CHAPTER XIX
Asail for Home
These days, I find, occupy little space in my diary. Nothing at all happened out of the recurrent round of work and watches, beyond my suffering from some sort of illness created by a too greedy indulgence in succulent crayfish. We spent some active hours day by day in “treacling up” the ship for the critical eyes of possible visitors; and as the ship was steady and the conditions were good, time passed pleasantly indeed. There was a genuine homeward-bound feeling about everything. We had done most of our work—unexciting and unromantic maybe, but useful from the scientific point of view; we had surveyed certain hardly known lands and seas; and we felt we deserved some few of the ameliorations of an ordinary world.
Certain rumoured reefs were supposed to lie in our track, and very assiduously we worked with the sounding machine to verify these potential dangers to shipping; but no evidence was forthcoming. Two thousand fathoms gave us no bottom, and a reef buried deeper than that below the sea’s surface wasn’t likely to do much harm to passing ships.
After a delightful period of calms and smooth seas the wind breezed up again, and the Quest, awaking like a startled horse from long sleep, renewed her old-time vigour and enthusiasm. The wind was fairly ahead, and with engines going their hardest we could make but little more than a knot an hour. A dreary passage promised, but after a while the wind freed, and under sail, with engines stopped, we ramped along in heartening style. But on June 9 a real tragedy occurred—Query lost the number of his mess. During the voyage he had got very cunning in the tricks of the ship and had developed excellent sea-legs, so that we never felt very much concern about him even when the Quest was playing her most fantastic tricks. I was assisting Dell to skin and cut up a Tristan da Cunha sheep—a very scraggy brute, with only about enough flesh on its bones to form a decent meal for one healthy Scout. Query, who always followed the work of the ship with sagacious interest, was absorbedly watching our gory toil when the ship gave a sickening lurch, and the poor dog, before he could brace himself into a state of readiness, slipped, clawing and scrabbling, clean over the side. I heard Jimmy crying out, and running to the poop saw Query bravely swimming in our direction; he was fully fifty yards astern. Then, as I looked, my heart aching for him, a big wave hit him and shut him from view. It was impossible to do anything for him. Had he been a man his fate must have been the same, for we were running hard before a gale, and to heave-to might easily have spelt our complete destruction; to lower a boat was impossible. Poor Query! His loss was felt very keenly by every man aboard, for there is something in the atmosphere of a ship that makes a man keen on pets, and Query was a great pet, well loved by all. I have known many dogs, but never one with so lovable a disposition as his. And so of all the medley of animals carried by the ship during her voyage only one solitary cat remained.
On June 17 we got into wireless touch with Cape Town—by telephone, so please you—and heard all the news that had happened during our prolonged absence from the busy world that makes the news. It was like coming back into life after a Rip van Winkle existence. We heard of the ascent of Mount Everest, the sinking of the Egypt—the big ship lost, while our puny cockleshell survived more hazardous days than had ever befallen the liner!—and all the sporting news worth while. At noon we faintly discerned flat-topped Table Mountain ahead. The sea was smooth; we were sailing under ideal conditions; a strong elation was ours. We planned our adventures amongst men of our own kind; wondered whether the Cape Town girls were pretty; hoped they’d secure a good grip on our tow-rope and that they’d pull their hardest; and generally indulged in fantastic daydreams, as is the way of sailormen the world over, though steam has done its best to kill romance. We celebrated this day of days by an uproarious concert in the ward-room, and all of us, I think, went rather mad.
Going on deck at midnight was a sheer delight; a wonderful sight presented itself. The night was perfect—still, serene; and a big silver moon shining gloriously on the vast expanse of Table Bay vied with the glowing lights in the distance. The ship was just creeping along in order to make her anchorage at daylight. Round our quietly moving bows, in the luminous wake as well, hundreds and hundreds of phosphorescent fish were playing recklessly, shooting like shafts of vivid light through the water, and the soft-sounding “wash-wash” of their breaking surface, a sound which blended so perfectly with the low seething rustle of the broken water of our progress as to seem like fairy music.
A great reception awaited us in the morning. Dense crowds packed the quays, and many boatloads of enthusiastic people followed in our wake as we trudged up the harbour. As we steamed to moorings off Robben Island I thought gratefully of the wonderful experience I had had; and although I was very sorry it was almost over, yet within my heart I was glad indeed to be here, for I know of no more splendid emotion than the home-coming after a great adventure. We had tried and we had achieved; but sorrow underlay the joy, too, for this reception was Sir Ernest Shackleton’s triumph, and he was not there to share it.
During the following days the people of Cape Town gave us generous greeting and unstinted hospitality. We spent a memorable week-end at Bonnivale, the estate of Mr. Rigg, situated about 200 miles from Cape Town—no distance at all in a country of staggering distances—and had grateful experience of the honest Scottish hospitality of Mrs. A. H. Smithers, of St. James’s, who received us royally at her home, allowing us to come and go precisely as we pleased. Wherever I personally went the Scouts were kindness itself to me, and my great regret was that I had not sufficient time wherein to see as much of them as I could have wished. For I owed my great adventure to the fact that I was a Scout, and gratitude to the organization that gave me my chance must always be uppermost in my heart.
It would be utterly impossible for me to write of the many distinguished, generous people we had the honour to meet, of the countless functions we attended or of the impressive, interesting sights we saw. What with lunches, dinners, dances, motor drives and the like, Jack was ashore with a vengeance and thoroughly enjoying himself; whilst, considering the people—thousands of them, literally—whom we had to conduct over the ship, it is a marvel to me how we managed to get a full day into every twenty-four hours. Every day was a red-letter day on its own account; and I must always remember our stay as a truly wonderful month.
Toward the close of our stay we moved down to the Naval Dockyard at Simon’s Town to refit; but Commander Wild, prostrated by a severe attack of influenza, was unfortunately unable to accompany us there.