April 11th. We were always on the lookout for the Arctic, but saw nothing of her. Before leaving St. John's we heard that the Thetis had been sold to the American Government for the Greely relief expedition, so she would not appear among the sealers that year. Captain Fairweather's brother was master of her, so he was disappointed.
We kept north in our effort to overtake the seals, the barometer falling a little towards evening, and a swell coming in from the southeast. We were well on the outer or eastern edge of the ice, as the Captain did not want to take any chance of being jammed among heavy floes coming down the coast. During the evening we had a most wonderful sunset. The sky was red not only to the west, but nearly all over, and the reflection on the ice was magnificent. The frozen sea is fascinating when the sun goes down and before dark; also by moonlight, or bright starlight.
During the day the glare is too great but a moonlight night on a frozen sea is the grandest sight possible. The weird sounds caused by the ever restless ice are a fitting accompaniment. On this Friday night, the sounds caused by the ever increasing sea, crunching the pack up, were rather startling at times, but we kept pretty well out of it, so we were safe. There was quite a little motion on board, owing to the swell, and we steamed easy ahead all night, going full speed at daybreak, and by noon had the satisfaction of finding our seals. We went oft, but not quite as usual. The roll of the sea had crunched the pack up and broken all the large sheets of ice, so we were obliged to jump from one pan to another while they were rising and falling on the long swell of the Atlantic. There was nothing sudden or uncertain about the motion. The long heavy rollers lifted one up and lowered one down, and when between them, one could not see very far. Now occurred a sort of stalking that I have never seen described, i. e., running after a large wave and keeping perfectly still when the following wave overtook one; then repeating the stalk, always running in the trough between the two waves. In this manner I did some efficient work and shot a great many seals.
Most of the time was spent watching where to put my feet; but, on feeling the rise coming, I stood perfectly still and watched the seals. I was regaled with accounts of men who had been injured and cut in two by this sort of thing; but we did not meet with the slightest accident and every one was picked up by sundown. The ship managed to follow through the ice pretty well, picking up a few seals here and there, as they had been sculped, so that we added several hundreds to our collection.
April 13th. Sunday. The day was fine and we picked up occasional seals but did not find a herd. It was a complete day of rest for all hands. The ice to the west of us looked very heavy and the Captain was careful to avoid it. We lay to at night, but by daybreak on Monday morning we were dodging north again.
April 14th. I had my first shot at a walrus, sea-horse, as it is called. Shortly after breakfast the usual rifles were on the forecastle head when the officer in the crow's-nest called down that he saw a walrus. The ship was kept down on it, and presently we all saw the big animal with his long white tusks. In this case, they were very long and could be seen from a great distance. He was on a pan with open water all around, so we steamed straight at him. As we approached, he raised himself higher and higher on his flippers and disappeared after having received a fearful fusillade, at less than a ship's length. I would have liked the chance of examining his skin just to count the hits and see the effect. We heard the thud of striking bullets, but the walrus gave a plunge and was seen no more.
We did the usual amount of sealing from the ship, but had not any men on the ice. Two or three times we had several punts out, but they did not pick up very many.
April 15th. We dodged back and forth amongst the floating ice, keeping a little closer to land but not seeing much of interest. There was a very large floe which bore evidence of great rafting; between the hummocks on it there was fresh water, regular ponds with connecting channels. I was on this floe, as we shot a few seals on it, so tasted the water, which was sweet and good. I have often seen quite big ponds on floes fast to bergs, and we took water on board sometimes from these.
For the next few days we steamed south without seeing anything of interest. The weather was cold, but fine, and the ice less as we neared St. John's. We were careful after dark and generally steamed slow. The crew were employed in cleaning up.
April 19th. Saturday. Arrived at St. John's in the morning and took our usual berth. Our entire catch of seals for the two trips was 28,150, but the crew were paid for 29,300 as there were some large old seals and they counted more.
There was great news for us on our arrival. I have already mentioned the sale of the Thetis to the American Government. We now received orders from Dundee to take the place of the Thetis and proceed to Davis Straits. The gear removed from this ship was being sent out to us by an Allan boat. We were to keep our eyes open for the lost Greely, as a reward had been offered by the United States for any whaler picking him up.
I certainly never intended going on a long trip when sailing, and the Captain told me I could leave if I wished, but there was a fascination about the whole thing that I enjoyed.
