They sang so loud that we could often hear their weird songs coming over the water from other ships similarly engaged. Our friends, the fulmar petrels, were always with us upon occasions of this kind, and all that were in the Sound, I think, spent the day with us.
The outer skin of the whale is about as thick as stiff paper, and black. It peels off readily, and the men cut book markers out of it. Under this comes a layer, nearly an inch thick, of rather gelatinous stuff, which the Eskimos eat raw, then the blubber between this and the superficial fascia, by which the body heat is preserved. It took us practically all the rest of the day to flense.
July 29th. Tuesday. We had a visit from two natives; they were prosperous looking people with a good sled and dogs. I admired the protection from the sun which they wore. It was a piece of wood with a slit cut in it. This was very efficacious, but unbecoming. We learned from these people that many whales had been seen by them this year. They had some bear skins with them for trade, and some walrus ivory. This was much inferior to the narwhal ivory, which was very fine and was worth, at this time, I think, one pound ten per pound, that of the walrus being only worth half a crown. I had a long walk with a gun but did not see anything.
July 30th. Wednesday. All hands "making off." I tried to skin a fulmar, but could not do it, it was so fat. I wanted a skin badly, but this was too much for me. All the birds we killed were fat, a provision of nature against cold. The men said, however, that they could not wear oil soaked clothes in cold weather.
I was in the "crow's nest" a good while. It was most difficult to see anything at a distance owing to the mirage. During the afternoon I tried to shoot some narwhal near us. I shot at their heads with a rifle from the boat, and although they had sometimes been killed with the rifle, so little of the head showed when the beast was lying on the surface, that I fancy they must have been shot from the ship, which stood high.
July 31st. Immediately after breakfast, four boats were away after a whale. I remained on board and watched from the barrel. It was a long pull and the whale got away amongst loose ice without giving the boats a chance. We captured a female narwhal in the afternoon.
August 1st. Friday. Lovely day but very cold. In the morning I was sitting on the after grating, scraping a bear's skull, when a hundred yards or so astern of us arose a whale with the usual blast. The water was like a mirror and the fish lay there for several minutes and breathed heavily. No one spoke or moved. There in front of us was a fine whale, its jet black head and back showing up well and reflected on the absolutely glassy surface of the sea. When it slowly sank with its head towards us, we knew it would go under the ice, but we would not lower away until we were sure it was under. I was leaning over the after rail, peering into the water, when I saw the whale coming slowly under where I was standing. I first noticed a large, gray bow coming towards me; it was the under jaw, and as it passed beneath the vessel I could see distinctly the large round, dark spots on the huge lower lip. It passed a very short distance under our keel. There was no movement of either flukes or tail. I watched the great horizontal tail in the hope of seeing some movement. Only the man in the "crow's nest" and I alone saw the fish passing under the ship, and as soon as we were sure that it was safe, the boats went away as noiselessly as possible and we waited for the result with bated breath. It came up almost beside the ship and Jimmy Watson put in both gun and hand harpoons, then came the joyful shout "A fall," and we started down the Sound. As the fish was well fastened, it was safe to snub the line around the bollard head of the boat; there was no fear of the irons drawing and it made a heavy drag on the whale. The line, in running out, passes through the hands of the har-pooner before going around the bollard head. Of course, he wears several pairs of mittens, but these are generally torn to pieces. Our friend shortly came to the surface rather exhausted, as the line had been well snubbed, but Thor put another iron into him. This smarted and one could have heard his tail strike the water miles away. He lashed it with such force that no boat could go close; and before a rocket could be fired into him, he was off. This time the drag was very heavy, for he had two boats. It did seem absurd that this huge monster, more than sixty feet long and forty around the waist, could be conquered by having those little bits of harpoons stuck in with their little threads of lines attached, but whales of this species are clumsy and stupid and turn very slowly, and it is this inability to turn fast that proves their undoing. Upon appearing the next time, a rocket was instantly fired into a vital place and the final flurry came at once and made lancing unnecessary. The row back was a pleasure, and our joyful shanties could be heard for a long distance. We were alongside by midday, and after dinner, flensing commenced. I amused myself again with the fulmars. Getting a boat, I laid my left elbow over the side so that I could look between it and the gunwale. Every time a fulmar came under, I darted my right hand over, catching him by the neck and taking him on board. When I had a great flock of them, I put them on the poop, around which there was a base board about four inches high, and above this the iron railing. The birds had eaten so much blubber that they could not get over the base board. One had to be careful of bites, as they had the curved, pointed bills peculiar to the albatross, shearwater and other birds of this tribe. It is curious that the great albatross and diminutive storm petrel, the wren of the sea, should belong to the same species. In a very short time, I saw the advisability of throwing my flock of pets overboard. We did not go below for supper until the fish was flensed.
