You are all agreed that Christmas is a merry time. It ought to be so
with you who have many kind friends around you, a warm, blazing fire,
plenty of roast beef and plum-pudding, and other satisfactory things;
and good houses, and warm clothing, and numberless other blessings,
spiritual as well as temporal. But, I say boys, that should not allow
us to forget that there are thousands of our fellow-creatures, and of
our fellow-countrymen, too, who are perhaps at this moment starving
and freezing—dying of cold and hunger. Those who have never suffered
themselves are apt not to think of the sufferings to which others are
exposed. I, however, can never forget a winter I spent—where do you
think? In Scotland. Oh, no. Shetland? Further north. Iceland? Further
north still. At the North Pole, or, at least, not far off it. I went
to sea in the old “Grampus,” Greenland whaler, from Hull, for a summer
trip, hoping to be back with my friends by the end of October. The old
“Grampus” was barque-rigged, 350 tons burden, carried six whale-boats,
three hung up on each side, and a crew of fifty men, all told—consisting
of harpooners, boat-steerers, line-managers, coopers, carpenters,
foremast-men, landsmen, and apprentices. Each man was to have a share
in the profits on every whale caught, so that all were interested. The
ship was very strongly built, with ice-knees to withstand the pressure
of the ice. When I examined her, and observed that her bows were one
mass of wood, I thought that nothing could harm her. I little knew, at
that time, the tremendous power of masses of ice when grinding together,
though no storm is raging over head, and the sea beneath may seem calm
as a mill-pond. Our courses, that is our lower sails, were differently
shaped to those of an ordinary merchantman, being narrow at the foot, and
fitted with booms, so that they would swing round of themselves when,
as was often the case, a few hands only were left on board to work the
ship. But an important feature in our ship, in common with other whalers,
by which she might be known at a distance, was the “crow’s nest” at her
maintop-gallant-mast head. It was like a big cask, and contained a seat,
and a place for a telescope, a speaking-trumpet, a flag, and a few other
articles. Here an officer was stationed, when whales were supposed to be
near, to watch for their appearance. Our boats were different to those
in general use aboard trading vessels, the stem and stern were alike,
and were about twenty-six feet long. Each carried six whale-lines, of
120 fathoms in length, and harpoons and lances, an axe for cutting the
line should it foul, and many other articles. The boats pulled from four
to six oars. The captain, or one of the mates, acted as harpooner, the
boat-steerer ranked next to him, and the line-manager took the third
place. The crew were formed into divisions according to the number of
boats, and thus each division consisted of a harpooner, boat-steerer,
line-manager, and four or five rowers. The harpooner had command, and
when in pursuit pulled the bow oar. I looked forward, with great delight,
to the cruise. To see a real, palpable iceberg—not a mere painted one in
a panorama—and huge living whales caught, was, I thought, worth going
all round the world for, and would amply repay me for any danger I might
have to overcome during the short summer trip I expected to make. Captain
Blowhard, the master of the “Grampus,” was a relative of my mother, and
had offered to take me as a supernumerary in his own cabin. If I liked
a sea life I was to continue in it as a profession, but if not, I was
to return on shore and learn to wield a pen or a yard measure, instead
of a harpoon or a sword. The full complement of our crew, including
some of our best men, was to be made up at Lerwick, in Shetland, where
we called to take them on board. We remained three days in the Sound,
off the chief of those treeless but highly picturesque islands, and,
I must say, that a more hospitable, kind-hearted, pleasant-mannered
people I never met. They have, however, one grievous cause of complaint.
The map-makers will persist in putting their group of islands up in an
out-of-the-way corner of the maps, so that a very large proportion of
the human race do not know where they are really to be found. In spite
of this, however, they are a tolerably happy and contented community.
