PASSAGE TO THE GREENLAND COAST.--DISCIPLINE.--THE DECKS AT
SEA.--OUR QUARTERS.--THE FIRST ICEBERG.--CROSSING THE ARCTIC
CIRCLE.--THE MIDNIGHT SUN.--THE ENDLESS DAY.--MAKING THE
LAND.--A REMARKABLE SCENE AMONG THE BERGS.--AT ANCHOR IN PRÖVEN
HARBOR.
I will not long detain the reader with the details of our passage to
the Greenland coast. It was mainly devoid of interest.
My first concern was to regulate the domestic affairs of my little
company; my second, to make the schooner as tidy and comfortable as
possible. The former was much more easily managed than the latter.
Calling the officers and crew together, I explained to them that,
inasmuch as we would for a long time constitute our own little world,
we must all recognize the obligations of a mutual dependence and the
ties of mutual safety, interest, and ambition. Keeping this in view, we
would find no hardship in making all selfish considerations subordinate
to the necessities of a mutual accommodation. The response was highly
gratifying to me, and I had afterward abundant reason to congratulate
myself upon having at the outset established the relations of the crew
with myself upon such a satisfactory footing. To say nothing of its
advantages to our convenience, this course saved much trouble. From the
beginning to the end of the cruise I had no occasion to record a breach
of discipline; and I did not find it necessary to establish any other
rules than those which are usual in all well disciplined ships.
[Sidenote: THE DECKS.]
To make the schooner comfortable was impracticable, and to make her
tidy equally so. I found myself rocking about on the Atlantic with
decks in a condition to have sorely tried the patience of the most
practised sailor. Barrels, boxes, boards, boats, and other articles
were spiked or lashed to the bulwarks and masts, until all available
space was covered, and there was left only a narrow, winding pathway
from the quarter to the forecastle deck, and no place whatever for
exercise but the top of the trunk cabin, which was just twelve feet
by ten; and even this was partly covered, and that too with articles
which, if they have existence, should at least never be in sight on
a well-regulated craft. But this was not to be helped,--there was no
room for any thing more below hatches; every nook and cranny in the
vessel was full, and we had no alternative but to allow the decks to
be "lumbered up" until some friendly sea should come and wash the
incumbrance overboard. (We were entirely too prudent to throw any thing
away.) That such an event would happen seemed likely enough, for we
were loaded down until the deck, in the waist, was only a foot and a
half above the water; and, standing in the gangway, you could at any
time lean over the monkey-rail and touch the sea with your fingers.
The galley filled up the entire space between the fore hatch and the
mainmast; and the water, coming in over the gangway, poured through it
frequently without restraint. The cook and the fire were often put out
together, and the regularity of our meals was a little disturbed in
consequence.
[Sidenote: THE CABIN.]
My cabin occupied the after-half of the "trunk," (which extended
two feet above the quarter-deck,) and was six feet by ten. Two
"bull's-eyes" gave me a feeble light by day, and a kerosene lamp,
which creaked uneasily in its gimbals, by night. Two berths let, one
into either side, furnished commodious receptacles for ship's stores.
The carpenter, however, fixed up a narrow bunk for me; and when I had
covered this with a brilliant afghan, and enclosed it with a pair of
crimson curtains, I was astonished at the amount of comfort which I had
manufactured for myself.
The narrow space in front of my cabin contained the companion ladder,
the steward's pantry, the stove-pipe, a barrel of flour, and a "room"
for Mr. Sonntag. Forward of this, two steps down in the hold, was the
officers' cabin, which was exactly twelve feet square by six feet high.
It was oak-panelled, and had eight bunks, happily not all occupied.
It was not a commodious apartment. The men's quarters were under the
forecastle deck, close against the "dead-wood" of the "ship's eyes."
They, too, were necessarily crowded for room.
Our course from Boston lay directly for the outer capes of
Newfoundland, inside of Sable Island. Every one who has sailed down
the coast of Nova Scotia knows the nature of the fogs which hang over
the banks, especially during the warm season of the year; and we had
our full measure of the embarrassing fortune which usually befalls the
navigator of those waters.
