Near 8 and getting dark. Storm, outside of protection of cliffs, unabated. There is a second watering place, 7 or 8 miles across the bay, and our only chance to find the Bear is to rush for this. But to do this we must go diagonally across the waves and similarly against the wind—a bad prospect. Also, we have only just about enough gasoline to reach the place. But there is no help.
Thus a new start, and before long we are once more in the waves. It is now quite obscure. The waves break now and then and splash over us. Before long the skin boat is again sagging and in danger of sinking. Once more pull alongside and dangerous, exhausting bailing by Weenie.
And so on, tossed, driven aside, but thanks to the good engine never stopping. I hold to seat not to be thrown against things or even out; the others are becoming gruff, irritable. And then Higsby makes out a faint light far ahead. No one certain, but in a while it seems moving. A solitary small light somewhere far on the shore, probably, not the boat.
But soon another stronger light discerned, seemingly moving to the left, and later several—the ship in all probability.
We toss and reel and stagger nearer, but motor still going strong. For the skin boat they found at last a position in which it takes but little water. Finally see decisively a blinking light, the mast signal. We show our lantern a few times. Then the ship looms before us, but there is still the risky task of getting alongside and aboard. However, all is accomplished without real damage.
The cabin—the good and anxious captain—a little canned grapefruit, and bed. But head falls and rises, the events of the day reappear, wonder what has become of the trade schooner we saw being driven on the beach—and so on until consciousness passes into deep sleep. The Bear is fairly quiet, not in the brunt of the weather. And this eventually moderates, so that a little after 4 we start again, only to anchor once more at 6, a little below where last night we had our supper.
August 22. Cloudy, drizzly, rough still, and wireless news of widespread bad storms, even in the States. So we shall wait. One more hope for my collections at the Cape and with Jenness.
Captain says this morning the officer misunderstood his orders about Teller. The trip demonstrated a number of things. One of the main and most gratifying was the sterling quality of the men with me, officer, boatswain, motorman. Weenie, Pete, in the teeth of real danger. They were all that men should be under such conditions, which is the best way I can express it. The trip may have been in vain so far as its scientific object was concerned, but it brought a number of men face to face with life's stresses and found their mettle of the truest quality, without exception, to witness which was worth the whole experience.
August 22-23. During the night have left Port Clarence and endeavored once more to reach Wales and the Diomedes, to be again turned away by fog and rough weather. The captain doubts if there will be any more decent "spells." The season for this stormy sea is too far advanced. Unable to land anywhere.