The Aurora had been getting more comfortable all the time,—the first awful experience of a fearful Atlantic winter passage with the ship loaded, to the scuppers, then the crowded ship at the first sealing, and the much pleasanter trip to Labrador.
Now I could see that the ship would be very comfortable with only her own crew, and the deck clear of boats, as it would be on the next part of the cruise, so I decided to go. It took a very short time to put our seals out, and, as it was Saturday afternoon by that time, all the work ceased until Monday morning.
I heard an amusing story about a man being nearly drowned in a tank of oil. A sealer came in and four of her tanks nearest to the boiler had the sculps break down into oil, owing to the heat. When the crew were discharging cargo it was the custom for a man to jump into a tank and throw the sculps out. Coming to the first of these tanks, and looking in, some sculps could be seen, and, never suspecting that these were a few floating on the surface, the man jumped in and disappeared under, but was presently fished out, every one thoroughly enjoying the incident except, of course, the leading man.
"But 'tis not mine to tell their tale of grief,
Their constant peril and their scant relief,
Their days of danger and their nights of pain;
Their manly courage e'en when deemed in vain."
One of the interesting things about our trip to the Arctic Seas was the possibility of seeing Greely or of possibly finding him or something about him. I shall here give a brief outline of what had been done up to this time towards rescuing the gallant explorer and his intrepid followers.
Every one I met in Newfoundland appeared to know a great deal about Greely, because he had started from there three years before in a St. John's ship, and because both of the previous relief expeditions had been in St. John's ships, and a great many of the Newfoundland men had been with them, and several of our crew at the sealing had been on the Proteus. One heard the Greely expedition and its relief discussed every day. The consensus of opinion was that as the navy had the matter in hand now, they would succeed. The Newfoundlanders, being a maritime people, could not understand how soldiers could be expected to make a success of a voyage of discovery or relief, and the two previous relief trips had been unfortunate. The raison d'etre of the Greely expedition was briefly as follows:
At a certain scientific conference held in Europe a series of circumpolar stations had been decided upon, from which, owing to their proximity to the revolutionary axis of our globe, interesting and useful observations could be made of physical phenomena. As these observations were to be made at the same time in a great many different places, they would probably prove of greater interest and value than those supplied intermittently by expeditions. Now the United States was to have two stations, one at Point Barrow on the Behring Sea side, and one at Lady Franklin Bay on the Davis Strait side. A young officer in the American army, Lieutenant Greely, had volunteered for and been selected to take charge of the Lady Franklin Bay expedition. The steamer Proteus, a Newfoundland sealer, had been chartered to convey the party north. She was a Dundee-built ship, about the size of the Aurora, and her captain and crew were St. John's men. They left St. John's on July 7,1881, having on board Lieutenant Greely and twenty-four men, with supplies for three years. They made the most unprecedented time going north. Crossing the dangerous Melville Bay in thirty-six hours and getting to within a few miles of her destination on August 4th, a few days later she landed the explorers, and having successfully accomplished her mission she returned to her home port.
Melville Bay, the bugbear of many Arctic voyages, is a very different thing when crossed in June by whalers from what it is in July and August; but the whalers must reach their northern station by the end of June, so cannot wait for the ice to drift south.
It was arranged that a relief expedition should go north in 1882 and another in 1883, while the third in 1884 should convey the party back. Now these two previous relief expeditions formed the topic of conversation in St. John's when the inhabitants became tired of discussing seals and politics, and I soon heard a good deal about them. For the first, in 1882, our friend and late neighbor, the Neptune, had been chartered. She was splendid in every way and did as much as any ship of the period could have done towards making the thing a success; but the orders were to leave two hundred fifty rations at Littleton Island and two hundred fifty at the furthest point reached if the ship failed to get to Lady Eranklin Bay, and that should they fail to reach the Bay, the balance of the stores were to be brought back to St. John's. A private in the army had been selected to take charge of this expedition. As he had been accustomed to obeying orders to the letter, he deposited the two hundred fifty rations at Littleton Island, and two hundred fifty at Cape Sabine, the most northern point reached. Then, as they were unable to reach Lady Franklin Bay, he carefully brought back all the balance of the cargo of food sent up for the starving Greely, twenty days' provisions only having been left in the Arctic and this according to orders and probably—"Well, though the soldier knew some one had blundered."