August 2nd, Saturday, was cold and cloudy, but no wind. We were hooked on with two boats on the bran; all hands making off during the afternoon.
August 4th. Monday. Three of the four boats were after a whale among some loose ice to the north of us. One boat got fast and all immediately lowered away. When we reached the ice, navigation became difficult and the fish came up where we could not touch it. Several boats came out of the ice and tried to row around. Ours was one of these; then we found that the harpoon had drawn and the whale had vanished. We pursued some distance down the Sound and had nothing for our trouble but exercise.
August 5th. Tuesday. Much loose ice in the Sound, caused by wind during the night. Narwhal were abundant, and two boats went after them with no result. Later the ship unhooked and steamed east looking for open water. I spent a long time in the "crow's nest," and, as there was no mirage, got a beautiful view of the south coast—very wintry at bed time.
August 6th. Wednesday. The rushing of feet overhead brought me to the deck on a gloomy cold morning, and before I had time to add anything to the clothes in which I slept, we were a mile from the ship. A whale had been seen some distance to the north and four boats pursuing it. We paused and put on some more clothes to keep out the keen Arctic air, and then we went off again, as the whale had come up. Long before the leading boat got near, it had disappeared, but we were not discouraged, so kept on, and this hard work continued until we were far from the ship and getting amongst pans of loose ice. The whale we were following was a fast traveller and we were ultimately obliged to give up the chase and return. The row back was long and wearisome, and when I reached the ship I had my long delayed breakfast and retired, but the moment I turned in to my berth, the rush above told of more whales in sight, so I went on deck. A fish had been seen blowing a long way down the Sound and six boats were away, but bed appealed to me more than another long pull, so I returned to it and remained there until the following morning. Our boats did not get a shot but had a long chase and did not return until very late.
The day was cold and the density of the atmosphere uniform, so I was able to see all the other ships distinctly with the glass. Some swell had broken up the edge of our floe and some pieces had been driven up the Sound, so it looked more icy than any day since the time when all the whales came. During the afternoon we hooked on to a large floe. The Polynia and Esquimaux were near us, but to the south; the Arctic was some distance down the Sound. Swarms of white whales were about us in the open places.
August 7th. Thursday. The loose ice was gone. We had unhooked during the night and steamed west to the fast floe. I went up to the barrel and the Captain went down to get his pipe. While gazing at distant things, I heard a noise on deck and, looking over, saw all hands lowering away for two whales astern of us. I must have been looking in another direction when they appeared, because the first I knew of it, was the noise below. Our boats lay about half on each side and were playing the usual waiting game. The Captain came up to the barrel and I went down, but too late to enter a boat, as they had all gone, except the two upper quarter boats. This was a great disappointment to me, as I had assisted in killing every whale we had taken on board. After a while, one fish came up on the south or port side and was fastened by the farthest south boat. The whale went under the ice, but came out nearer the ship and was fastened again. This proved the worst whale we had seen. It did not go down again but rolled about so much and slapped the water with its flukes to such an extent that the boats were rather afraid of it. This went on for a long time, when the Captain called out that he would kill it himself, so he came down and ordered the port upper quarter boat launched. All boats had their gear ready, whether we used them or not. A crew of irregulars was called, the Captain as harpooner, myself next, the sailmaker next, third engineer, cooper, etc. The Captain went up at once and, driving a lance into the whale's neck, began churning it up and down. The fish allowed itself to sink a few feet, and the bows of the boat glided over it as the Captain held on to the lance. Then coming to the surface again, it tumbled the boat over on its starboard side and instantly gave a great blast from its lungs. My oar came out of the water, so I let it go and, grasping the seat with my right hand and putting my left on the whale's back, I got the full charge of blood and water over my side and shoulder, as I was almost over the blow-hole, and such was the force, that my thick pilot coat was soaked with-blood, and also the thick coat underneath. I saw the sailmaker, who was in front of me, turn around; his face was green, in spite of the tan. He was almost in the water. The boat, fortunately, slid off the slippery neck and a serious accident was averted. The great danger would have been from being caught between the whale and the many lines it had wound around itself. After this, a couple of rockets were put in and the most troublesome fish of the season gave up its ghost. As all this happened beside the ship, we were saved the usual tedious tow, and in an hour flensing was commenced. It was six when we had all on board. The second whale did not reappear—probably finding a breathing place in the floe. The sky was overcast at bedtime and there was a bitterly cold wind. Having the engines aft made a great difference to the temperature of the cabin, as the bulkhead between the pantry and engine room was always hot.
