WHALERS AND SEALERS
Right away south of the line which joins Fremantle and the Cape of Good
Hope, in fact, so near to the Antarctic continent as to be in latitude
50° S., there lies one of the most lonely and desolate islands in the
world, mountainous, glaciated, wind-swept. Totally uninhabited, it
possesses any number of deeply indented bays and coves, and it is one
of those few spots on the map where depots have been placed in case
some shipwrecked mariners should have the misfortune to find themselves
cast away here.
Its name is Kerguelen or Desolation Island--whichever you like to
call it. The former reminds one of its French discoverer, Kerguelen
Trémarec, who found it in 1772: but the other name is more suggestive
of the place’s true character. During the years that followed it
was visited by whalers and sealers, but otherwise no ship had any
attraction to call there. Still, in 1893 the French Government
established an unwatched depot at Hillsborough Bay in a cave at
the foot of a cliff, a black cairn against some grey rocks having
been erected to indicate the position. The entrance to the cave has
been closed by stones, and above it is the inscription: “Vivres et
Vêtements.” Thus the modern adventurer would be able there to find
boxes of preserved beef, barrels containing clothes and blankets,
biscuits, and boxes of matches. But now that the days of the sailing
ships are past, and steamships are able to keep to the trade routes,
it is very unlikely that this distress depot will be required.
But this story begins just a hundred years ago and we shall see it
through the eyes of John Nunn, an Ipswich seaman who was born in 1803.
Nunn was a typical British sailor of the early nineteenth century,
brought up to the sea, longing to know something of the world beyond
the limits of the British Isles, and destined to have a whole chapter
of adventures before he should die. His father was an east-coast
smack-owner, but after helping him for a time, John served for a while
aboard one of those Revenue cutters which were employed on the look-out
for smugglers. Sometimes there were quite exciting chases, and even an
exchange of shots: but before long John found this semi-naval service
too restricted for his liking and wanted to go foreign.
So it happened that he signed on aboard the 400-ton sailing ship _Royal
Sovereign_ in the year 1825. This vessel was about to leave the Thames
to look for seals on Kerguelen Island, but ever since Captain R. Rhodes
of the whaler _Hillsborough_ had visited the place in 1799 there had
been vessels going out there, after the whales and seals. Rhodes had
busied himself surveying many of the harbours on the lee (or east) side
whilst his crew were away sealing and whaling; for the right whale used
to frequent these bays and fjords in large numbers. One has to remember
all these many inlets in order to appreciate the somewhat unusual
method adopted by the early nineteenth-century pioneers who came
here. The nature of the coast made it too risky a business for these
unwieldy, unhandy ships to go smelling close to the land, so they used
to take out from England half a dozen of the usual whaling boats, but
also they carried in frame a 40-ton cutter. Having arrived at Kerguelen
the big ship would moor herself in some safe and sheltered bay, the
frames of the 40-tonner would be taken ashore, the pieces reassembled,
the craft rigged like a contemporary cutter yacht, and then the crew
would go cruising right round the island, in and out of the bays,
skirting the pinnacles, landing, capturing and flensing the seals, and
then boiling down the blubber. The whaleboats would also be employed
hunting the whales quite close in.
Thus each of these voyages to Kerguelen was in the nature of an
expedition, since the ship would settle herself in her bay for two or
three years and be partly unrigged whilst the small craft went about
their business. And when the time came that the vessel had all the
oil on board, the 40-tonner would be hauled well above high water,
entrenched in a roughly made dry dock, and there she would remain until
the expedition returned for another spell. In this way, of course,
there were several of these deserted cutters left on the island at
various dates. They were not called cutters but “shallops,” that old
word which had come into seamen’s vocabulary from the Dutch and was
often used to indicate smaller fore-and-aft-rigged vessels.