The authorities were a little anxious now about the brave lieutenant, so they began to make preparations for the 1883 relief, and this time they chartered the Proteus and also sent a small navy ship called the Yantic, a craft rather unfitted for Arctic work. The Proteus was commanded by Captain Pike (the St. John's man who had made such a record taking Greely up) and had her Newfoundland crew. This expedition was in charge of a soldier, Lieutenant Garlington, as the Government wished it all to be an army affair. Owing to an accident, a sergeant selected to go on the Proteus was disabled, and Lieutenant Colwell, U. S. N., was added to the expedition in his place. This was fortunate, as things turned out. One of our quartermasters on the Aurora during the first sealing trip had been one of the crew of the Proteus, and he gave me a lot of interesting information about it. They left St. John's about the end of June and had a nice passage to Disco. In fact, they found the road so open that they reached Cape Sabine in about twenty-five days. As they were in a hurry to reach their destination, Lady Eranklin Bay, little time was spent here and no stores were landed. When the ship moved out into Kane Sea she was caught almost at once in heavy polar ice. The officers soon realized that the ship's position was serious, so began to take supplies out of the hold. While so engaged the side of the ship burst in and she filled. The pressure of the ice kept her from sinking for a few hours, then some change of wind or tide opened the ice and down she went. A great lot of provisions and stores had been thrown overboard on to the ice, much being lost in so doing. After the ship went down her crew took their own boats and the soldiers took theirs. Colwell, with the help of both parties, succeeded in landing a lot of provisions and stores at Cape Sabine, and here he cached five hundred rations. It was said that many of the soldiers did not know how to row, and that some members of the crew of the Proteus behaved very badly after the loss of the ship. They probably did not consider that the saving of government supplies was any of their business, and some of them even are said to have looted these supplies. After a rest at Cape Sabine, the entire party proceeded south to meet the Yantic, the supporting vessel. Very little attention had been paid to her, as she was slow and ill adapted for the ice, and it was thought that she probably would never attempt Melville Bay. However, she had crossed this and was following them well, and the series of misunderstandings and misinterpretations of orders which prevented the Proteus people going south from meeting the Yantic coming north, makes a most remarkable story.
Lieutenant Garlington and his party, being separated from the crew of the Proteus for a time, crossed over to Littleton Island and left a record of the loss of their ship. They then joined the others and proceeded to Cape York. It was here decided to push on to the Danish settlements as they did not think the Y antic would come as far north as Cape York. In the meantime, the Yantic had passed up to Littleton Island and picked up Garlington's record. She then zigzagged about looking for the boats, and passing Cape York on her way down without calling, she proceeded to Upernavik. As the boats were not there, her captain decided to push on home as the season was getting late, so sailed to Disco. The boat party at Cape York having decided to go south divided. Lieutenant Colwell, taking a whale boat and crew, struck across Melville Bay, and after a most difficult and dangerous passage succeeded in reaching Upernavik the day after the Yantic had left. He followed her, however, for a week, and overtaking her at Disco, brought her back to Upernavik, where the balance of the Proteus people had arrived, and from there they returned to St. John's. Now the result of all this had been, in 1882, the deposit of ten days' provisions at Littleton Island and ten days' provisions at Cape Sabine, the remainder being brought back. In 1883 the Proteus had not deposited anything during her life, but after her destruction Lieutenant Colwell had succeeded in caching at Cape Sabine five hundred rations or twenty days' supplies saved from the Proteus. The Yantic had been up to Littleton Island and back without leaving anything behind. Another year had passed and now the rescue of Greely became imperative. The affair had been handed over to the navy, and Commander Schley was taking command. The Dundee ship Thetis and the sealer Bear had been bought and added to the navy. A collier, the Lough Garry, had been chartered to take coal up for the expedition, and the Alert, given by the British Government, was also going. At the same time a reward was offered for any whaler picking Greely up. The relief ships, except the Alert, were coming to St. John's and would sail about the same time as the whalers, and as we all knew a good deal about the circumstances, we were certainly all deeply interested in the outcome. It was generally believed among our people that Greely would now be at Cape York or Carey Islands, and the Aurora stood as good a chance as any other ship of getting there first. Commander Schley had charge of the expedition and would sail on the Thetis, while Lieutenant Emory would command the Bear, of which ship Lieutenant Colwell would be an officer.
The whalers going to Davis Strait were—
Arctic, Narwhal, Aurora, Nova Zembla, Cornwallis, Polynia, Esquimaux, Triune, Jan Mayen, Wolf of St. John's.
"The Arctic sun rose broad above the wave,
The breeze now sank, now whispered from his cave."