August 8th. Friday. We were off Cape Hay when I came on deck and sailing east under topsails. This cape was a wonderful place for looms. They bred there in thousands; but we did not land or go very close, so I had no chance of seeing much.
Quite a number of the ships had already left the Sound, among others the Arctic. Her captain, having secured thirteen black whales, had decided to try his luck in Repulse Bay, Fox Channel, where he had had former success. Owing to the amount of ice in the Sound and on the west coast, he had come to this decision. Consequently he had sailed to Hudson's Straits, passing from Frobisher Bay through Gabriel Straits and encountering the dreadful current for which the neighborhood is noted. Ice was met with about Salisbury Island, and beyond this he was unable to take his ship, so he returned to Cumberland Gulf and from there home without adding to his cargo.
Lancaster Sound was beginning to look and feel like winter, the weather being very frosty. The mountains on the south side, which are about two thousand feet high, were very white, as a number of snow storms had passed over them. We were anticipating with pleasure a visit to Pond's Bay and the points usually called at on the west coast. One can generally take a ship by Navy Board Inlet through Eclipse Sound to Ponds Bay, but this year the ice precluded such a trip.
We kept under sail, to save our coal, and ended off Wollaston Islands at the entrance of Navy Board Inlet, without having seen any whales. Here we hooked on to a large floe.
August 9th. Saturday. After breakfast all hands were called to make off. It was a very cheerful performance, our men being in good spirits. The day was bitterly cold, but work kept them warm. Ice formed where the sun did not strike the water as there was hardly any wind to disturb it.
By dinner time the whale was made off and during the afternoon the watch employed cleaning up. We remained hooked on all night.
Sunday was a bitterly cold day and blowing a little, so we went further down the sound under topsails. About ten A. M. we sighted a whale and sent four boats in pursuit. I was in the second mate's. After a long chase the mate got fast. There was much ice about, so it was dangerous work for the fast boat, as it was impossible to avoid the pieces when being towed, and should the boat strike a floe it would be smashed at once and all hands would have to jump.
When the fish came up first there was no boat near, but on coming up a second time Watson got in an iron and we had a very lively run down the Sound. With two harpoons in, there was a considerable drag on, and in a short time she reappeared and a boat was soon lancing.
Our boat had been delayed by pieces of ice, so that it was late when we arrived on the scene. However this was a very vital whale and difficult to kill. I saw our specksioneer Lyon's boat almost smashed by one of the flukes during a flurry.
The perfectly fearless old man was so absorbed in his lancing operations that he did not notice the fluke coming, and but for the quick action of his boat-steerer, an accident would have occurred.
The ship had followed us, so we had no towing when the battle was over, as she picked the boats up, taking the whale with her to a floe where she anchored. Two more boats had been lowered away when they heard "A fall" called. One had gone to help the mate with more line, and the other had taken part in the chase.
After having something to eat, flensing was the order of the day, our cheerful crew singing with great spirit to the orders "Heave away capstan" and "Heave away windlass." This, our tenth whale, was a heavy one and it was late when we got it all on board.
The ship remained at the floe all night, drifting with it down the Sound.
