A VOYAGE TO THE ARCTIC IN THE WHALER AURORA

The following is little more than a diary of a voyage made by me on the whaler Aurora of Dundee in 1884. I cannot imagine its being read by many, as the subject can only interest a few who have themselves gone down to the sea in ships.

The Arctic whaling industry is I fear becoming a thing of the past, and this prompts me to have the record of our successful voyage printed.

Some mention has been made of the Greely Relief Expedition, as the relief ships were with the whalers during the passage to Cape York from Newfoundland.

We were not brought in contact with the Chieftain at all during the cruise, but I have told the story of her disaster, as it was the most unfortunate occurrence of the year amongst the Arctic whalers, and for the data I am very much indebted to the Dundee Advertiser and to Mr. Allen Bell and Mr. Harvey of that paper for the trouble they have taken about it. I am also indebted to Mr. Robert Kinnis of Dundee for much interesting whaling information in the Appendix. As that gentleman possesses the records of all catches taken by British ships for more than a hundred years, he is in a position to supply very valuable data on the subject.

Mr. Walter Kinnis kindly supplied me with many photographs, as did Dr. Crawford, formerly of the Arctic, and Captain Murray of Dundee.

It has given me great pleasure recalling the scenes described. As I was very young at the time of the voyage they produced an indelible impression. Often since have I longed for a few weeks in Lancaster Sound, and to hear once more the inspiring shout "A fall!"

Being fond of adventure, and having read as many works on the subject as most boys of my age, it was with great pleasure that I looked forward to hearing a lecture delivered by Commander Cheyne, R.N. I was then at school, and our tutor thought it would be an education for us to hear him. The lecture was to me intensely interesting and the illustrations splendid. For days after I could not think of anything else. During study at night, I used to spend a good deal of time looking at a map of the Arctic seas, and picturing Melville Bay with its dangers. After leaving school, and while at college, I read Walter Scott's "Pirate." It told about the Orkneys and Shetlands, and its frequent allusions to the whaling industry set me thinking. I found myself often repeating:

"The ship, well laden as barque need be,

Lies deep in the furrow of the Iceland sea.

The breeze for Zetland blows fair and soft

And gaily the garland is fluttering aloft.

Seven good fishes have spouted their last,

And their jawbones are hanging from yard and mast;

Two are for Lerwick, and two for Kirkwall,

And three for Burgh-Westra, the choicest of all."

As there was no immediate chance of going to Greenland, why not see Shetland? So when the summer holidays came, I made my way to Edinburgh with two friends who had also read the "Pirate."

We found that steamers sailed from Leith and that the best of the fleet, the St. Magnus, would leave the next morning at six, so we took passage in her and visited Orkney and Shetland, thoroughly enjoying being off the beaten track.

One day we sat on the Nab Head at Lerwick and looked over a calm sea. In the distance a barque could be descried. Half an hour later we noticed her much closer, although no sails hung from her yards. Then we discovered that while barque rigged she could also steam, and when she anchored we found that she was a whaler, the Eclipse of the Peter Head,—Captain Gray. We went on board and were shown over the ship. Polar bear skins were stretched in frames drying, and we learned that she had 3,500 seals on board and 17 bottle-nosed whales, and, what was of far more consequence to me, that she carried a surgeon.

Years passed; I was a student at the University of Edinburgh and had every opportunity of learning about ships sailing from Scottish ports.

One day in November, 1883, I went to Dundee and, leaving the Tay Bridge station, made my way along the docks to a basin in which were several whalers. They were discharging cargo, and it was unnecessary to see them to know of their presence. Two of the ships, though small, were very beautiful to look at. They were the Jan Mayen and the Nova Zembla. Others, the Narwhal, Polynia, Esquimaux, Active, etc., were not so pretty, but they all had a fascination—they came from the romantic Arctic, and I went on board each one. Then I visited another dock where three ships lay together. They were the Arctic, the Aurora and the Thetis. It required no expert to tell that they were vessels of superior quality. I went on board the one nearest the shore, the Thetis, and interviewed the mate. He told me that all three ships would carry surgeons. The Arctic and Thetis were bound for Davis Straits, the Aurora for Greenland.

The office of the company, Wm. Steven & Son, was near by, so I left the ship very much excited. Here was almost a chance to visit the Arctic regions. Going over to the office, I learned that the captain of a whaler selected his own surgeon, and that Captain James Fairweather of the Aurora had just been there. I obtained his address, and calling a cab, was soon at his house. He was not in, but I waited. Seated in a room on the floor of which polar bear rugs were stretched, I began to realize that I was taking a rather serious step without consulting my parents. Before long the Captain entered, and after a little conversation, I arranged to sail as the Aurora's surgeon the following January. So without really meaning to go when I left my rooms in the morning, I found myself in the railway carriage on the way back to Edinburgh, booked for an unusual voyage.

During the winter I told some friends what I intended to do, and one of them at once went to Dundee and secured the Arctic, the captain of which was an Irishman. Another was also desirous of going, but said he would wait until I returned and told him how I liked it. However he too went in the end and we met in the north.

