February 21st. Pitching and tossing as usual. Cloudy, but not much wind; a nasty sea, however, and the canvas did not hold her steady. Really in a heavy gale the storm holds a ship down to some extent.
The next day, however, the weather had moderated, so I tried stoking and managed quite well. I also tried changing a fire, which was not such a success, but I kept steam up and it was an interesting experience.
An end comes to all things. On the morning of the 23rd the ship for the first time was on an even keel and some sun was shining through my deck light. Hitherto attempts at washing had been unsatisfactory, as the motion of the ship in a sea was so quick. Now, however, I indulged in a complete toilet, and with a feeling of self-respect went on deck. The day was cloudless and beautiful, the sea smooth as glass, and dotted over it were white specks of ice. In a very short time the pieces of ice became more numerous and larger, and when we were at breakfast we heard and felt the ship crushing and bumping amongst them. By eleven A. M. a breeze came up from the southeast and all sail was set, but by noon the ship stuck hard and fast in the ice, and presented to me a wonderful and beautiful sight.
Every stitch of canvas was set and drawing, and the engine going full speed, but still for a time we did not move. Now was my chance to walk about on the frozen sea, so I went out with the dog and we both enjoyed a race, keeping very close, however, for at any moment the Aurora might move. We came on board when the mate called, as a crack was appearing ahead of the ship. We were now two hundred twenty miles from St. John's, and expected to be in ice all the way. During the afternoon I went up to the foretop and Valentine thoroughly enjoyed a half hour gazing at the wonderful scene.
We were very seldom stuck for any length of time, a few bumps from the ship being generally sufficient to open a crack.
A great many of the men were on deck most of the day, and certainly she was a heavily manned ship with her crew of sixty-five. Six of them belonged to the engine room, eight were harpooners, who lived in the topgallant forecastle, as did some of our tradesmen. Of these we had two carpenters, a cooper, blacksmith, and sailmaker. The specksioneer also lived there. He was the chief of the harpooners, a splendid old man called George Lyon. Sixteen of our men were from Shetland, a quiet, sober, industrious lot.
Standing on the forecastle, I watched the ship crunching through several miles of young ice. She never actually stopped once. Her bows would rise up on it, then huge slabs would tilt on end as she glided on. Sometimes a long crack would open and let her slide in to be almost stuck. By degrees she would gain way and probably steam into an open pool, to strike the opposite side with considerable force, thereby opening a crack in which she would repeat the performance. The engine is the secret of ice navigation. With canvas alone we would have been fast in the ice much of the time, while with heavier engines we could have gone through heavier ice. The night was fine, and we managed to keep moving on our course.