Monday, the 11th, was a wintry day, bitterly cold and an overcast sky. During the afternoon we had some snow squalls. We dodged about under topsails, but did not see even a narwhal. It was evident that our chance of catching white whales this year in Prince Regent Inlet was small. We anchored to the ice off Cape Liverpool at night.
Tuesday, August 12th, all hands were engaged making off in the morning and doing a general clean up during the afternoon.
CHAPTER XVII—LANCASTER SOUND TO DUNDEE
"To claim the Arctic came the sun,
With banners of the burning zone
Unrolled upon their airy spars.
They froze beneath the light of stars,
And there they float, those streamers old,
Those Northern Lights, forever cold."
The neighborhood of Cape Byam Martin was considered good whaling ground, so we spent the next few days cruising off it and the coast further down, but without seeing anything of interest. Even seals were scarce. It was remarkable how few we saw north of the Arctic circle.
By going aloft, one could always see, in some direction on the ice, a black dot, which represented a seal, but after the tens of thousands seen on the coasts of Newfoundland and Labrador, they were scarce indeed; in fact, I never shot one during the whole northern trip.
We found Ponds Bay that paradise of the old whalers so full of ice that we were unable to visit the natives, which was a great disappointment to us all. It was a bad year for seeing much of the land as there was so much ice coming down.
From the ship, the line of the shore looked straight, except off the bay, but there were great fiords running into the land for miles. One of them, known as "Hell's Kitchen," had been a noted place for whalers. Two branches of it, named respectively, "Morris" and "Cooney" extended far into the country, one of them having been navigated by Captain Guy for about forty miles.
Ponds Bay was a celebrated place for salmon fishing, the whalers often getting wonderful catches there, thereby improving their menu greatly. At this time, the weather was very wintry, frost and snow reminding us of where we were, and by the night of Sunday, the 17th, we were only off Cape Bowen.
Monday was a beautiful day and we were fast to the shore floe, a long way from the land. The Captain decided to improve the shining hour by having the ship painted, so the boats were put upon the ice and the men employed, cleaning and painting. The Aurora was comparatively new, so it was very easy cleaning her, as her woodwork was good and she had been well kept up. Even washing her down with the alkaline solution used gave her a nice appearance. By evening, a great deal had been accomplished and inside she looked very neat.
The little auks were numerous about here. One of our firemen killed three with a broom handle and I shot a fine bag. There was a good flight of ducks along the floe edge and I had several shots at them. As the birds were young, they were worth having, being free from the fishy flavor peculiar to their parents.
August 19th. We finished painting the boats, but left them on the ice, excepting two from which the lines had not been removed.
Our fishing, so far, had nearly all been floe edge. We had not entered the middle pack very far, where the whales were sometimes numerous at this season. The enormous amount of ice made the Captain think twice about pushing his ship, with her valuable cargo, into it, and so we kept quietly down the coast, occasionally going out a little where the ice was loose, but remembering Sir Leopold McClintock's winter in the middle pack with the Fox.
The southwest fishing, to which we were now going, was generally prosecuted in the autumn. The ships lay at anchor in some harbor, and every morning the boats rowed out and watched for whales. It was cold, dreary work and very unpopular with the men; but whales killed late in the season were often large and well worth looking for.
August 20th. Wednesday. The boats were hoisted up this day and, with the Captain, I went on the ice to look at the ship. It was cold and I had on half-boots, a thick double-breasted monkey jacket, with leather gauntlets and a leather sealing cap. We walked to where the painting had been done and there admired the ship. She looked well, sitting rather down by the stern. All the crew, practically, had been standing on this ice for the last two days and nothing had happened: I went rather close to the edge and the piece I was standing on gave way and I went down at once, but on coming up, with one or two strokes, reached the ice edge. It took some seconds for my clothes to soak as I had so much on, and by that time, one of the men, Jock Fairly, came with a boat hook, by the help of which I was pulled out. My clothes were so completely water-logged that, without assistance, getting out would have been impossible. Again the gentle warmth of the top of the boiler proved a comfort.
