Photo Geo. W. Lord.
Outward bound, June, 1925.
The Bowdoin leaving the dock at Wiscasset.
Eager hands freed the lines and amid the roar of steam whistles and cheers from the crowd we slowly headed seaward. Governor Brewster of Maine had furnished a band and a tug to transport them, and as we steamed outward they poured forth a brazen blare of melody. Alumni and students of Bowdoin College, the Commander’s alma mater, had chartered a steamer, and the enthusiastic, leather-lunged collegians raked us fore and aft with a series of vocal salvos that would have driven any team on to victory. The procession was headed by two naval vessels especially designated by the Navy Department to do honor to the occasion. In addition to this official recognition, a large number of yachts from far and near had gathered to join in the celebration. But as we reeled off the miles, our escorts gradually turned back one by one, until by the time we neared the open sea, only a persistent few remained. Even these had returned by the time we were fairly launched forth on the long ocean roll, and the Peary, too, had deserted us, as she was going to Boothbay to take on a final supply of water, while we set our course in solitary state for Monhegan Island. Just as the great lighthouse began to blink, we dropped anchor under the lee of the island. Here the guests who had thus far accompanied us, soon followed the anchor over the side and went up to the village inn where we shortly joined them. There, in accordance with custom, the hospitable islanders had prepared a delicious banquet for the members of the expedition and their guests. There we ate well indeed but not too wisely for mariners who were about to slip their cable in the morning.
CHAPTER III
IN THE LAND OF ADVENTURE
AT noon the next day, Sunday, June 21st, we put to sea from the last outpost of the United States that we should see until our return. As we circled the islands, a fishing boat filled with enthusiastic members of the Civitan Club, who had come all the way from Minneapolis to see us off, came alongside and throwing huge codfish aboard shouted the last farewells we heard in home waters from fellow citizens.
In a few moments a Bay of Fundy fog had swallowed us up, and the curtain had dropped on the last home setting. The day was fairly calm, but there was a long, oily swell which rolled the boat like a lazy pendulum. Moreover, the smoke from the exhaust was carried forward across the deck by a light, following breeze. In a few hours I began to notice a greenish pallor overspreading the faces of my shipmates, and, guided by my own feelings amidships, I had an intuition that my face was experiencing the same change. Soon a disheveled figure sprang from the forecastle companionway and made a dash for the rail. In a few moments another appeared bound for the same destination. I thought this was very funny, when suddenly the ship fetched a great roll, and I meditated with melancholy on my liberal indulgence at the dinner of the night before. Without stopping for further speculations I too joined in the mad scramble for the rail. Under the suasion of an unstable equilibrium the gastric organs have certain generous periods when they won’t keep a thing, and when they are in this mood they follow the example of time and tide and wait for no man. This lack of a sense of expediency on the part of these unfortunate organs caused several similar embarrassing situations from time to time. After completing my first session at the rail, I felt relieved—much relieved, and decided I was all through with such foolishness; so I sat down to await my trick at the wheel and to enjoy the adventures in mal de mer of the other unfortunates. But again my mirth ended in another dash for the rail. These upsets, however, did not permit of any laying off from regular duties, since the work had to be done and there were none too many of us to do it. Thus I stood my regular trick at the wheel, a task with which I was familiar from previous voyages, kept my regular watch and did whatever duties were assigned me despite a few protests on the part of my stomach. This state of affairs continued for the next three days until we reached Sydney, Nova Scotia.
Early on the morning of the second day out we rounded Cape Sable, the southernmost point in Nova Scotia, and laid a northerly course parallel to the coast heading for Cape Breton Island where Sydney is located. Here we were to take on water and fuel oil before squaring away for “The Labrador.”