Now several years before the _Royal Sovereign_ set forth there had
reached Kerguelen a ship called the _Frances_ from London, and she
had taken with her in frame her shallop; and there was another vessel
named the _Favourite_ which arrived with her shallop about the same
time as the _Royal Sovereign_. After the departure of these two ships,
the shallops had both been hauled up the beach in a bight at the south
side named Greenland Bay--name enough to suggest that a British whaling
vessel had once been here.
In August 1825 the _Royal Sovereign_ anchored herself in Greenland Bay,
and then proceeded to fit out these two shallops, which for convenience
we shall speak of by the name of their mother ships. In nine days both
the _Frances_ and the _Favourite_ were caulked and paid ready for sea,
each being launched by digging them out of their dry dock, and then by
bousing them down and hauling them along the beach they reached the
water. They were then towed alongside the _Royal Sovereign_, where the
masts were stepped and the little craft rigged. After the sails had
been bent, some of the _Royal Sovereign’s_ crew transferred to them,
and next morning, towing the whaleboats astern, they started off for
Royal Sound to the N.N.E., and the latter went ashore to slaughter the
seals and sea-elephants.
Here the opportunity was taken of bringing off from the beach great
stones as ballast, the seal blubber being brought off also in rafts,
but each shallop had also a dinghy. Finally, when the seals in this
neighbourhood had been killed, the _Frances_ sailed back to put the
produce aboard the _Royal Sovereign_. The _Frances_ next proceeded
along the windward or western shore of Kerguelen, the crew consisting
of James Lawrence of Rotherhithe (one of the _Royal Sovereign’s_
mates); John Nunn, and John Richardson and James Stilliman, both of
Burnham, Essex. There were plenty of suitable small harbours on that
west coast where the _Frances_ could anchor for the dark hours, and
one night whilst in Young William Harbour, when it was so still that
there was not so much as a ripple on the water, the crew were suddenly
alarmed by a fin-whale which rose alongside the shallop. His tail
came in contact with the _Frances’s_ hull, shook her violently, and
then disappeared. Perhaps there never were any people in the world so
superstitious as the old-fashioned seamen until the introduction of
steam navigation knocked many of these primitive ideas to bits. But,
any way, the shallop’s crew thought this whale incident was most
ominous, and later on Nunn dreamed that the shallop was wrecked. Gloomy
people? Well, no doubt the desolation of the island had got on their
nerves.
It was at the beginning of November this year that the _Frances_,
after visiting the northern end of the island, got caught in a heavy
snowstorm and fog. And then, whilst trying to beat out of a bay of
Saddle Island, which is separated by a narrow strait from the main
island at the north-west corner, the _Frances_ missed stays: for these
old-fashioned cutters with their indifferent sail plan and baggy canvas
and bluff hulls were anything but handy, and before the shallop could
be persuaded to come round she was hard on the rocks of this ironbound
coast. She quickly started leaking, but the crew managed to get ashore
with a few things, and then she sank in seven fathoms. The position was
not a cheerful one, for as they looked up at the rugged, precipitous
scenery there was nothing to suggest the least comfort in that bitter
climate. However, they wandered about and presently discovered a cave,
which they entered with their scant provisions and secured the entrance
against the cold blasts by means of the _Frances’s_ jib. Here they
settled down as best they could, but walking further along they came to
a bay where there was another shallop named the _Loon_ which had been
previously left by a whaler or sealer.
This roused hopes, and it was just possible that the _Favourite_ and
her whaleboats might one day come along here in the course of their
duties. They could hardly dare to hope that this might be the case,
but everything possible should be done. They accordingly chalked a
sentence on the bows of the _Loon_ in case anyone should come along.
“Look in the cabin,” were the warning words, and then inside the
shallop were left a description and the direction of the cave. In
the meantime a good look-out was being kept for the shallop to come
along, but the weather was bad and often thick. Day after day sped by,
until a whole fortnight had elapsed, and the provisions were running
desperately short; when one day these men heard voices on the beach,
and next there came running along some of their old messmates. For the
crew of the _Favourite_, commanded by the _Royal Sovereign’s_ third
mate, had landed in the bight at the strait, seen the chalked notice,
and then begun to search for the cave. It was sheer good luck, for the
_Favourite_ had not intended calling in there: but she had been caught
in a squall by Saddle Island and lost her main boom. She therefore had
run into the strait to take the _Loon’s_ mast for the purpose, the crew
had then seen the chalked marks, and so the others were found.