August 21st. Thursday. Hooked on, with a stiff breeze blowing and the sky overcast. Ducks were flying in great numbers past a point half a mile away, so, taking the dingey, I went off to it. There was no shelter and, although every bird must have seen me, the silly things would not leave the ice edge, but would just swing out far enough to make my shots effective. This shooting both barrels into the "brown," as the ducks passed, was not so much fun as getting them in pairs, but one soon picks up a good bag, and as I was shooting for the pot, a bag was what I wanted. When I came on board, the birds were tied in bundles and hung up on the davit guys above the quarter boats.
August 22nd. During the afternoon, a bear was seen, so we went off in a boat to capture it. As there was no solid ice, the beast had to get out of and into the water so many times that he could not escape, and he was killed from the boat by the mate. I landed and tried to stalk him, but he left my pan and I could not follow him.
Two ships were in sight southeast of us. One of them was the Cornwallis, which we had not seen for some time. I was anxious to get near her as Armitage was on hoard, but she was a long way off. We always knew the other, the Esquimaux, by her mizzentop, as she had once been a full-rigged ship, although now a barque.
On Saturday, the wind blew a gale, which kept us dodging under the canvas; but by Sunday the weather had improved.
During the morning we sailed up to the shore floe, as we saw some natives there, and picked them up. They had tusks and dog skins for trade. We took them, with their dogs and sledges, on board. One of them was a good-looking, pleasant native, called Enu. He added greatly to my Eskimo vocabulary during the next few days, and he told me that deer were plentiful in certain places and that salmon abounded. We steamed south all day, after picking up the natives, the weather being cold but fine.
August 25th. Monday. Steaming down the coast and the weather quite fine. During the afternoon, a black spot inshore indicated the mouth of a river. The shore floe at this point was a mile wide, but the ice was smooth. A boat and the dingey with a net and ten men were sent to try to catch some salmon. A number of men were sent to haul the boats across the floe to the open water of the river mouth, and the natives came also. Mr. Adam took the boat and I took the dingey. We had a boat's sail, plenty of coal, two ship's kettles, coffee, sugar, salt, biscuits and tins of mutton. Arriving at the open water, our helpers returned to the ship, and the natives, after turning their sleds upside down, so that the dogs could not run away with them, came with us in the boats. We rowed into a river, which was about thirty or forty yards wide at the mouth, shallow and placid. We went up a short distance and camped on the right bank. Above our camp, the river was a nice-looking little salmon stream; but below, it was more pretentious looking on account of its width. The net was drawn, with no result. It was tried in another place without getting a fin. Then, as it was growing late, we returned to camp. Tying two oars together, with their blades crossed, we laid the end of the long steering oar between these and this gave us an excellent frame for our tent, completed by throwing the large square boat's sail over it and tucking two of the corners underneath. Then a fine coal fire was started, a kettle of coffee made, and an excellent hash prepared, by mixing tinned mutton, sea biscuits, snow, pepper and salt. We enjoyed this thoroughly and I sat by the camp fire afterwards and listened to these men tell tales of happenings in former years. Thus, on the unhospitable shores of Baffin Bay, I had my first experience of camp life. After awhile I noticed that in spite of my clothing, my back was cold, so I turned it to the fire. Then my face was nearly frozen, so I turned back. In the excitement of starting, I had thrown a rug into the boat and not thought of blankets. Now I began to wish I had brought some, for I spent a miserable night, waking up very often with the cold.
