CHAPTER V
THROUGH THE PACK TO DISASTER
IT was with regret that at dawn on the day following we bade farewell to Battle Harbor and the hospitable Grenfell workers and squared away for Hopedale whence we would make the long leg to Greenland. While on the way to Hopedale we crossed the mouth of Hamilton Inlet, a great fiord or arm of the sea that penetrates the land for a hundred miles. From this fiord extends a river containing one of the largest waterfalls in the world, the Grand Falls of the Hamilton River.
Early the next morning we were off Cape Harrison at the northern end of the inlet. Here we began to notice scattered cakes of ice drifting out to sea—“Gone abroad,” as the Newfoundlanders say. Soon the scattered fragments became thicker, and a full-fledged field of pack ice presented itself to our vision.
The Commander ascended to the crow’s nest to survey the situation and con the ship through the ice. As this pack barred the entrance to Hopedale it was necessary to go through it, and the Commander seeing a likely lead—a lane of open water between the ice cakes—ordered the wheel put hard aport. The vessel rapidly swung around until her bow was directed down the lead. “Steady!” was the next command from aloft, and the helmsman spun the wheel in the opposite direction as hard as he could until she checked in her swing. She rapidly traversed the lead which soon terminated in a solid cake of ice. Straight on continued the Bowdoin like a hunter for a jump. Soon her rounded bow was almost in contact with the ice, and in another second she had struck it fair and square. Her prow leaped up on the pan, and I leaned over the prow thinking that surely she would never be able to force her way through such a large cake of ice. But driven by her powerful engine, her bow glided straight up. Then she slowly came to a halt with her bow well up on the ice. With breathless interest we watched to see whether she had the weight to crush it. Just as we were preparing to back out and hit it again, a thin line of black broke the even white. She had made it! The great cake was rent asunder by our sturdy little vessel, and she slowly gained way until she leaped forward with increasing rapidity at the next obstacle which dared to bar her way. Thus we continued weaving in and out, now to port and now to starboard, wherever a lead opened, and where there was none smashing our way. Good judgment and a knowledge of ice conditions are required in ice navigation on the part of the man aloft, and the helmsman must possess the ability to follow orders rapidly and efficiently and be able to keep the ship from brushing the sides of narrow passages. Spinning that wheel frequently and for all one is worth is no joke, and even in that cold, stripped down to my underwear, I sweated like a pack mule before I had been at it for long.
All day we ploughed through the pack with the Peary near by. She was under a disadvantage in having a straight bow and in not maneuvering as readily as we did, but her superior engine power in a large measure compensated for this. As darkness slowly fell I was struck by the absence of any friendly light twinkling a welcome through the dusk, such as one sees in friendlier climes. Nothing but rocks, ice, sky and water—not even a tree or fisherman’s hut to vary the monotony of those barren cliffs. What a contrast to the ceaseless activity of The Hill with its life and action, its cheering bleachers at the games and its humming classrooms—never a moment there when one feels that sense of utter detachment from one’s fellow man which oppressed me in viewing the bleak Labrador. The utter desolation of it all brought thoughts of School and Home with their warmth and life and cheer. Suddenly I found myself shivering violently, and with a start I returned to the immediate present. Turning away from the fading landscape I hastened to the companionship of my mates in the warm, well-lighted forecastle.
The following morning we were away early and were soon clear of the last of the ice and were bound up Flagstaff Tickle on the way to Hopedale, the southernmost settlement of the Eskimos. Despite the fact that these waters are poorly charted, we experienced no difficulty in keeping the channel until we were almost in Hopedale. Then out of a clear sky, grim disaster descended upon us. We were skirting a small reef which jutted a considerable way into the Sound when suddenly the bow of the Peary made an abrupt ascent; then she slowly assumed a list. Immediately the Commander ordered the Bowdoin’s helm put hard down. In a moment more we were flying down wind to the aid of our stricken companion. She had struck on a sunken ledge of rock which gave no indication of its presence until the vessel’s keel had touched. At once we came alongside, which our comparatively shallow draft rendered safe, and after rigging a masthead line we steamed slowly away to see if we could pull her off. Calm and cool as always, Captain Steele ordered the lowering of a small boat in order to run out a kedge anchor.
Meanwhile we ran out the slack in the line and gradually took up a strain. But owing to a strong wind assisting the efforts of our engine, no sooner had the line come taut than it snapped. Captain Steele was now manfully striving to work his boat to windward. Seeing his plight we steamed over to give the lifeboat a tow. In a few moments we had it in the proper position, and let go the anchor. Then we ran down and placed a line over the Peary’s stern to try to haul her off in that manner. During this time the lifeboat had returned and was hauled up on a short bight astern while her crew disembarked. In the stern of the small boat stood Commander McDonald awaiting his turn to get aboard the Peary. In some unaccountable manner the lifeboat caught under the counter of the ship, and a sea suddenly jammed her against the plates. As she could rise no farther, the waves poured over her gunwales and swamped her. McDonald shouted to those on deck to drop the boat aft, but she had become so waterlogged that they could do nothing with her, and each succeeding wave forced her farther and farther down. All yelled for him to jump while the jumping was good, but he still maintained his position in a manner reminiscent of the boy who stood on the burning deck. In spite of the Commander’s heroic pose, the boat gradually sank, and in a second more it began to roll over. With one wild leap he left his sinking craft to its fate, caught a hold on the bulwarks and was pulled aboard the Peary.
In the meantime, the deck of the Peary became a scene of wild excitement. Everyone stood around on the deck with their bags packed, apparently convinced that the boat was going down. But their fears were vain. Under the combined influence of a rising tide, our pulling and the kedge anchor, she began slowly to slide off the ledge, and in a few moments she was once more safe afloat.
We then went in search of the submerged lifeboat which had slowly drifted away during the intervening time. We soon came upon her drifting bottom upwards. To rescue the boat was somewhat of a problem, since there was nothing visible to which we could make fast. By skillful maneuvering, however, Captain MacMillan brought us alongside, and we strove desperately to get a line on her. But the winds and the waves unfortunately separated us, and we had the whole operation to do over again. The next time we approached her a sudden gust of wind swerved our bow just enough to hit her a crashing blow, seriously damaging her.
That misfortune, however, was not the worst that befell us that afternoon, for, as we strove to clear the boat, our propeller struck one of her spare fittings thereby stripping her internal gears. At the time we were unaware of the damage, and the propellor continued turning, seemingly uninjured. We at last managed to corral the unruly lifeboat and then set our course for Hopedale. It had been a harrowing afternoon, but all in all we had much to be thankful for. Our misfortunes were nothing compared to what they would have been if the tide had been falling, and the Peary had been unable to float off. For being a steel ship, she would have filled and become a total loss when the tide began to flow.