After the new boom had been finished, the _Favourite_ with the
survivors on board proceeded south to Greenland Bay, where they came
alongside the _Royal Sovereign_. Now in the careers of most men this
wreck and those hardships which followed would remain the outstanding
experience of a lifetime. But there are some people who seem born
for adventure and cannot avoid exciting events. The _Favourite_ was
now sent on another cruise, and the old shipwrecked crew of the
_Frances_ went in her, except for Richardson. Sailing off again to the
north-west, they continued their work and went still further round
the island to the north-east corner, where they were compelled to
lie weather-bound in a bay called Christmas Harbour for eleven days.
They put to sea, but had to run back. Again they started, but had to
shelter in Africa Bay. They were without a dinghy, and it was always
a difficulty to get the craft hauled near enough to the shore for
fetching fresh water. But at last they sailed round the north-west
corner once more and found themselves anchored by Saddle Island, which
had been so unlucky for them in the past.
And now an extraordinary thing happened. It was the day after
Christmas, the _Favourite_ was still at anchor, but she suddenly sprang
a leak. Possibly the cause was that she had been so badly knocked about
by the seas, and originally so hurriedly put together, that she was in
no sense of the word staunch. But any way she went down and left these
men for the second time in that neighbourhood without a home. They
hung on for a time, and since there was no dinghy they unshipped the
boom, the cabin steps, the main and fore hatches; and with these they
made a raft and reached the beach. Everything on the island was now as
miserable-looking as it could be. The sea was bitterly cold, and the
land was covered with snow: they therefore took up their abode in the
_Loon_, which was still there. The food ran out at once, but they lived
on the seals which they killed.
The outlook, however, was not a pleasant thought. Seeing that both
shallops from Greenland Bay had now been lost, it was extremely
unlikely that the _Royal Sovereign’s_ captain would be able to send
anyone to find them. Moreover the surf was so bad in the neighbourhood
of Saddle Island that the boats would not be able to land. To this
dismal consideration had to be added the stern fact that there was now
nothing to eat: for after eight days not even a penguin was obtainable.
They managed, however, to find the 12-foot dinghy which the _Favourite_
had on a previous occasion left at the island, and in her the men now
transferred themselves to the main island. Here there awaited them a
severe tussle. Weak through lack of food, they set out to look for
seals which they could kill with their clubs; and having with the
utmost difficulty crossed a high ridge or mountain they were just able
to descend to a beach where they found and killed sea-elephants. These
animals would afford both food and blubber for fuel: but the weather
was so bitterly cold that the men’s hands were benumbed from the
animals’ blood freezing over them a complete covering of ice.
With great toil these weary, hungry men hauled themselves over that
mountain and got back to the _Loon_ with their food, but were too weary
that day to cook it, so they fell asleep till morning. Six more weeks
passed and they considered themselves lucky to have the shelter of this
shallop, but they could not think of remaining here for ever, so they
decided to try raising the _Favourite_, and thoughts of making for the
Cape of Good Hope in her even crossed their minds. Seamen are always
more or less versatile, but in those days, when their heads were not
crammed with mechanical knowledge and their brains were slow to reason
but their courage had not been affected by faring in ships of mammoth
tonnage, such sailors were accustomed to voyaging in quite small
craft, and thought little of it, as we shall see before the end of the
chapter. It is since the days of steam that we have got into our heads
the erroneous idea that the ocean is suitable only for big ships: but
the recent voyages of quite small fore-and-afters are bringing us back
to a right knowledge and correct judgment.
So these men set to work on the _Favourite_ which had treated them so
badly. They began by removing the ballast at low tide, and then they
secured four casks to her, some pieces of timber, and the 12-ft. dinghy
with the idea of floating her off as the tide rose. But unfortunately
the _Favourite_ had sunk too deeply in the sand and there was not
a sufficient rise of tide, and it was soon evident that the task
was hopeless. They therefore contented themselves with turning a
whale-lance which they possessed into a saw, and thus managed to cut
away the mast close to the deck. Then, having unrigged her, they towed
all the gear and spars to the shore.
And since the _Favourite_ was impracticable, they determined to start
away in the _Loon_. This was a long job; she needed repairing and
caulking and her seams had to be stopped. But the crew set to work
with a will, some oakum for caulking was made out of the shallop’s
hempen cable, pitch was obtained close to a volcanic burning mountain,
the mast was stepped by using the bowsprit as improvised sheers, the
rigging was set up, and at last with great difficulty she was floated
off, to their unmitigated joy. Aboard her were those much-prized
tools, lances, seal clubs (rather like a policeman’s baton), knives,
spears. The dinghy was secured astern, and at last with a northerly
wind blowing the _Loon_ sailed away to the southward past that burning
mountain and its hot springs, past the ice-covered scenery, anchoring
at night in different bays. And all this time they wondered and thought
about the _Royal Sovereign_. Would she still be waiting for them in
Greenland Bay? Would it still be possible to reach her before she
started back for England? The thought seemed too wonderful to realize,
and so the little _Loon_ continued on her way to the southern end of
the island.
At last the shallop rounded the promontory and entered Greenland
Bay. Gone! The bight was empty: there was not a sign of the _Royal
Sovereign_. It was a grievous disappointment, yet it was really
inevitable. The next thing now was to settle on a site and make
themselves as comfortable as the circumstances allowed. For if they
were destined to live on Desolation Island they would still need
shelter and food. It was therefore resolved to build a hut near
Shoalwater Bay at the south-east corner of the island. Thither they
sailed in the shallop with their goods, such as they possessed, and
what they could find on the beach of Greenland Bay. That done, they
took the _Loon_ back to Greenland Bay, unrigged her and hauled her well
up the beach.
A minor expedition now began, partly by land and partly by sea. For the
dinghy was hauled over a neck of land into the Royal Sound and then
launched again: the intention being by this amphibious journey to avoid
the open water outside. It was whilst this boat was crossing the sound
that a school of whales came in, giving the men a rare fright. One
whale passed right under the boat, lifted her out on his back and then
allowed her once more to float. Adventure after adventure! These men
had never been fated for a humdrum life in England! And now they rowed
as fast as they could, but the whale chased after them, and dived below
the boat as before. Nunn believed that the reason was found in the
white under-water of the boat’s hull, which resembled the underneath
part of a whale.
After these excitements the boat reached the opposite shore in safety.
Here they landed, turned the boat up with its keel to windward, used
her as a temporary hut and slept. It was hard going after that, and the
distance was long: but at last they got the boat and themselves to Long
Point at the south-east corner of Kerguelen, where they set to work
and made a proper hut out of turf blocks. On the whole, considering
what they had come through, this habitation was not so bad, and the
blubber lamp burned inside cheerfully. There were any number of the
black-fish whales in the neighbourhood, and the little community might
have been worse off. But always at the back of their minds was the
possibility--even the hope--that before long some ship for whales or
seals would come to Desolation Island. They were keeping always a good
look-out where the hut was erected, but it was some distance round the
corner, in a bay called Shallop Harbour, that a vessel approaching from
the north-east was likely first to call.
It would be a terrible tragedy if she were to visit Kerguelen without
the men knowing. And so this possibility was avoided by the following
precaution. It was now August 1827, and two long years had passed since
the _Royal Sovereign_ had arrived there. Surely a vessel might come any
time now: so they made a board, took it overland to Shallop Harbour
and stuck it up in such a manner that no ship entering there could
fail to notice and read the inscription which was cut out. That latter
directed the observer to “Hope Cottage,” as they had named their turf
hut by Long Point. It was forty-eight miles over rough ground and snow,
but after four days and nights on the journey the men got to Shallop
Harbour, erected the sign and came back to the hut.