August 26th. At last the tedious night came to an end, and breakfast thawed us out and made things look more cheerful. The day was fine, so the Aurora was safe, and preparations were made for further fishing. Had the morning looked threatening, the ship would probably have signalled us to come on board. I am a keen fisherman, but the net did not appeal to me very much; so I decided to see what the country looked like and, taking Enu with me, went up the river. The bitterly cold night had caused some ice, so the men waited for a higher sun to dissipate this before we left camp. I found the country flat, as a whole, with low hills in the background. The native gave me to understand that beyond these hills was the caribou country, but one dared not risk going far from the ship, and so my chance of bagging a barren land head was small. Little gulches led away from the river, on the exposed sides of which there was no snow, but boggy ground and bad walking; while on the shady sides the ground was frozen and covered with patches of snow. I saw some places on the river which made me long to try the fly, and I am sure good sport could have been obtained. After a very tiresome walk of some hours, during which I did not see a bird or beast, I returned to camp. On coming close, I saw a man walking from the river with a salmon in each hand, the first two caught. They had tried a number of places and had caught only these, so they sent them to camp for dinner. One was put in a big ship's kettle to boil, and the other split and cut into pieces which were hung around the fire on stakes made from driftwood. Each salmon weighed about ten pounds, the flesh being very red, and while they did not compare with those from home rivers, we considered them excellent, as they were the first fresh fish we had had on the voyage. Leaving camp, I went down to the boat and found they had just taken a splendid haul; the net was shot several times and a grand total of 108 fish counted out. Dinner was ready when we reached the fire and some more fish were staked out to cook.
This delicate repast over, our things were carried down to the boats and we made our way back as we had come. Seeing us from the ship, help had been sent to bring the boats across the ice.
Many of the whalers fish for salmon every year and sometimes catch great numbers. The best place is, as stated before, a river flowing into Ponds Bay. Here several thousands are often taken.
The Eskimo dogs had eaten their harness and gone away, excepting two lame fellows, and the natives made these pull them to the ship.
August 27th. Wednesday. Enu, with his menage, left for home, and after breakfast we unhooked, and stood along the floe edge. From the "crow's nest" I saw with the glass a number of Eskimo sledges travelling north. They made no attempt to come near us, but kept close to the shore. At noon we were going among some loose ice, so hooked on. I had a very pleasant afternoon at the ducks and secured a good bag. All the birds killed were young eider. In fact, on the voyage, I only killed three varieties of duck, eider, king eider and long tail.
August 28th. Thursday. Two sledges with natives came off. There was a very hungry woman with them. I saw her picking at everything soft on board. She found the side of a box in which plug tobacco had been packed, and picked it up; there were some leaves of tobacco adhering to it. I saw her picking pieces of them and eating them.
Dividing the 'tween-decks from the lower forecastle, there was a partition with a door. Just outside of this door stood a barrel into which the cook threw refuse from the gallery, which was just within the forecastle. I saw this polar American beauty put her arm into the barrel and bring forth a duck's skin, which had a tremendous coating of fat. She seized the skin with both hands and pulled the fat off with her teeth, devouring it greedily. When she came to the neck, she chewed it, bones and all. There were some most interesting children on board and they thoroughly enjoyed the coffee and biscuit with which they were supplied by the Captain's orders. We got some dog skins and small articles from these people, but they had already been visited by some of the ships and their bear skins and horns taken.
August 29th. On Friday the natives left us early. We unhooked and sailed east, with a breeze from the south. We saw a bear and cub on the ice, so lowered away and went after them. Both took to the water, and we had to go around a large island of ice before we could reach them. I landed on this, and running across, tried a shot at them in the water, but they had gone too far and were behind hummocks of ice, so that I could not see them. The boat then overtook them and the mate shot both. As nothing more was seen among the loose ice we steamed to the floe edge and hooked on. I bagged a few ducks in the evening.
August 30th. Saturday. We steamed down the coast and hooked on off Cape Raper. Two natives came on board, and we bought a live fox from one of them. It was young and blue, and spent the rest of the voyage walking about the funnel casing, where its home was in a lime-juice box. The natives left during the afternoon and we remained at the floe edge all night.
It was a beautiful calm Sunday and the last day of August on which we arrived at Cape Kater. The Cornwallis very soon afterwards came in and I went on board at once.
They had had a most unsuccessful voyage as the ship had been spoiled for sailing by having an engine put in which was of no use. They had killed a whale and picked up a dead one, having one ton of bone from the two.
Poor old Captain Nichol was very much depressed. Every one said he was a fine sailor; that his blood was tar and his flesh rope yams. They told us that the other ships had done well, the Nova Zembla having eight, the Polynia six and the Esquimaux ten whales when last seen.
Armitage came on shore with me and we visited some native habitations. They were tents made of skin, and the sun beating on them made them warm inside; but as there was not a particle of ventilation, the odor was the worst possible. We saw in them the stone lamps in which the seal oil was burned, moss being used as a wick; sometimes old tins served the purpose instead of stone.