Away we sailed on our voyage, which was anything but a smooth one, for
we were tumbled and tossed about by the big waves in a manner which I
thought must shake even our stout ship to pieces. They did not, however;
and, towards the end of April, our captain showed me our position on the
map, not far from Davis Straits. The next morning, going on deck, the
sky very blue, the sea tolerably smooth, and the sun shining brightly,
though the air was unusually keen, I saw close to us, towering up high
above the masts of the ship, a white, floating mountain—an iceberg—pure
as alabaster. Curiously shaped peaks formed the upper part, which seemed
to rest on a base of arches, forming the mouths of caverns, of the most
delicate blue tint. The peaks glittered brightly in the sunbeams, and
every instant seemed to change their shape, either as the berg moved
slowly round, or we passed by. I exclaimed that I had never seen anything
so magnificent. “Wait a bit, youngster, you’ll see stranger sights than
that before long,” observed Sam Grummet, our first mate, who had followed
the fortunes of Captain Blowhard for the best part of his life. I had
one shipmate of about my own age, “Jack;” he had another name, but he
was never called anything but Jack. He and I soon became fast friends,
though he was before the mast and I was in the cabin. Then there was
Sandy Dow, a boat-steerer, a true-hearted and an honest Shetlander. He
took an interest in me from the first; not a mere fancy, but because I
was young, thoughtless, and inexperienced, and he earnestly wished to do
me good. A few days passed away after we got among icebergs, and we were
in hourly expectation of making the ice. Even in calm weather it requires
great vigilance to discover an opening into which the ship may sail,
but when blowing hard, as it did when we entered Davis Straits, it was
a very anxious time. The danger was, however, chiefly from the washing
pieces of ice, which are often large masses just even with the water. An
experienced hand was stationed at each yard-arm throughout the night to
look out for them. My wonder was, as I saw the men up there, that they
did not drop asleep and fall off, as I am sure that I should have done.
At length, a collection of sheets of ice appeared one morning ahead of
us, with passages between them, into which no sooner did we run than we
found the sea smooth as a mill-pond. Gaily we glided along, sometimes
through narrow lanes, at other times across broad lakes bordered by
ice. Our crow’s nest, and boats, and gear, were got ready, the first
being occupied during the day by a look-out, for any moment whales might
appear, and the boats would start in chase. We were at this time sailing
along the coast of Greenland, and, although we were from twelve to twenty
miles off it, so lofty are the mountains, and so pure the atmosphere,
that often it appeared as if we were close under them. Indeed, when we
at length stood in for the land, it seemed as if it was actually drawing
back from us, so long did we sail on and yet seemed to be getting no
nearer. I remembered the story of some of the old navigators who, in
consequence of this, thought the country was an enchanted one, and rather
than venture on it put about and made the best of their way home again.
As the season advanced, the days gradually increased in length, till the
sun itself was visible at midnight, and darkness was banished from our
part of the globe. Still, there was a difference, for the night always
seemed calmer and more quiet than the day. At length, our ears were
gladdened by a shout from the crow’s nest of “A fish, a fish; she spouts,
she spouts.” The crew had till then been moving leisurely about, but, in
an instant, all were in a state of the greatest excitement. Three boats
were sent away in pursuit. No one, by rule, goes in the boats except
those who row or steer; but just as Sandy Dow’s boat was shoving off I
slipped in, and so eager was everybody to be off that they did not stop
to put me on board again. Away we dashed, the water foaming up at our
bows. Sandy’s practised eye had marked the spot where the whale had gone
down, and well he knew where it would come up again. On we went, and
there was a whirling in the waters, and the monster’s back rose gradually
out of it, while a column of steam-like vapour ascended into the air.
[Illustration: “There was a whirling in the waters, and the monster’s
back rose gradually out of it.”—_Page 41._]
Our harpooner, who pulled the bow oar, rose from his seat. For an instant
he stood with his weapon in hand, then darted it with all his strength
against the side of the whale, into which it sunk deeply. We were fast.
Downwards plunged the whale, the line flying out with lightning rapidity,
making the timber over which it passed smoke with the friction. We had
but short time for breathing. “She’ll soon be up again,” observed Sandy.
So, indeed, she was, when we again hauled up to her with the line, and
three lances were plunged into her sides. The agony made her spring
almost out of the water. Then down she went, as if she could thus free
herself from her tormentors, but the depths of the ocean are no permanent
home for the whale, she must come up to breathe. She soon, therefore,
appeared, and again we were at her. As we drew near, I saw a huge body
in between us and the bright sun, and instantly afterwards there was a
loud flop, and a thick shower of a ruddy liquid descended on our heads.