And so at last there came a dramatic incident, for one day an object
was observed seaward. “Look!” cried one of the survivors from the hut.
“Did you see that great albatross? Over that rock there!” The other
man looked. “Why, bless me,” he answered. “That’s no albatross: it’s
the peak of a cutter’s sail.” Thereupon with keen enthusiasm they ran
down to the beach and signalled in case they had not been seen: but the
cutter hoisted her Union Jack to show they had been observed, hove-to
and sent her boat ashore. The meeting need only be imagined, but there
was no time to waste as there was a nasty surf and the cutter was
anxious to get under way at once. The lonely men were not long in going
aboard, and as the cutter proceeded round the east side of the island
there was an exchange of yarns.
To begin with, she was found to be the _Lively_, belonging to
one of Messrs. Enderby’s whaling ships named the _Sprightly_, a
schooner-rigged vessel which had recently arrived out from England
and was now lying at Howe Foreland. Her shallop _Lively_ on entering
Shallop Harbour had noticed that board with its message, and then,
after returning to the _Sprightly_, the captain had given them
permission to search the coastline with telescopes and find the
missing men. And as the _Lively_ came round the corner, every glass
was scanning the beach until these living objects were seen signalling
and answered by the Jack. It was thus that after two and a quarter
years the _Royal Sovereign’s_ men got back to better food and better
accommodation. But it was to be no picnic for them even now. Having
been taken into the _Sprightly_, the latter’s captain now split up
his men into two parties, so that in each division there should be
available the help and knowledge of the _Favourite’s_ late crew. The
_Sprightly_ had three five- or six-oared whaleboats, and these were
sent to various bays to bring back seals and sea-elephants.
Now the right whales were wont also to visit Kerguelen’s bays and
natural harbours. And it happened that one day whilst in Whale Bay, on
the east side, a man aboard the _Lively_ suddenly cried out: “There
she spouts!” and pointed seaward. Every man on deck saw it at once--a
fine 90-barrel whale. Instantly all was excitement, as the men thought
of the fine addition the animal would make to their wages. A boat was
immediately lowered and gave chase with a fine enthusiasm. Frantically
the men pulled at their oars, and soon the boat was up to the whale.
The harpooner was unfortunately somewhat inexperienced, and though
he hurled the harpoon and struck the cetacean, it made fast in the
shoulder, which was too far for’ard. The correct technique was to
approach the whale by its tail and come along the animal’s starboard
side. Then as the boat got quite close, the harpooner, his legs against
the thigh-boards in those two semicircular openings of the bows, would
warn the boat’s crew to be ready. Immediately after he would endeavour
to strike the whale “between wind and water” just abaft his fore fin.
“Give way, lads,” would come the exhortation, and then the order “Shear
off,” at the very moment when he cast the harpoon. “’Stern--_hard_!”
would be the final instruction, and the men would start with their
oars backing the boat for all they were worth, just as the whale began
smacking things about with his tail.
In the present instance the whale speeded up like the wind itself, the
line fairly leapt out of the oval tub between the after thwart and
the one just ahead. Through those chocks at the bows--iron-made to
prevent fire arising through friction--the line ran racing out from its
neat coils, the “line manager” (as he was called) supervising it at
the tubs, and all ready in the boat was the mop with a bucket to keep
wetting the line and prevent it catching on fire. Somewhere handy were
the blue lights ready in case night overcame the boat and she wished
to signal to the _Lively_. The pace was thrilling and the incident had
happened so suddenly. Jumping, banging, smashing against the waves,
cleaving the water with her fine bows and casting the spray on either
side, the boat went madly on as the 10-knot whale in its progress
spooned up a mass of sea foam which came roaring, swishing, curling,
hissing over his nose and sped by the boat’s gunwales all snow-white
and bubbly.
But now the whale was like a wild horse with the bit between its
teeth, and mischief guided him to head straight for some rocks and a
cluster of barely covered pinnacles, which seemed certain to puncture
the boat, until at the last moment he altered course and made a tack
right out to sea. Speed? The animal never slowed up an instant, minutes
flew past, the miles added up and the whaler men began to get a little
anxious. How long could this be continued? How long could the whale
keep this effort going? Would they ever see the _Lively_ again? For she
had long since vanished out of sight. So they all got their weight on
to the line and endeavoured with their full strength to haul the boat
up to the whale that they might get the lances into the brute. But it
was an utterly futile effort at that pace. If you have ever tried from
a motor-boat to haul in the dinghy whilst travelling quickly, you will
know how impossible was their task.
But now the crisis had been reached, three hours had passed, they had
travelled at least thirty miles from the land and night had come on.
It was dreadfully disappointing, but prudence insisted that they had
gone far enough in that lonely ocean and they might never get back to
windward. If a gale sprang up they would have a very small chance, and
some of them in the boat had experienced their full share of exciting
adventures. Thus, with deep reluctance they had to cut the line, the
boat gradually lost its way, but the whale with the harpoon still in
his shoulder went tearing off, raising a mountain of foam at his “bows”
just as before.
Three hours of glorious life! There was nothing now remaining but to
pull back towards the shore, and it was as likely as not that the
_Lively_ would be missed. But finally they burned a blue light, and
to their great relief they were answered by the shallop, which came
running down the moonlight and picked them up after as fine a bit of
hunting as could ever be wished. For some months longer the _Sprightly_
and _Lively_ continued to work around Kerguelen, and then the former’s
captain decided to visit the Crozet Islands--not in the schooner,
but in the shallop. This uninhabited group had been discovered only
fifty-six years previously, and the skipper was anxious to get any
seals that might be there. It was quite an undertaking to let that
shallop make such an ocean voyage, but leaving most of his men behind,
he set off in the _Lively_ to the north-west.
This group is another of those lonely localities where there are now
provision depots in case a vessel gets wrecked. Actually in December
1906 the Norwegian whaling ship _Catherine_ was wrecked on these very
islands; yet the crew managed to find the depot, but it had been
almost demolished by the gales, and the food was practically unfit for
consumption; however, they managed to find plenty of seals and penguins.
The _Lively_ returned safely to Kerguelen, and then at last both she
and the schooner _Sprightly_, having concluded their work, weighed
anchor and both of them sailed away across the South Indian Ocean to
Table Bay, a distance of 2,095 miles. There they remained only four
days, but Nunn and his fellow-adventurers, late of the _Favourite_,
were treated with some distinction. And then, passing up the West
African coast, they at length came out of the Atlantic into the English
Channel. Both ships reached the Downs safely, but after this long
voyage the little _Lively_ almost at the very end of her journey from
the other side of the globe got caught in bad weather. She had rounded
to and was close-reefing her mainsail when along came a heavy sea which
washed a couple of men over the side, drowning one, but the other was
saved. After this distressing incident as a finale, the two craft came
up the Thames and the expedition ended.
That island, which was the scene of so many adventures, had been
discovered, as we have mentioned, by de Kerguelen Trémarec. This Breton
noble had sailed from Lorient in 1771, and then, passing by way of
Mauritius, reached his destination in the following February, yet the
vile weather and the perpetual fogs made his sojourn off the lonely
island quite short, and he returned home. But in the spring of 1773
he started off again and landed at what he had named “South France”
in December of the same year. Although this was the local midsummer
he found the weather so bitter with gales and fogs, and the island
so desolate and barren, that he changed the name now to the “Land of
Desolation,” declaring that he would rather live in Iceland than down
there, and came home. However, posterity has shown its sympathy with
this disappointed explorer by calling it Kerguelen Island. He was not
the last Frenchman to visit there, for some of his own countrymen in
our own time sailed out there in a ketch, after calling at Brixham,
with the idea of engaging in whaling: but the expedition was destined
to end disastrously.