This country is generally called Baffin Land. There is, however, no reason to believe that it is not divided up by channels into many islands. No doubt passages exist connecting Davis Straits with Fox Channel.
Much of the coast line is uncharted, especially north of Fox Land. Fiords running south from Eclipse Sound have been visited by whalers, but not explored; possibly they could be traced to Fury and Hecla Straits.
Whaling stations have several times been established on the west coast, at Exeter Sound and Cumberland Gulf—the first party wintering at the latter place in 1852, to the detriment of the natives.
These improvident people with modern rifles would kill all the game they could shoot, use what they required at the time and waste the rest, whereas in old times they could just secure enough for their wants.
Again, children were brought up formerly in a hardy way, and taught how to wrest a living from the inhospitable country. Now by loafing around a settlement they acquire some of the pernicious habits of civilized men, and learn to depend upon the European and his ship, forgetting that these might be withdrawn at any time.
Monday was spent wandering about, but without seeing anything of interest. The Cornwallis was still hooked on when we left Cape Kater, on Tuesday. We kept away from the coast to look for a berg from which we might water. The weather was clear and frosty, and at night the aurora borealis was very beautiful.
September 3rd. Wednesday. We found a floe fast to the base of a very large berg, and on this there was a lake of fresh water frozen over. The ship being made fast, a hole was drilled in the ice and our water tanks filled.
On the berg there was a white fox, but no shooting at it was allowed lest the concussion should bring down masses of ice. By evening we moved away and made fast to a floe far from our dangerous neighbor. The cold was intense and bay ice formed around the ship.
I heard the thunder of splitting bergs several times during the night; they sounded like avalanches among the Alps in the springtime. At this season, especially on very cold nights, bergs often split and turn over owing to water freezing in crevices formed by the warm summer sun, and for this reason they are avoided as much as possible. We now spent five days dodging about under canvas with fires banked. Part of the time we were off Cape Hooper and part off Home Bay, but we did not see a single whale.
The weather was for the most part fine, but bitterly cold. If a mist arose at night the ship presented a curious spectacle in the morning, her rigging being coated with ice.
Our handy tradesmen during this period made some pretty things. The carpenter presented the Captain with a neat model of a ship, while the cooper turned out a tobacco box which was a work of art.
September 8th. Monday. We bore up for home. What cheerful news it was! Passage sails were bent, boats taken in and placed on skids, bunkers were coaled and all was life and bustle. Every one was happy. The voyage had been a success, and we had not had a serious accident.
The "crow's nest" was sent down, nautical time adopted and the watch set. To crown all, a fresh breeze sprang up, and with everything set and steaming full speed we started down the Straits.
By bedtime we were in a heavy fog, so the canvas was taken off and the engines slowed down. During the night the phosphorescence was very beautiful. Pieces of ice thrown away by the propeller looked like balls of fire, while the water immediately around the stern seemed all aflame.
For the next two days we had fog, so made little progress at night. During the day the men were employed washing lines and stowing them away. Guns and harpoons were cleaned and greased and the ship was thoroughly washed.
On the 11th, we had a strong gale with a dark and cloudy sky. It was strange to be at sea and feel the motion of the ship after weeks of smooth water amidst the ice. After this the sea was smooth, and we had fog all the time until, off Cape Farewell on the 15th, the day being fine, the ship was hove to and painted outside. A dense fog came down that night, and we did not make another observation until off the Scottish coast.
On Saturday, September 20th, the fog was very dense and we steamed slowly until noon, when it lifted for a short time and showed us the island of St. Kilda. I was sorry we could not land here as it was a wonderful breeding place for the fulmar petrels; but home was in sight, and Captain Fairweather did not want to linger on a rock-bound coast, so we steered north and on Sunday morning, the 21st, we were off the Butt of Lewis.
It was thick at times during the morning, but cleared in the afternoon and gave us a view of the Orkneys. The Captain decided to go north of Orkney, as he did not like the Pentland Firth with so much fog about. At night the weather was perfectly clear.
