The Wireless Operator—With the U. S. Coast Guard

by Lewis E. Theiss

But of all his experiences in the ice fields, nothing so much interested Henry as the destruction of a huge berg that came wallowing down from the frozen north and went ploughing straight along toward the tropics. Apparently neither wind nor sea nor any other agency could turn this menacing mountain of ice aside from its path. Down to the northern steamship lane it went, and the Iroquois went with it, warning all shipping of its presence. It was enormous. It towered more than two hundred feet in air, and was hundreds of feet long and huge in width. It did not break up into growlers when it reached the warmer parts of the sea, as most of the bergs did, but kept on, implacable, menacing, terrible.

Through the northern steamer lane and on to the southern lane, the huge block of ice steadily made its way. Thus it endangered ships going both to and from European ports. But the Iroquois stayed by the giant berg and warned all ships of the danger. When it reached a point farther south than the Iroquois’ own port, and still did not disintegrate, the commander of the cutter took steps to break it up by artificial means.

A small boat was lowered, and two mines, each containing fifty-two pounds of TNT, were loaded aboard, with firing batteries and other necessary equipment. Then Lieutenant Hill, with a picked crew of oarsmen, manned the boat, towing behind it a float with a sail attached. The party made its way to windward of the berg, where the mines were suspended from the float, so that they hung about eight feet below the surface of the water. The sail on the float was spread, and while the wind drove it toward the berg, the sailors pulled in the opposite direction. But the matter was not so simple as it seemed. The backlash of the sea kept the raft from reaching the great mass of ice, and, instead of hitting it, it floated to one side and on toward the open sea.

Lieutenant Hill caught the raft, and now an attempt was made to tow it across the face of the berg with a buoyed line, the tow rope being kept up at intervals with life preservers. But all about the base of the berg, like detritus at the bottom of a precipice, were great quantities of slush ice, little growlers, and the like, so that the mine could not be dragged against the main berg.

Then an effort was made to drive spikes into the side of the ice, so that the mines could be hung to them. It was dangerous business, standing up in a tossing little boat, with a possibility of being pitched out and crushed between it and the berg, but the sailors made the attempt without mishap—and without success. All efforts to drive anything into the ice were futile. It broke under the hammer blows, and no nail could be forced into it.

Next a grapnel was tried. The small boat was forced through the slush ice at the foot of the berg until a place was found where a little ledge in the shoulder seemed to offer a chance for a hold. The grapnel was thrown, but it slid off into the water. Again and again the effort was repeated. Each time it failed. The hooks of the grapnel would not catch in the slippery ice.

The backlash of the sea constantly showered the small boat with spray. All hands were soaked. The firing batteries became wet and useless, and the lieutenant put back to the Iroquois for fresh ones.

“I’m going to try the grapnel again,” he called up to the commander, after making known his need for dry batteries.

“Captain Hardwick,” said Henry, “why not shoot a line over that berg? Then one could hang a mine on the other end of it on the far side of the berg.”

The captain leaned over the rail of the cutter and called down to the lieutenant: “Never mind about the grapnel. Our able third-class radio man says to shoot a line over the berg, so bend your energies to that. I’ll get you a shoulder gun. It’s worth trying.” He sent a man for both the battery and the gun, and the two were passed into the rowboat.