Newfoundland looked more attractive in April than it did when we left, doing about was pleasanter and we saw everything worth seeing in the neighborhood of St John's. On board, great changes took place. All the sheathing was torn off and the ship cleaned inside and out. Her overhauling was complete. The rigging was set up, the masts were scraped and oiled and the ship painted. The punts were all cleared away and our beautiful whale-boats took their place.
The Aurora was peculiar in having two boats, one above the other, on each quarter. We fished ten boats altogether, four down each side and two upper quarter boats.
The crew of a whale-boat is six, a harpooner, a boat-steerer and four men pulling. The harpooner rows until ordered by the boat-steerer to stand by his gun. In the bow the harpoon-gun is mounted on a swivel, and fast to the harpoon is the "foregoer." This is a very pliable, untarred rope, about two and a half inches in circumference and eighteen fathoms long. It is coiled in a tub, sitting on the port bow of the boat, while on the starboard side, in a convenient rest, lies the hand-harpoon.
The bollard head, around which a turn of the line is taken, is an important structure; it stands in the bow, beside the gun. Many a boat has gone down through the line fouling at the bollard head.
To the "foregoer" or "foreganger," is attached the whale line. The term "line" means, generally, one rope 120 fathoms long, and there are five of these carried in each boat, one and a half being stowed amidships and the rest aft. They are 2 1/2-inch ropes, and tarred. The greatest care must be observed in coiling these lines, and by the line manager in the boat as the line runs out.
A struck whale generally starts at about seven or eight miles an hour. Should the rope, running out at this rate, uncoil unevenly, a kink in it might foul one of the crew and instantly take him down. This has often happened.
Each boat has several six-foot lances ready for use when the whale is exhausted; the idea being, to sever with the long sharp lance some of the large vessels, thus bleeding the animal to death.
The oars in a whale-boat work on mats on the gunwale, and a thole-pin is used instead of rowlocks. An arrangement on the oar keeps it from slipping through the grummet on the thole-pin, when it is let go. The mat is to prevent noise. A little piggin is used for bailing the boat, and, when hoisted on a boat hook, is the signal for more lines. The shaft of the harpoon is made of soft, Swedish iron, so that it can be twisted in any conceivable way without breaking.
A little barrel of bread and cheese is carried in each boat and this must not be broached until after the boat has been away from the ship a considerable time; water is also carried. The great long steering oar is very important. With it a dexterous boat-steerer can do wonders. He can sweep the boat around very quickly or can scull noiselessly up to a whale when the oars or paddles would frighten it away. The steering oar works on a pin and mat, as do the others.
The whale fisher has many incentives. As he is generally a man who has to labor for a living, and as he is partly paid by the result of his work, the capture of a whale means to him a good deal, probably several pounds. This stimulates him. Again, the sooner he fills the ship, the sooner he sails for home. While there is not much chance of filling the ship nowadays, the securing of a good summer catch probably saves him a weary, cold autumn, fishing on the west side. Last, but not least, the pursuit of whales is often attended with great danger, which is one of the principal factors of good sport. The average game hunter is not exposed to as great risk as the average whaler.
What danger is there in the pursuit of any member of the deer or antelope family, and what chance has the animal in these days of high power rifles? Sometimes the whale has no chance for its life and the destruction of such a huge creature is not exciting, but, generally, there is danger, as the history of the industry proves. Hunting rhino or buffalo is better sport than hunting deer because the former may charge and kill one. The whale hunter may be snatched to instant death by a foul line, or starved to death in an open boat, and these possibilities elevate the sport greatly.
One cannot help sometimes being sorry for the animal one has killed, the excitement of the chase over and the beast lying dead, especially when only the head is wanted, and when everything else must be left to spoil. A dead whale means creature comforts to many poor people; and I, personally, have had more qualms at the escape of a wounded buck than I have had over all the whales we killed.
Fishing for bottlenose, the year before (1883), the Aurora lost two men, and the Esquimaux lost one this year. While we were killing our whales off Hudson Straits, he was snatched out of the boats and never seen again. A few years before, this man's father was lost from the same ship.
In approaching a black fish, the eye must be avoided. Going "eye on" is a serious matter, as the whale is not such a fool as it looks, and the tremendously powerful tail can smite with terrific force. The lifting power of the tail has not been much studied; but a chance to observe it occurred on the Nova Zembla some time ago when the mate got his boat over one. Those who saw the accident say that the tail was lifted without any apparent effort, throwing the boat many feet up and breaking the bottom out of it. Fortunately the occupants were spilt out, and fell clear of the danger zone, because the fish struck the boat again and reduced it to match wood.
A week after our arrival, the Aurora had been pretty well cleaned and greatly changed in appearance. A small spruce tree was fastened to each masthead, the end of each yard-arm, and to the point of the jib-boom. Every one now had an easy time until the actual sailing day. Quite a number of vessels of all sorts had arrived, as the ice had disappeared from the coast; amongst them was the Allen steamer Newfoundland, from Halifax, bringing us English mail. The Greely relief ship Bear had also come in.
May 1st. Thursday. The Aurora was receiving finishing touches. We were lying at the south side but our launch had steam up and took us across when we wanted to go.
May 2. Taking a gun, I went with Dr. Crawford, of the Arctic, straight up the hill from the ship and found on the other side a growth of little trees so dense as to be practically impenetrable in places. I shot a hare crossing a little open place, and saw a splendid big hawk flying about, but it never came within shot. Returning with the hare, the Captain stopped me just as I was going on board. A hare was too unlucky, so I gave it to a man on the wharf. Captain Guy was standing on the Arctic and, seeing this, came on shore and cut the hare's feet off, throwing them on to the Aurora; he was ever fond of a joke. The most unlucky parts of this unlucky animal in no way interfered with our prosperity, however.
May 3rd. As the Lough Garry had come in I went on board. She was an ordinary iron or steel steamer of about 1,000 tons and had been chartered to take 500 tons of coal north for the relief expedition. She was not fortified or specially prepared in any way for the work, but still she managed to get along very well as far as her services were required. Going on board, I encountered the mate, who recognized me, he having been the mate of the Thetis who had given me the information I sought about whaling while in Dundee the autumn before. He showed me over the ship and told me many interesting facts about a whaling voyage.
The Esquimaux sailed this day and the Narwhal had already gone. The desire to find Greely was certainly starting us all north a couple of weeks before the usual time.
May 4th. Sunday. The Bear sailed. She was unlike any other ship going north this year, because she had her black funnel forward of the main mast and her crow's-nest on the foremast. The Arctic had her funnel in the same place, but her crow's-nest was on the mainmast. Their rigs also differed. These are small matters, but we soon could recognize any of the ships a long way off by their little peculiarities. During the day I went on board the Polynia. She was ready for sea and lying in the harbor. Captain Walker, who had command of her, was a naturalist and sportsman and it was a pleasure meeting him. She proceeded north before morning.
May 5th. Spent some time on board the Arctic. She was ready for sea and looked clean and nice with her spacious decks and cabins—very unlike a whaler. Her lines were graceful, and she had powerful engines, but she could not have stood as much in ice as the Aurora. Captain Guy told me about killing a whale with an old Eskimo harpoon buried in its blubber. He gave me this interesting souvenir of my voyage and told me about Captain McKay of Dundee killing a whale in which he found a harpoon with which the fish had been struck forty-two years before. This iron is now in the Dundee Museum.
May 6th and 7th. Took my last look at St. John's and made my cabin comfortable. I had now been in it for three months, so knew exactly what was required.
There does not seem to be any connection between a whaler and Florida water; but still I venture to say that there was not a sailor on our ship who had not from one to half a dozen bottles of this commodity. Some were for trade with the Eskimos and some for their sweethearts at home. The Captain had laid in a quantity of colored handkerchiefs and such things, which the men were permitted to purchase afterwards from the slop-chest for purposes of barter. The slop-chest was the ship's shop and was superintended by the second mate. One could purchase a wonderful lot of useful things from this institution.
May 8th. After breakfast, all being ready, the Aurora sailed for the whale fishing. In Scotland, a fish means a salmon, but in Greenland, a black whale is always spoken of as a fish, never anything else. We sailed out of the narrows and turned north. It was blowing a little from the southeast, so there was some swell. We got square sails on the ship presently, and with this breeze on her quarter, made good time, the engines going full speed.
Our intention was to try the bottlenose whale fishing off Resolution Island at the mouth of Hudson's Straits, for a few days, then go over to the Greenland side and follow the usual route. As there were many bergs coming down and quantities of field ice at this season, we kept rather well away from the coast, along which it came. At night the canvas was taken off the ship and a bright lookout kept for ice. For the next three days we steered north. The weather was fine and the sea smooth. Going up the Labrador coast, we saw some heavy floes, but kept well to the east of them and did not sight land. We did not see anything of interest, so it was rather monotonous.
May 12th. It was a lovely morning when I came on deck, with the wind from the southeast. We had our fore and afters set and were steaming full speed. Astern of us was the Nova Zembla and we were towing her, an act of brotherly love.
I had seen the ship in Dundee and was struck by her beauty. She and the Jan Mayen were very handsome little ships, and she looked far better at sea than in dock. We towed her part of the day. During the afternoon, the wind died down and the evening was beautiful; not a breath of air, but some swell rolling in from the southeast and the surface of the sea like glass. The people to-day were employed coiling lines in boats and arranging fishing gear as we might see the bottlenose whales any time.
May 13th. A beautiful calm day. The men were getting ready the whale-boats and filling the bunkers. We were well off Cape Chidley, the northeast corner of Labrador, in the morning. In the evening a school of bottlenose whales was seen, and six boats were lowered away. Two of the boats immediately filled as they had been out of the water so long, but the others pulled after the whales. I was oh the bridge watching the sport. It was splendid. The ship and boats rising and falling on a rather heavy swell, the surface of the water like oil, the boats freshly painted, and the harpoons glistening in the sun, presented an interesting picture of the sea; while the school of very lively little whales rolling about like porpoises and then disappearing, to come up suddenly, gave it animation.
The boats had several shots, but they were quick and difficult. One, however, was captured by Alex. McKechnie, the second mate, and after a short play, killed and brought alongside. This beast (Hyperoodon Rostratus, or the northern sperm whale) is small, but of remarkable appearance, having a long round beak, which protrudes from the lower part of its large head. Its oil is very good; that flowing from the cancellous bones of the head solidifying on deck at a comparatively high temperature, and when solid, looking like spermaceti. Many of the men took bottles full of this oil for use in future sprains and bruises. Late in the evening another whale was killed by Thors, and, from the numbers we saw around, there was no reason why the Aurora should not have picked up a profitable cargo in this neighborhood, but the desire for the valuable whalebone took us to the north.
May 14th. We were off Frobisher's Bay and after the little whales again, and another was captured. I was not in the boats at all at this fishing, as the movement of the whales was so fast that they capsized boats frequently and only experienced oarsmen were wanted. I was told that more men lost their lives at this than at the right whale fishing. We learned afterwards that the Nova Zembla picked up seven here, while the Arctic bagged seventeen. The whale killed in the morning by McLean was over twenty feet long. The other two were smaller. The heads were brought on board so I had a good look at them.
I saw white stalactites of spermaceti hanging from them to stalagmite incrustations of the same on deck, and I noticed that the oil was free from smell.
The neighborhood of Resolution Island was notorious for its awful currents, and the rise and fall of tide about the western end of Hudson Straits made navigation on these comparatively uncharted waters exceedingly dangerous.
I once heard Captain Guy tell of a narrow escape he had in the neighborhood of the upper Savage Islands. From the barrel, he saw a rock ahead, and ordered the lead cast. Three fathoms was found, so he backed off and anchored. In a few hours he was astonished to find an island where the submerged rock had been, and he afterwards learned from a reliable source that the rise and fall of tide at this place was over forty feet. Caribou were abundant on the north coast of the straits, and musk-ox were also found. Sometimes whalers coming down for the southwest fishing, in the autumn, killed numbers of both. The caribou was the barren land variety, and some of the heads were enormous. In this species the beam was long and straggly, and the palmation was not very pronounced.
"We have fed our sea for a thousand years,
And she calls us, still unfed,
Though there is never a wave of all our waves
But marks our English dead."
— Kipling.
It may be of interest to recount here the story of the Chieftain's mishap, which was the worst accident of the year.
The Chieftain was one of the Dundee whaling fleet. When we left she was fitting out for the Greenland sealing and bottlenose whaling.
Leaving Dundee on March 6th, under the command of Captain Gellatley, she lost four of her boats, on May 26th, in a fog.
These made their way to Iceland. One, in charge of the captain, landed at Primness. A second, in charge of Alex. Bain, a harpooner, arrived at Tonsberg, having lost overboard her boat-steerer, David Buchan. A third landed at Ramfarhofu with all alive. The fourth was picked up, and in her there was but one survivor. When this boat left the ship there were three men in her. One died and was duly committed to the deep; another fell into a lethargy which continued so long that McIntosh, the survivor, though hardly able to move his benumbed legs, crawled to the bow of the boat to find out what was the trouble, but found him dead.
Fearing lest he might yield to the temptation of using the body for food, by a great effort he succeeded in heaving it overboard. The boat was picked up on the fourteenth day off the Iceland coast by a passing ship; but McIntosh was compelled to have both legs amputated as mortification had set in. It is terrible to think of what this brave fellow must have endured drifting about in a small boat over this lonely and stormy sea, half frozen and with hardly any food.
The following is the account given by Captain Gellatley of the cause of the accident, and of his experiences during the awful trip to Iceland.
A school of whales was observed on Monday, 26th of May, and the afternoon being fine, four boats went out in pursuit—one under the command of Captain Gellatley; the second under the charge of Thomas Elder, the second mate; John Taylor, specksioneer, was in charge of the third; and Alexander Bain, harpooner, of the fourth.
In the course of a short time the captain's boat got fast to a whale, and also the specksioneer's. The second mate assisted the captain. After some time the whale was killed and towed to the ship, which was reached about three o'clock in the morning. By this time a dense fog had settled down, and after his crew had breakfasted, Captain Gellatley set out to look for the three boats, giving directions that if the fog continued the vessel should be kept in her position, so as to enable them to find her; but that she was to bear down towards the boats if the mist lifted. Knowing the bearings of the boats, Captain Gellatley came up to them after rowing for fully two hours, and found that the whale was still alive and causing great trouble. Three additional harpoons were fired into it, and in the course of the forenoon it was killed, and the four boats started in the direction of the ship with the whale in tow. In the meantime the weather cleared, and the ship was descried at a distance of about five miles; but in the course of half an hour the fog again came down, and it was so dense that it was impossible to see more than a few yards ahead. Though they pulled from half past ten o'clock in the forenoon until half past four in the afternoon they failed to find the Chieftain, and no answering signals were returned to their blasts of fog horns. It was then resolved that one of the boats should proceed eastwards and another westwards for some distance, but they returned without having been able to discover the whereabouts of the ship, notwithstanding the most diligent search. At one time a sound like a whistle was heard in one direction and again in another, and the men got utterly fatigued by their protracted search, a fresh breeze springing up and adding to their discomfort. About eight o'clock in the evening a number of the men confidently declared that they heard a ship's whistle sounding in a northeasterly direction, and the second mate was sent away in the hope of finding the ship. Some time later Captain Grellatley decided to follow in the same direction, and accordingly the whale was buoyed and a lance with a handkerchief tied to the end of the handle was stuck into the carcass for identification. The three boats then followed in the course taken by the second mate, but they could never catch up to him, though they repeatedly heard the blast of his fog horn. Throughout the night the search was continued without success, and on the morning of the 28th, the crews being fatigued, the three boats were made fast to one another and a deep sea anchor thrown out for the purpose of stopping their way and allowing the men to rest. In the course of the morning James Cairns, an ordinary seaman, accidentally fell overboard, but he was promptly rescued. On the 28th matters began to assume a serious aspect. The crews had then been two days absent from the ship, and their slender stock of food—a small keg of provisions and a six pound tin of preserved meat in each boat—had become exhausted. In consequence of their privations the men became affected with stupor, and with the view of dispelling this the captain ordered the anchor to be hauled in and the boats to be rowed towards the ice. This exercise had a beneficial effect, and it seemed as if it were to result in a happy rescue, for a barque was noticed sailing away to the windward. Signals were made in the hope of attracting attention, but the crews were doomed to disappointment, the fog, which had temporarily cleared, having again fallen and obscured everything from sight. The weather, too, became boisterous, and the boats were in imminent danger of being crushed by the ice. To save the boats from destruction it was found necessary to row out from under the lee of the floes, and during this time Captain Gellatley narrowly escaped being drowned. Whale-boats are all steered by an oar, and while the captain was steering, his oar was struck by a wave and he was knocked overboard. Fortunately he was rescued before he had been long in the water, but he suffered much from having to remain in his wet clothes during the remainder of the time he was in the boat. All the men were by this time complaining of the benumbed condition of their hands and feet, and by the morning of Friday, 30th, it was hardly possible to keep them awake. That morning the wind shifted to the westward, and as all hope of falling in with the Chieftain had been given up, it was decided, as the only chance of saving their lives, to endeavor to sail to Iceland, which was calculated to be about two hundred miles distant. Each of the boats possessed a