We ran into a fog bank on the second day out from Boston, and for seven
days thereafter were enveloped in an atmosphere so dense as completely
to obscure the sun and horizon. We could, of course, obtain no
"sights," and, during that period, were obliged in consequence to rely
for our position upon the lead line and our dead reckoning. Uncertain
currents made this last a method of doubtful dependence.
On the sixth day of this seemingly endless fog I grew rather more than
usually uneasy; but the sailing-master assured me that he was certain
of our position; and, with the map before us on the table, he _proved_
it by the soundings. We would clear Cape Race in the morning watch.
[Sidenote: "BREAKERS AHEAD."]
The morning watch found me on deck, and, as before, our position
was shown by the record of the lead. The lead was a false prophet,
for instead of running outside we were rushing squarely upon the
cape. Satisfied, however, by the assurances which I had received,
I went below to breakfast, and had scarcely been seated when
that most disagreeable of all cries,--once heard, never to be
forgotten,--"Breakers ahead!" startled us. Upon reaching the deck, I
found the sails shivering in the wind, and almost within pistol-shot
rose a great black wall, against which the sea was breaking in a most
threatening manner. Fortunately the schooner came quickly to the wind
and held in stays, otherwise we must have struck in a very few minutes.
As it was, we settled close upon the rocks before the sails filled and
we began to crawl slowly off. The spray, thrown back from the sullen
cliff, actually fell upon the deck, and it seemed as if I could almost
touch the rocks with my hand. We were soon relieved by seeing the dark
fog-veil drawn between us and danger. But the danger was, apparently,
not yet passed. In half an hour the wind died away almost to a calm,
leaving us a heavy sea to fight with, while out of the blackness came
the wail of the angry surf bemoaning the loss of its prey.
The wind increased toward noon, and freed us from suspense. Resolved
this time to give Cape Race a wide berth, we ran off E. S. E., and not
until I was sure, by the color of the water, that Newfoundland was at
a safe distance, did I let the schooner fill away on her course toward
Cape Farewell. By this time a stiff breeze was blowing from the south,
and as the night closed in we were running before the wind under a
close-reefed topsail.
A succession of southerly gales now chased us northward, and we hauled
in our latitude with gratifying rapidity. In a few days we were
ploughing the waters which bathe the rock-bound coasts of Greenland.
[Sidenote: ACROSS THE ARCTIC CIRCLE.]
On the 30th of July I had the satisfaction of being once more within
the Arctic Circle. That imaginary line was crossed at eight o'clock
in the evening, and the event was celebrated by a salute from our
signal-gun and a display of bunting.
We now felt that we had fairly entered upon our career.
We were twenty days out from Boston, and had made throughout an average
run of a hundred miles a day. The schooner had proved herself an
excellent sea-boat. The coast of Greenland was about ten leagues away,
obscured by a cloud; we had Cape Walsingham on the port beam, and the
lofty Suckertoppen would have been visible over the starboard quarter
had the air been clear. We had not yet, however, sighted the land, but
we had made our first iceberg, we had seen the "midnight sun," and
we had come into the endless day. When the hour-hand of the Yankee
clock which ticked above my head pointed to XII., the sunlight still
flooded the cabin. Accustomed to this strange life in former years,
the change had to me little of novelty; but the officers complained
of sleeplessness, and were lounging about as if waiting for the
old-fashioned darkness which suggests bed-time.
[Sidenote: THE FIRST ICEBERG.]
The first iceberg was made the day before we passed the Arctic Circle.
The dead white mass broke upon us out of a dense fog, and was mistaken
by the lookout for land when he first caught the sound of breakers
beating upon it. It was floating directly in our course, but we had
time enough to clear it. Its form was that of an irregular pyramid,
about three hundred feet at its base, and perhaps half as high. Its
summit was at first obscured, but at length the mist broke away,
disclosing the peak of a glittering spire, around which the white
clouds were curling and dancing in the sunlight. There was something
very impressive in the stern indifference with which it received
the lashings of the sea. The waves threw their liquid arms about it
caressingly, but it deigned not even a nod of recognition, and sent
them reeling backward, moaning and lamenting.
We had some rough handling in Davis' Strait. Once I thought we had
surely come ingloriously to grief. We were running before the wind and
fighting a wretched cross-sea under reefed fore and mainsail and jib,
when the fore fife-rail was carried away;--down came every thing to the
deck, and there was left not a stitch of canvas on the schooner but the
lumbering mainsail. It was a miracle that we did not broach to and go
to the bottom. Nothing saved us but a steady hand at the helm.
The following entry in my journal, made at this period, will exhibit
our condition and the temper of the crew:--
"Notwithstanding all this knocking about, every body seems to take it
for granted that this sort of thing is very natural and proper, and a
part of the engagement for the cruise. It is at least gratifying to
see that they take kindly to discomfort, and receive every freak of
fortune with manly good nature. I really believe that were affairs
otherwise ordered they would be sadly disappointed. They are 'the small
band of brave and spirited men' they read about in the newspapers, and
they mean to show it. The sailors are sometimes literally drowned out
of the forecastle. The cabin is flooded at least a dozen times a day.
The skylight has been knocked to pieces by the head of a sea, and the
table, standing directly under it, has been more than once cleared of
crockery and eatables without the aid of the steward. My own cabin
gets washed out at irregular intervals, and my books are half of them
spoiled by tumbling from their shelves in spite of all I can do to the
contrary. Once I caught the whole library tacking about the deck after
an unusually ambitious dive of the schooner, and the advent of a more
than ordinarily heavy rush of water through the 'companion-way.'"
It had been my intention to stop at Egedesmindie, or some other of
the lower Danish stations, on the Greenland coast, to obtain a stock
of furs, and at the upper settlements to procure the needful supply
of dogs for sledge travelling; but, the wind being fair, I resolved
to hold on and trust to obtaining every thing required at Pröven and
Upernavik.
[Sidenote: A LAND-FALL.]
We made our first land-fall on the 31st. It proved to be the southern
extremity of Disco Island. The lofty mountains broke suddenly through
the thick mist, and exposed their hoary heads, not a little to our
astonishment; but they vanished again as quickly as they had appeared.
But we had got a clutch upon the land, and found that, befogged though
we were, we had calculated our position to a nicety. From this moment
the interest of our cruise was doubled.
The next day we were abreast the Nord Fiord of Disco, in latitude 70°,
and, gliding on with a light wind, the Waigat and Oominak Fiord were
soon behind us; and on the evening of August 2d we were approaching the
bold promontory of Svarte Huk, which is only forty miles from Pröven,
whither we were bound.
"A man's heart deviseth his way, but the Lord directeth his steps."
Just as we were congratulating ourselves upon the prospect of getting
an appetite for breakfast among the Greenland hills, the wind began to
show decided symptoms of weakness; and, after a succession of spasmodic
efforts to recover itself, prolonged through the next four and twenty
hours, it at length died away completely, and left us lying on the
still waters, impatient and ill at ease. We were sadly disappointed;
but the sun scattered the vapors which had hung so long about us, and,
in the scene which broke out of the dissolving mist, we buried our
vexation.
[Sidenote: VIEW OF GREENLAND.]
Greenland had been for some time regarded by my companions as a sort
of myth; for, although frequently only a few miles from its coast, so
thick and constant had been the clouds and fogs, that, except for a few
brief minutes, it had been wholly hidden from our view. Here, however,
it was at last, shaking off its cloud mantle, and standing squarely
out before us in austere magnificence,--its broad valleys, its deep
ravines, its noble mountains, its black, beetling cliffs, its frowning
desolation.
[Sidenote: AMONG THE ICEBERGS.]
As the fog lifted and rolled itself up like a scroll over the sea to
the westward, iceberg after iceberg burst into view, like castles in a
fairy tale. It seemed, indeed, as if we had been drawn by some unseen
hand into a land of enchantment, rather than that we had come of our
own free will into a region of stern realities, in pursuit of stern
purposes;--as if the elves of the North had, in sportive playfulness,
thrown a veil about our eyes, and enticed us to the very "seat eternal
of the gods." Here was the Valhalla of the sturdy Vikings; here the
city of the sun-god Freyer,--Alfheim, with its elfin caves,--and
Glitner, with its walls of gold and roofs of silver, and Gimle, more
brilliant than the sun,--the home of the happy; and there, piercing the
clouds, was Himinborg, the Celestial Mount, where the bridge of the
gods touches Heaven.