We had reason to be thankful that the whale’s tail did not strike us
instead of the water, or there would not have been much left either of
the boat or crew to pick up. We backed out of the monster’s way, for she
was, in her flurry, twisting and turning, and lashing the water, till
she was surrounded by a mass of crimson foam, while our crew cheered
lustily at the thought of the prize they had won, for such a whale as we
had now killed is worth not much less than five hundred pounds. Meantime
one of the other boats had got fast to another whale, a huge monster,
which was giving a great deal of trouble. As soon, therefore, as our
capture turned over on her side, and showed that she was dead, we stuck
a flag into her, and, hauling in our lines, went to the assistance of
our shipmates. Fearing that the whale would after all escape them, they
closed in on her, to plunge a fresh harpoon into her side. Loud cries for
help reached our ears. With one sweep of her tail she had knocked the
boat to pieces, and we feared had killed some if not all of the crew. We
dashed on with redoubled speed. “Make fast to her, make fast,” shouted
the harpooner, whom we met swimming towards us. All the other men whom we
saw had secured oars with which to support themselves, and seemed in no
way distressed. We accordingly approached the whale. Another harpoon, and
a fresh shower of darts, were fixed in her, and not till then would the
crew consent to be taken on board. Two poor fellows had, however, been
struck by the whale, and must have been instantly killed, for they sank
immediately.
[Illustration: “With one sweep of her tail she knocked the boat to
pieces.”—_Page 42._]
But I have not time to give you an account of all the whales we killed.
We were unusually successful for the season of the year and that side
of the bay. We had now to cross over to the west side, in some of the
bays on which coast whales were said to abound. To effect this, we were
obliged to pass through the middle ice, a work of great labour and often
of danger. The route chosen by our captain was round by the north, across
Melville Bay. At first we got on merrily enough, a course of northerly
winds having blown the ice to the southward. After a time, however, the
favourable wind ceased, and the ice drifting slowly back, we were obliged
to commence cutting our way through it. While it moved thus gently, with
our ice saws we cut a canal towards the nearest piece of clear water we
could see ahead, and towed the ship along it. Then, perhaps, we were able
to make sail for an hour or so, once more to find a barrier drawn across
our course. Sometimes for a whole day together the crew were sawing and
towing, and I heard some of them say that they might have to go on that
way for a month. Still they kept their tempers, and worked with a will,
in the hopes of getting a full ship at the end. I was awaked, however,
one morning, by hearing the captain summoned on deck, and when I followed
him there I saw nothing but long faces, and not without good reason. The
clouds were flying rapidly overhead from the S.S.W., and the ice was
moving along and upheaving in a peculiarly ominous manner. No time was
lost in getting out the ice saws to cut a dock into which to tow the
ship. This is a work of great labour, but all hands worked with a will,
for they well knew that the safety of the ship depended on the speed with
which it was accomplished. The ship had just been towed into the dock,
when the ice to the southward began to lift and heave more violently than
before. I saw the captain, Mr. Grummet, Sandy Dow, and other old hands,
looking out anxiously, and I guessed not without good cause. There was
a loud rumbling crashing sound, something like thunder, and yet more
terrible. Not a single spot of clear water could be seen, but far as
the eye could reach towards the south there appeared huge masses of ice
rising with their edges uppermost, leaping and overlapping each other,
tearing and crushing those below them to pieces. Still on they pressed,
mass behind mass, the places of those which rose up in front immediately
supplied by others in the rear. The ice surrounding us was in violent
commotion. Closer and closer it pressed around. Suddenly, as if pushed
towards us by some unseen giant’s hand, a huge floe came gliding on. “A
nip, a nip,” cried the crew. Calmly the captain had stood watching the
upheaving of the icy sea. He now ordered all hands to bring their bedding
and clothes on deck. Some casks of provision had already been got up.
These were lowered on to the ice alongside, and rolled to a distance. The
crew followed, each man laden with as much as he could carry. Captain
Blowhard brought up the rear with his chronometer, compass, sextant, and
other nautical instruments and books. He had scarcely got thirty yards
from the ship when she was caught between two huge masses of ice, which
came sweeping by. Her stout timbers could no more resist the prodigious
pressure than could a wicker basket. One moment I looked round, and she
stood with her yards and rigging complete; the next, a grinding and
crashing sound reached my ears, and when I again looked she was a mass of
wreck, her tall masts falling, and her sides literally pressed together
till they met.
Part of the floe had gone underneath her, and then rising, had cast up
her cargo and stores, scattering them around, with portions of the deck
and bulwarks, and the boats. “I never knew anything happen but what it
might be worse,” observed Sandy Dow, as he stood looking at the wreck.
“There, see what Providence has done for us. Our good ship is lost,
there’s no doubt about that; but the provisions, and stores, and boats
are saved, and with their help we may yet see our homes again.” These
words roused the drooping spirits of our men, few of whom had before seen
so complete a wreck as was our good ship the “Grampus.” All hands were
immediately set to work to collect the various articles, and to drag them
to that part of the ice which appeared most secure.
