A Boy’s-Eye View of the Arctic by Kennett Longley Rawson - HTML preview

CHAPTER XIII
 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.

View of Godthaab with statue of Hans Egede, first missionary to
 the Eskimos of Greenland.

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!

In rough weather, off Nova Scotia, homeward bound.

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!

END