour in
a rather heavy place, when I again tried the walking, but there was snow
on the ice which was slightly frozen on the surface, and this made it
heavy as one went through the crust. Towards evening the sky became
cloudy; it was very cold, and snow was falling when I turned in for the
night.
In the morning Cape Bonavista was in sight. It was my first view of this
New World. All land was beautiful to me after a month at sea and this
looked so attractive as we neared it that I wanted to settle on it for
the rest of my life. However, we passed on, and during the day steamed
through the narrows and tied up astern of the _Arctic_ on the south side
of St. John's harbor at what was known as Stevens Wharf.
The _Arctic_ had sailed ten days after us and had made good weather of
it as she was a long ship of nearly double our tonnage, but of nothing
like our strength of build.
The Resolute's Wooden Funnel lute had also arrived. The latter on the
way out had lost her funnel, so a pyramidal structure had been erected
of wood lined with tin; this answered very well for a time. Some of her
bulwarks had been carried away, especially forward of the main rigging
on the port side. She was a fine ship, strong and well engined, but the
North Atlantic in winter leaves its mark on the best.
[Illustration: 0055]
The _Resolute_ was owned in St. John's and commanded by a St. John's
captain; but she came out from Dundee, where she had been overhauled.
So ended my first trip across the Atlantic, and, until then, the most
uncomfortable experience of my life.