September 22nd. Monday. On deck in the morning every one was looking pleasant, and the ship neat. We were crossing the Moray Firth and coming close to the Aberdeen coast. A fishing boat from Fraserborough was hailed and an assortment of fish purchased for breakfast. These were paid for with tobacco, and the pay was liberal. The first question asked by us was, "Is England at war?" This being answered in the negative, greatly pleased those of the crew who were naval reserve men. Eight bells struck and my last breakfast on board the Aurora was served. After breakfast we passed Peterhead, formerly a great port for whalers, and then we steamed south close to the coast. The yellow fields of grain and stubble, the cottages and the trees, looked to our snow-dazzled eyes like Fairy Land. We passed Aberdeen and Stonehaven. We were close enough to see Dunottar's grim ruin, then Montrose, and in a short time our pilot was on board with all the news, and we were at home.
Of the Davis Straits ships in 1884 one was lost, the Narwhal; but now, with the exception of the Active and Aurora, the weed-grown ribs of the entire fleet rest beneath the waters of the cold northern seas and the records of their crews' escapes and hardships would fill volumes.
APPENDIX
Notice of arrival of whalers in Dundee Advertiser of September 23rd:
DUNDEE ADVERTISER, SEPTEMBER 23RD, 1884.
THE ESQUIMAUX—THE LOSS OF TWO MEN.
The Esquimaux, Capt. Milne, arrived in the Tay last night from Davis Straits, and will be docked with this morning's tide. The Esquimaux was unsuccessful at the Newfoundland seal fishing, only 1,900 seals having been secured; but she has brought a fair cargo from Davis Straits, consisting of 11 whales, which will yield 140 tons of oil and 6 tons of whalebone. Two fatalities have, unfortunately, occurred during the voyage. Early in the season a young man named Allan Smith, a native of Dundee, was dragged overboard by the line catching him after a bottle-nosed whale had been struck, and he was never seen again. It is a painful circumstance that Smith's father was lost from the same ship several years ago. Another of the crew was lost during the passage home. He accidentally fell overboard, and a boat was sent in search of him. After some time he was picked up in semi-lifeless state, and all attempts to restore animation failed.
DUNDEE ADVERTISER, SEPTEMBER 23RD, 1884.
DAVIS STRAITS WHALE FISHING—ARRIVAL OF AURORA.
The steamer Aurora, belonging to Messrs. Alex. Stephen & Sons, arrived at Dundee yesterday afternoon from the Davis Straits whale fishing. The Aurora, commanded by Capt. Jas. Fair-weather, has had a very successful voyage. At Newfoundland 28,150 seals were secured during the two trips, the Aurora being the only one of the Dundee fleet which was fortunate in securing a good catch. On the 8th May she left St. John's for Davis Straits, and on reaching Disco fell in with the Thetis and Bear, on their way north in search of the Greely Expedition. The three ships thereafter kept in company until they reached the north water, when Capt. Fairweather steamed across to Lancaster Sound. An impenetrable barrier of ice blocked the Sound, a circumstance which told in favor of the fishing, as a large number of whales were secured at the edge of the ice. The crew were successful in capturing ten, and also three bottle-noses, which will yield 105 tons of oil and about 5 tons of whalebone. As the season advanced the fishing was prosecuted along the west coast of Davis Straits, but without success, owing to the immense quantities of ice, which seemed never to have been driven out of the Straits this year. The frost came on unusually early and very severe, 12 to 14 degrees being registered in August. Capt. Fairweather bore up for home on the 8th Sept, and experienced a good deal of foggy weather in crossing the Atlantic. He confirms the news previously received of the catches of the fleet, and mentions that the Polynia is the only vessel which has added to her cargo, which now consists of 6 whales, equal to 60 tons of oil. The Triune sailed for home on the 6th Sept. Capt. Fairweather has brought home a fine specimen of the Sabine gull, a bird rarely to be met with in Davis Straits. It ought to be mentioned that the crew of the Aurora, after receiving the news of the Chieftain disaster from the pilot at the mouth of the river, subscribed the sum of £20 185s. to the fund.
Whalers sailing from Dundee in 1884: