STORM AND STRESS AND--HOME!
After several days of the gay and intimate life of this “Venice of the
North,” so-called because of its many waterways and numerous islands,
and the Latin temperament of its inhabitants, we regretfully set sail
for Godthaab. There we loaded fuel oil and also visited some very
interesting Norse ruins dating back to the year 1000 A.D. These were
sixty miles up a fiord, not far from the spot where Nansen came down
from the ice-cap after his first crossing of Greenland. On the way to
these ruins we had a most delightful sail in the midst of the Alpine
scenery we had observed on our first sighting of Greenland. We spent an
interesting day rambling about these ruins, after which we returned to
Godthaab.
[Illustration: View of Godthaab with statue of Hans Egede, first
missionary to the Eskimos of Greenland.]
[Illustration: Norse church at head of Godthaab Fiord, probably built
about 1100 A. D.]
Upon our return to Godthaab we were received and delightfully
entertained by Governor Simony and his wife. There we met many of the
notables of the settlement, and we also visited the “university,”
a sort of a glorified high school comprising a gymnasium and an
academic building.
For several days a frightful hurricane delayed our departure for
home, but at last came clear weather, and we pointed our nose to the
southward. We were homeward bound!
[Illustration: In rough weather, off Nova Scotia, homeward bound.]
[Illustration: _Photo Brust._
The _Bowdoin_ detained by the storm at Monhegan.]
Sixteen hours out of Godthaab the barometer took an ominous drop, and
a heavy wind and sea rolled up from the southeastward. Soon we were
forced to heave to under storm canvas. The seas were tremendous. Great
mountains of water came hurtling over the deck nearly sweeping away our
deck cargo, in fact one barrel of gasolene drifted over the rail, so
deep was the water on deck, and the boats were also engulfed, held only
by their stout lashings. Drenched to the skin and chilled to the bone
we worked at tightening the lashings on the barrels, and soon all was
secure.
Below decks everything was sadly awry. The hatches were battened down,
thereby excluding the entrance of all air, and the deck, which had been
strained in the ice, leaked badly, and trickles of water soaked both
our bunks and ourselves. To these discomforts was added the noxious
fumes of coal gas which came from the galley stove. Owing to these
upsetting conditions all hands became seasick, and taking a trick at
the wheel became the sheerest agony. When my trick came, I struggled
into my clothes, donned my oilskins, and made my way to the deck on
unsteady feet. Staggering over the seething deck I made my way aft and
took over the wheel from my pallid and gagging colleague. All alone
I sat there for two hours with the great mounds of water crashing
over the bow and sweeping aft in a rushing torrent. It was indeed an
awe-inspiring spectacle, and in spite of my upset insides I could not
help but admire the grandeur and wild beauty of it all. It brought home
to me the insignificance of man in the face of nature aroused.
As I looked out over the rolling green of the angry water it somehow
brought back to me the quiet peace and orderly beauty of the
close-cropped lawns of The Hill. I contrasted my present woebegone
state to that of a few months previous when I wandered book in hand in
the shadow of its stately cloisters, with nature at rest and with no
responsibility. A sudden wild lurch of the vessel recalled my mind to
my present task, and I again concentrated my attention on wheel and
compass.
For three days we fought on through a bleak and stormy sea towards
Labrador. Those three days were the worst I ever experienced at sea,
and few of the other members of the crew, even the Commander himself,
could remember worse, but at last the bold headland of Cape Mugford
broke the dreary expanse of tumbling billows. This sight of land was
a tonic to our sea-racked bodies, and with renewed buoyancy we pushed
on. By nightfall the sea had moderated, and life took on a cheerier
tinge. Once again the sizzle and sputter of cooking food was sweet
music to our ears, and for the first time in days there was an inward
response to the savory odors which came from the galley. Even Doctor
Koelz emerged from his refuge behind the ice-box and consented to take
a glass of water, a sure sign that we were once again in calm weather.
After he recovered his equilibrium, his first thought was for his pet
goose which he kept in a cage on deck. He dashed up to see how it
had fared, but alas! the poor goose had been drowned. The Doctor was
stricken with grief, and all hands joined him in mourning the loss of
his pet.
After a peaceful night’s run we arrived early the next morning at Jack
Lane’s Bay and at once made our way up to Abie’s home. There we spent
the day recuperating and getting thoroughly rested. At dawn on the day
following we were once more under weigh. A few hours put us in Hopedale
where we unloaded the troublesome gasolene. Then we headed out through
Flagstaff Tickle for the open sea and Battle Harbor. During this run I
experienced one of the finest nights of the entire voyage. It was cold
with frost forming on the ropes and on the deck. The perfect clarity
of the sky and the magnificence of the flashing stars along with the
beautiful full moon, with the wavering aurora in the north formed a
picture of such brilliance and splendor that I was loath to go below at
the end of my watch.
The next day we reached Battle Harbor. We had made a fine run down
The Labrador, but we could not afford to loiter as the season was far
advanced, and we were two weeks behind schedule. Therefore early the
next morning we were once again on the way on the next to the last lap
headed for Sydney. Here we were greeted by a delegation of newspaper
men and Mr. Hildebrand of the National Geographic Society. They
welcomed us back to civilization in regal style. But we could not long
linger in their pleasant company, and in five hours we were once again
leaving Sydney astern--_headed for Home_!
We were flying on around Scateri wafted southward by a fair wind. But
as we neared Halifax the wind hauled to the southwest and swept upon us
with a force unparalleled by any hurricane that even the Commander had
ever seen. It was far worse than any through which we had previously
passed. In an astonishingly short time the surface of the sea was a
series of steep and treacherous ridges which struck us from every side.
Luckily the mainsail had been taken in before dark, but the foresail
and jumbo were still up. The Commander immediately despatched Melkon
and Dick Salmon to take in the jumbo, while he gripped the wheel. I was
busily engaged in rescuing the loose articles on deck when suddenly
a towering sea crashed over the bow, and leaving the wheel to me the
Commander dashed forward to the aid of the two men there. I seized the
wheel and put her hard over to hold her bow in the wind. The engine was
running full blast. The force of the wind and the sea was so great that
the vessel was literally pushed backward and began shipping seas over
the stern.
This was indeed a most precarious situation with the seas breaking
aboard from all sides, and seeing that the engine could not hold the
vessel in the wind against the seas, I eased her off a few points to
relieve the grim danger of being pooped,--a danger almost unprecedented
for a vessel heading into the seas. This easing off had the desired
effect, and as the boys had taken in the staysail, I was able to fill
away the foresail, and we were soon bounding along again in comparative
safety. It took all my strength to hold that bucking wheel against the
terrific forces striving to throw it up. Suddenly the cover of the
wheelbox was lifted out from under me by the force of the wind and went
flying off to leeward, and as the deck was heeled at such a terrific
angle that it was practically impossible to stand on it with the seas
breaking around my knees, I got into the wheelbox and thus managed to
keep going.
Soon the Commander, Dick and Melkon returned from forward, and we
settled down to ride it out as best we might. Suddenly an ominous
slatting sounded through the shrill scream of the wind in the
rigging. Holding our hands before our faces to shield them from the
cutting spray, we fought our way forward to investigate. A hasty
glance revealed that our foresail had been blown loose from the gaff
laceline. This was a dangerous situation as the sail was likely to
thrash to pieces. The Commander immediately gave the word to call all
hands. In a moment Robbie came piling up from the cabin, and under his
direction we started to haul down the sail. The Commander held the
vessel in the wind while we labored. Five of us seized the downhaul,
but we were ineffectually dragged back and forth across the deck by the
terrible thrashing of the sail. At last I managed to catch a turn over
a belaying pin, and then inch by inch we swayed it down. Luck was with
us, and down it came without tearing. We were greatly relieved to have
this important sail safe on deck with no further damage than the broken
laceline. It required fast work to save it. This filled out an active
and exciting evening.
Now the only reasonable course of action was to heave to and wait for
the storm to abate, as it could not long blow with the fury it now
displayed. But the little _Bowdoin_ was slowly driven out to sea, since
even with her engine going at full speed she was no match for the force
of the gale. There she was flung about through the night, and there was
little rest for our tired watch.
Morning at last dawned, and with it came sunlight and calmer weather,
and by the time we again came on deck the vessel had resumed her
course. The sparkling miles flew by, and before dark we were off Cape
Sable. All day we had held our own in a race with the _Peary_, which
had joined us off Halifax after the storm. But at Cape Sable the wind
fell calm, and she soon forged ahead and was lost in the night.
All that night and all the next day the _Bowdoin_ ploughed steadily
onward, and at four o’clock the next afternoon Matinicus Rock, the
farthest outpost of Maine, hove in sight, shortly to be followed by our
goal--Monhegan Island. Not long afterwards we rounded the Island, and
just before sundown we dropped anchor in Dead Man’s Cove.