compass, but there was neither mast nor sail, and in their place a couple of boat-hooks were erected by way of a mast, with the ramrod of the gun as a yard, and the line cover, a piece of canvas about five feet by three feet, had to do duty as a sail. Thus equipped, and with a supply of frozen snow and pieces of ice to quench their thirst, the crews of the three boats set out on their perilous journey, the master giving the directions for steering. They left the ice about five o'clock in the morning, and were soon scudding along at a rapid rate, there being a strong breeze blowing. About eight o'clock the boat which was in advance was seen to shorten sail, and when the captain came up he was informed that David Buchan, while steering, had been knocked overboard and drowned. An attempt was then made to tow this boat; but the sea was running so high that this jeopardized both. It soon became apparent that the boats would be swamped if they continued in tow, and the captain was obliged to cast the second one adrift, telling the crew they must either hoist sails and make for Iceland along with him or run back for the ice. They preferred to hold on their course, and the sail was again hoisted. The weather continued moderate until between four and five o'clock in the afternoon, when it shifted to the northward and began to blow hard. A heavy sea arose, and through the night it was with the utmost difficulty that the captain kept his boat afloat. At times she was nearly filled, and the men had to keep almost constantly bailing out the water. The stormy weather continued throughout the whole of Friday night and Saturday, and it was found necessary to throw the whale lines overboard to lighten the boat. In the meantime the condition of the men was becoming more and more alarming, and the captain was forced to employ various devices to prevent them from falling into a state of stupor, which would soon have proved fatal. To use the oars was an impossibility on account of the heavy seas and the rate at which the boat was sailing, and accordingly the captain persuaded the men to hold up their oars by way of exercise. This had the desired effect for some time, but by Sunday morning, the fourth day they had been without food, they were all ready to give up in despair. Captain Gellatley had been steering constantly from Friday morning till Sunday morning, and the fatigue, combined with the privations he endured in common with his crew, began to tell severely upon him. Only those who have had to steer such a boat in a seaway can understand the irksome and laborious nature of the work, and to this must be added the fact that he had to sit in a cramped position the whole time, his legs being bent under him. The captain stated that a peculiar sensation came over him, a haze gathered before his eyes, and an attack of dizziness obliged him to call the boatswain to take his place. After a brief space the boatswain, who was almost prostrated, had to relinquish the task, and the boat was then hove to, and a deep sea anchor, made up of a grappling iron and other articles, was thrown out, with fifty fathoms of line, by which means the boat's head was kept towards the sea. The weather was then moderating, but the waves continued to break over the boat, and it was as much as the men could do to keep her afloat. A few hours later and the gale sprang up afresh, and as there were still no signs of land, the crew resigned themselves to the fate which they deemed to be inevitable. From this state of despair they were ultimately aroused by the news that the land and a schooner were in sight, the sailmaker being the first to make the joyful announcement. This intelligence reanimated the despairing men, and signals were made to the schooner, but without succeeding in attracting the attention of the crew. A direct course was then steered for the land, but owing to the gale ten hours elapsed before it was reached. A new difficulty was then encountered, there being no visible landing-place along that rock-bound coast. A number of the islanders, however, had noticed the boat, and by means of signs they directed the crew to steer for the only available landing-place, a narrow passage with perpendicular rocks on either side, and a horizontal rock forming a sort of bar. The tide was then ebbing, but under the guidance of Captain Gellatley, the boat was safely steered into the narrow harbor. By the assistance of the islanders the crew, who had almost lost the power of their legs, were take to a farmer's hut adjoining, where they were hospitably entertained with such cheer as the house afforded; and the black bread and whale blubber which were set out before them proved a feast to the famishing sailors. The point at which they landed was Brimness, about ten miles distant from Langanaes, and after they had recovered somewhat the islanders made arrangements for transporting them on horseback to the nearest port. However, the Norwegian smack, Jemima, of Elekkefjord, hove in sight, and on being signalled, the captain, Bernard Olsen, readily agreed to take the crew to Seydisfjord, where a steamer was shortly to sail for Scotland. On their arrival at Seydisfjord on the 8th of June, the governor had them conveyed to a hotel, and a messenger was dispatched for a doctor, who arrived in the course of two days, his journey requiring twenty-four hours to accomplish. Under his treatment Captain Gellatley and his crew made a satisfactory recovery, and on the 12th they left Seydisfjord on board the mail steamer Thym, for Granton.