A boy's-eye view of the Arctic

by Kennett Longley Rawson

Photo Brust.

The Bowdoin detained by the storm at Monhegan.

Sixteen hours out of Godthaab the barometer took an ominous drop, and a heavy wind and sea rolled up from the southeastward. Soon we were forced to heave to under storm canvas. The seas were tremendous. Great mountains of water came hurtling over the deck nearly sweeping away our deck cargo, in fact one barrel of gasolene drifted over the rail, so deep was the water on deck, and the boats were also engulfed, held only by their stout lashings. Drenched to the skin and chilled to the bone we worked at tightening the lashings on the barrels, and soon all was secure.

Below decks everything was sadly awry. The hatches were battened down, thereby excluding the entrance of all air, and the deck, which had been strained in the ice, leaked badly, and trickles of water soaked both our bunks and ourselves. To these discomforts was added the noxious fumes of coal gas which came from the galley stove. Owing to these upsetting conditions all hands became seasick, and taking a trick at the wheel became the sheerest agony. When my trick came, I struggled into my clothes, donned my oilskins, and made my way to the deck on unsteady feet. Staggering over the seething deck I made my way aft and took over the wheel from my pallid and gagging colleague. All alone I sat there for two hours with the great mounds of water crashing over the bow and sweeping aft in a rushing torrent. It was indeed an awe-inspiring spectacle, and in spite of my upset insides I could not help but admire the grandeur and wild beauty of it all. It brought home to me the insignificance of man in the face of nature aroused.

As I looked out over the rolling green of the angry water it somehow brought back to me the quiet peace and orderly beauty of the close-cropped lawns of The Hill. I contrasted my present woebegone state to that of a few months previous when I wandered book in hand in the shadow of its stately cloisters, with nature at rest and with no responsibility. A sudden wild lurch of the vessel recalled my mind to my present task, and I again concentrated my attention on wheel and compass.

For three days we fought on through a bleak and stormy sea towards Labrador. Those three days were the worst I ever experienced at sea, and few of the other members of the crew, even the Commander himself, could remember worse, but at last the bold headland of Cape Mugford broke the dreary expanse of tumbling billows. This sight of land was a tonic to our sea-racked bodies, and with renewed buoyancy we pushed on. By nightfall the sea had moderated, and life took on a cheerier tinge. Once again the sizzle and sputter of cooking food was sweet music to our ears, and for the first time in days there was an inward response to the savory odors which came from the galley. Even Doctor Koelz emerged from his refuge behind the ice-box and consented to take a glass of water, a sure sign that we were once again in calm weather. After he recovered his equilibrium, his first thought was for his pet goose which he kept in a cage on deck. He dashed up to see how it had fared, but alas! the poor goose had been drowned. The Doctor was stricken with grief, and all hands joined him in mourning the loss of his pet.

After a peaceful night’s run we arrived early the next morning at Jack Lane’s Bay and at once made our way up to Abie’s home. There we spent the day recuperating and getting thoroughly rested. At dawn on the day following we were once more under weigh. A few hours put us in Hopedale where we unloaded the troublesome gasolene. Then we headed out through Flagstaff Tickle for the open sea and Battle Harbor. During this run I experienced one of the finest nights of the entire voyage. It was cold with frost forming on the ropes and on the deck. The perfect clarity of the sky and the magnificence of the flashing stars along with the beautiful full moon, with the wavering aurora in the north formed a picture of such brilliance and splendor that I was loath to go below at the end of my watch.

The next day we reached Battle Harbor. We had made a fine run down The Labrador, but we could not afford to loiter as the season was far advanced, and we were two weeks behind schedule. Therefore early the next morning we were once again on the way on the next to the last lap headed for Sydney. Here we were greeted by a delegation of newspaper men and Mr. Hildebrand of the National Geographic Society. They welcomed us back to civilization in regal style. But we could not long linger in their pleasant company, and in five hours we were once again leaving Sydney astern—headed for Home!

We were flying on around Scateri wafted southward by a fair wind. But as we neared Halifax the wind hauled to the southwest and swept upon us with a force unparalleled by any hurricane that even the Commander had ever seen. It was far worse than any through which we had previously passed. In an astonishingly short time the surface of the sea was a series of steep and treacherous ridges which struck us from every side. Luckily the mainsail had been taken in before dark, but the foresail and jumbo were still up. The Commander immediately despatched Melkon and Dick Salmon to take in the jumbo, while he gripped the wheel. I was busily engaged in rescuing the loose articles on deck when suddenly a towering sea crashed over the bow, and leaving the wheel to me the Commander dashed forward to the aid of the two men there. I seized the wheel and put her hard over to hold her bow in the wind. The engine was running full blast. The force of the wind and the sea was so great that the vessel was literally pushed backward and began shipping seas over the stern.