Scarcely had the mischief been done than the commotion ceased, in
consequence of the wind falling, probably to the southward, and also
of the strength of the barriers which had been thrown up outside us.
Looking north, there appeared to be one unbroken field of ice, while
some thirty miles away we could see a lofty cliff, which showed us our
position. That distant sight of land, barren and inhospitable as we knew
it to be, somewhat cheered our spirits, as we hoped that, should the ice
again break up, we might then at all events find firm footing for our
feet. We had no lack of materials for building huts or tents, and these
having been erected, and fires lighted, the men were ordered to refresh
themselves, and take some rest. In a few hours the men were ready for
work, when they commenced constructing sleighs on which to drag our
stores to the land. Later in the year we should have been safe where we
were, but it would at present have been hazardous to remain, lest the ice
should move away to the southward, and break up before we could escape
from it. Our boats, too, had received so much damage, that they were
incapable of conveying us to any of the Danish settlements before they
had received a considerable amount of repair. Though the cape looked so
near, we found it a very long journey to get there. Most of the crew made
three trips before all the articles we required were conveyed to the spot
which had been fixed on for our encampment. We still entertained the hope
that other whalers might pass by within sight of the cape, and that we
should get on board them. A large quantity of stores and provisions were
still left on the ice, which it was supposed we should not require. Week
after week, however, passed by, the ice remained firm, and no whaler
appeared to take us off. Captain Blowhard began to look very grave. I
observed to him that I thought we might make ourselves very comfortable
where we were till another season. “You do not know what an arctic winter
is, my lad,” he answered. “But it is not that. It is bad enough to lose
one’s ship, but I am thinking of those at home who will be mourning us as
dead. It is the thought of their grief which makes me sad.” Our good old
captain always thought of others more than of himself.
I might spin a very long yarn about all the things that happened to us,
but I have not time. The cold of an arctic winter soon began with all
its rigour. We had built huts with stones and earth, and parts of the
wreck which we had dragged over the ice, but we were very much cramped,
and when the cold began in earnest it penetrated into the interior, and
we could not keep ourselves warm even with our thick clothing in bed.
As soon, however, as the snow fell, the captain ordered ice-huts to be
built, the snow serving as mortar. Large slabs of ice were cut out and
built up as if they had been blocks of stone, and with them eight huts
were formed of the shape of bee-hives. Each hut held from three to five
people comfortably. A long passage led to it, with three different slabs,
which served as doors; a slab of clear ice was placed on the top to serve
as a window. The bed-places were built of snow, covered over thickly
with the twigs of a low shrub which grew on the hill side. This, the
captain told us, was exactly the fashion of the Esquimaux huts. We had
brought several casks of whale’s blubber, and this served us for fuel,
and gave us light and warmth; without it we could not have existed. We
had a number of shallow metal washhand basins, these were filled with
oil, and along one half of the edge of each a row of wicks, made of moss,
was arranged; on the opposite side a piece of blubber was hung up, which,
as it gradually melted, replenished the basin with oil. This was in
imitation of the lamps used by the Esquimaux. One amply warmed each hut.
By thus taking a lesson from those we were accustomed to call ignorant
savages, we were enabled to exist, and retain our health, when otherwise
we must have perished. Our only fear was that the blubber would not hold
out till we could make our escape. Our first huts had been built close
under the cliff; but, for the convenience of obtaining ice, we had placed
those we now occupied at some distance, close to the water, or, rather,
where the water would have been had it not been frozen. Our boats, and
a good many of our stores, had been left under the cape. One night—now
that the winter had begun the night occupied the greater part of the
twenty-four hours—we were aroused by a tremendous rushing, thundering
sound. I slept in a hut with Mr. Grummet, Sandy Dow, and the youngest
mate. They hurriedly put on their clothes and ran out. I followed their
example, though I felt almost frozen in an instant by the bitter wind
which met us, for a storm was raging. By the twilight which prevails
in that region during night, we could see huge pieces of the cliff and
masses of snow come tumbling down in quick succession, one after the
other. It was a perfect avalanche, and in a few minutes the whole spot
where our summer huts had stood, and where our stores and boats now
were, was completely overwhelmed. Some of the men even ran away from our
present abode, thinking that that also would be overwhelmed, but the
captain shouted to them to stand fast, as he was sure that the falling
cliff would not reach us, nor did it.