We had hoped to make an early start on Saturday morning for Wiscasset
where we were expected by many of our friends and well-wishers. But at
three o’clock in the morning we were awakened by the shrill scream of
a storm humming through the rigging. This storm later developed into
the great gale of October 10th, known to every fisherman on the coast.
We did not, however, immediately despair of being able to make the run
to Wiscasset. When we roused out at breakfast time the wind had shown
no sign of abating, and one look out to sea sufficed to demonstrate
that any thought of departure that day was but an idle wish. I put my
head above the level of the hatch and glanced about. The vessel was
wallowing in a heavy swell which came rolling into Dead Man’s Cove
from the west. The anchor chain stood out as taut and stiff as a bar
of iron. The vessel’s stern tailed dangerously close to the wicked
rocks astern which reared their ugly heads through a wall of breaking
seas and flying spume. As the morning wove on, the storm increased
in violence and our situation became precarious. Twice the sturdy
fishermen of Monhegan bucked their way out from the inner harbor to
warn us that our anchorage would soon become untenable, and it behooved
us to get out while we still could. Eventually our stern approached
within a few feet of the rocks, and the Commander decided we should
have to go around the island into the inner harbor. To take the vessel
out in the teeth of that roaring hurricane with a bent propeller such
as we had, was a feat not lightly to be undertaken.
But as it was imperative, the Commander reluctantly gave the order
to up anchor. Inch by inch our powerful winch brought the chain
aboard. Soon it was up and down and the engine was started. Then a
few more revolutions of the windlass and we were clear. The engine
telegraph stood at full speed and yet the vessel barely moved. We
watched breathlessly. Would she make it? Slowly the gap between us and
the rocks widened. The vessel plunged her bow deep in the seas. All
undaunted the little _Bowdoin_ crept to windward. At last we rounded
the outermost cape and with a sigh of relief the Commander put up the
helm and we fairly blew to leeward around the remaining stretch of
coast.
In a few moments we were safe once more in the inner harbor and the
shrieking seventy-five mile an hour gale was powerless to tear us from
our moorings. We were indeed fortunate to make a safe harbor as many a
great ship disappeared in that hurricane and was never seen again. From
all parts of the Atlantic seaboard reports rained in of shipwreck and
disaster.
All that day and all the next the gale raged with unmitigated severity.
On Sunday, however, the barometer began to rise and patches of blue sky
showed through the leaden pale overhead. These signs that the weather
would soon be on the mend were welcome to all hands, from the crew to
the visitors. It appeared probable that a start might be made Monday
morning. As it would still be rough, the ladies who had joined us at
Battle Harbor were requested to go up to Wiscasset on the _Peary_ that
they might be spared the discomforts of a trip on the smaller vessel.
Monday morning arrived and the _Peary_ gave a long toot on her siren
and pulled out from the dock. She passed quite close to us and we
observed that her decks were nearly deserted. Where were the ladies? In
a few moments we knew. Boat after boat appeared, loaded to the gunwales
with their numbers. Not more than a handful had gone on the _Peary_;
contrary to all instructions they had refused to go on our consort,
and insisted on going on the _Bowdoin_. We stared aghast at their
temerity to disobey the Commander’s request. They came aboard with an
air of assurance which showed that a well-planned conspiracy had been
launched, but their disobedience was left unnoticed, strange to say. I
think perhaps it would be more correct to those who have had experience
with the wily sex to say, “As might have been expected.” A good many of
them were soon seasick, but in a short time we had come into the quiet
waters of Boothbay Harbor. Up the green bordered channels we picked our
way, our decks crowded with cheering visitors. Slowly we reeled off the
miles until at last we entered the Sheepscot, and then--then with flags
flying we proceeded up the river, and at last amidst the roar of steam
whistles and the cheers of the multitude assembled on the shore, the
Commander uttered those long awaited words: “Let go.”
Soon the visitors had departed, and we were left alone on our
sturdy little ship. We had sailed six thousand miles, crossed the
Arctic Circle twice, fought through the dread reaches of Melville
Bay, launched our planes over the unknown Arctic, and returned all
unscathed. Now all was ended: “Timakeza,” as the Eskimo would say.
Two days later, as my train rumbled over the bridge, I looked out and
saw the little _Bowdoin_ lying quiet and peaceful in the tranquil
waters of Wiscasset, her long voyage over. As she receded into the
distance I recalled the happy days spent under the shadow of her masts,
and in my heart the hope was born that once again I might tread her
deck and feel the long ocean roll beneath my feet--outward bound!
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
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Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
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cases, these breaks are on different pages. The List of
Illustrations has been updated to reflect these changes.