It would be difficult to imagine a scene more solemnly impressive than
that which was disclosed to us by the sudden change in the clouded
atmosphere. From my diary I copy the following brief description of
it:--
"Midnight.--I have just come below, lost in the wondrous beauty of
the night. The sea is smooth as glass; not a ripple breaks its dead
surface, not a breath of air stirring. The sun hangs close upon
the northern horizon; the fog has broken up into light clouds; the
icebergs lie thick about us; the dark headlands stand boldly out
against the sky; and the clouds and sea and bergs and mountains
are bathed in an atmosphere of crimson and gold and purple most
singularly beautiful."
[Sidenote: BEAUTY OF THE ICEBERGS.]
In all my former experience in this region of startling novelties I
had never seen any thing to equal what I witnessed that night. The
air was warm almost as a summer's night at home, and yet there were
the icebergs and the bleak mountains, with which the fancy, in this
land of green hills and waving forests, can associate nothing but cold
repulsiveness. The sky was bright and soft and strangely inspiring as
the skies of Italy. The bergs had wholly lost their chilly aspect,
and, glittering in the blaze of the brilliant heavens, seemed, in the
distance, like masses of burnished metal or solid flame. Nearer at
hand they were huge blocks of Parian marble, inlaid with mammoth gems
of pearl and opal. One in particular exhibited the perfection of the
grand. Its form was not unlike that of the Coliseum, and it lay so far
away that half its height was buried beneath the line of blood-red
waters. The sun, slowly rolling along the horizon, passed behind it,
and it seemed as if the old Roman ruin had suddenly taken fire.
Nothing indeed but the pencil of the artist could depict the wonderful
richness of this sparkling fragment of Nature. Church, in his great
picture of "The Icebergs," has grandly exhibited a scene not unlike
that which I would in vain describe.
In the shadows of the bergs the water was a rich green, and nothing
could be more soft and tender than the gradations of color made by the
sea shoaling on the sloping tongue of a berg close beside us. The tint
increased in intensity where the ice overhung the water, and a deep
cavern near by exhibited the solid color of the malachite mingled with
the transparency of the emerald; while, in strange contrast, a broad
streak of cobalt blue ran diagonally through its body.
The bewitching character of the scene was heightened by a thousand
little cascades which leaped into the sea from these floating
masses,--the water being discharged from lakes of melted snow and ice
which reposed in quietude far up in the valleys separating the high icy
hills of their upper surface. From other bergs large pieces were now
and then detached,--plunging down into the water with deafening noise,
while the slow moving swell of the ocean resounded through their broken
archways.
I had been watching this scene for hours, lost in reverie and
forgetfulness, when I was brought suddenly to my senses by the master's
mate, who came to report, "Ice close aboard, sir." We were drifting
slowly upon a berg about the height of our topmasts. The boats were
quickly lowered to pull us off, and, the schooner once more in safety,
I went to bed.
I awoke after a few hours, shivering with the cold. The "bull's-eye"
above my head was open, and a chilly fog was pouring in upon me.
Hurrying on deck, I found the whole scene changed. A dense gray mist
had settled over the waters and icebergs and mountains, blending them
all in chaotic gloom.
Twenty-four days at sea had brought the water very low in our casks,
and I took advantage of the delay to send off to a neighboring iceberg
for a fresh supply. The water of these bergs is pure and clear as
crystal.
[Sidenote: NEARING HARBOR.]
[Sidenote: AT PRÖVEN.]
Getting at last a slant of the wind, we ran in among the low islands
which line the coast above Svarte Huk; and Sonntag, who had gone
ahead in a boat to Pröven, having sent off to us a swarthy-looking
pilot, we wound our way slowly through the tortuous passage, and at a
little after midnight of August 6th we dropped anchor in the snuggest
of little harbors. The loud baying of dogs, and an odor, baffling
description,--"a very ancient and fish-like smell,"--first warned us of
our approach to a Greenland settlement.
[Illustration]