The Aurora was bound for the Newfoundland sealing first and afterwards for the Greenland whaling; that is to say, she would fish for bottlenosed whales on the east side of Greenland in the seas around Jan Mayen and Spitzbergen and make a shorter voyage of it than the Davis Straits ships.

To prepare myself for the experience I read what I could about Greenland, and was fascinated by the prospect of seeing its icy mountains and possibly some of its inhabitants; while the very word Spitzbergen suggested to me polar bears and icebergs. In January, 1884, a letter from the Captain told me he would sail about the end of the month and requested me to be in Dundee by the 29th.

I bought a lot of unnecessary clothing, such as pilot-cloth suits lined with flannel. When the flannel became wet afterwards it wonderfully altered the fit of the things, so I removed it with my knife. I also laid in a supply of literature, arms and ammunition, and left the Waverley station at six on the morning of the 29th. Arriving at Dundee, I went to a hotel and then to the office, where I met the Captain, and went with him to the place where the men were signing on. Here I heard some one reading rapidly a lot about the nature of the voyage and what we would have to eat. When I left the building, I was a legal member of the Aurora's crew for the coming cruise, and my rating was that of surgeon, with pay as follows:

£. s. d
Monthly pay 2 0 0
Oil money per ton 2 0
Bone per ton 4 0
Seal skins per 1,000 1 0

I had to furnish my own cabin and to pay the market price for any trophy of my own shooting which I wanted to keep. As our voyage was in pursuit of Arctic animals and as I was a member of the crew sent for that purpose, of course this was quite right.

It was possible for me to increase the above pay by being in fast boats. Let me explain what I mean: when a boat first strikes a fish it is called a fast boat; and if the whale is killed, every one in the boat receives what is called striking money. The harpooner gets ten shillings for putting in the gun harpoon, and ten and six pence for the hand, or a guinea for both, while every member of the crew receives half a crown in either case.

It was my good fortune during the following eight months to increase my wages by two shillings and six pence in this way. Having fixed terms and other details I went on board the ship which was to be my home for some months to come. She was a pretty auxiliary barque of 386 tons registered. Her engines were about a hundred horse power. She had a top-gallant forecastle and a raised poop. Running forward from the poop was the engine room skylight, which ended at the funnel casing, and steps led from the poop to the main deck on each side of it. The funnel was painted buff, the ship outside was black, and the bulwarks inside white and blue. The bridge was across the engine room skylight and in front of the mizzenmast, an iron railing around the poop, offering no protection from the weather, while a companion opened aft in front of our two wheels. The pretty little cabin was furnished in pitch pine and leather. The Captain's room occupied the starboard side, while mine was on the port, both opening into the cabin. Forward of my room was that occupied by the first and second mates, and this looked into the passage at the foot of the stairs. Forward of the passage was the pantry and also the engineer's room. A locker in which things were stowed occupied the stern and opened into the cabin. Forward of the cabin table was a stove in which there was a cheerful fire, and in the square skylight hung a bird's cage and a garland, also some plants.

Finding out what I wanted for my room, I went into the town, ordered the things and had them sent down.

January 30. Two acquaintances, whose identity I may indicate by the initials H. and P., turned up this day to see me off. I took them over the ship, but they were not very enthusiastic. We afterwards went around the docks and saw the other whalers getting ready for sea. Quantities of marmalade and dozens of hams were being put on board the Esquimaux. Two of the whalers had already departed, the Narwhal and Polynia, while others were not starting for a week to come; but as there were uncertainties about the western ocean's passage in winter, Captain Fairweather had decided not to wait longer than the 31st.

It snowed a little, which made the docks look dreary. I met the Captain's wife on board during the afternoon, also his brother, who had command of the Thetis.

The following day Armitage arrived. He brought me a big meerschaum pipe, and was delighted with the ship, so pleased that he visited many others to see if he could not secure a berth on one of them. But those carrying surgeons had their medical officers engaged. We wandered around the docks all the morning and at noon I went on board.

The Aurora left the dock at one P. M. and anchored for a short time in the river to pick up a few belated and more or less incapable members of the crew, and to land some stowaways.

My friends stood on the dockhead with hundreds of others to see us off, and as we passed through the gate, old shoes, oranges and other things were thrown on board.

I was walking about the poop with my hands deep in the pockets of my pilot coat and looking at the sea of faces on the dock, when, stumbling over a chain, down I came with a crash in the most ignominious way. However a stumble and fall on board a whaler putting to sea generally passes unnoticed; one would attract more attention by standing up all the time! Thus the voyage began,—my position flat on deck, being in keeping with the best traditions of the trade!

CHAPTER II—VOYAGE TO NEWFOUNDLAND

"A thousand miles from land are we,

Tossing about on the roaring sea;

From billow to bounding billow cast

Like fleecy snow on the stormy blast."

Steaming down the river we landed quite a lot of stowaways at Broughty Perry about 4.30 P. M., just as it was becoming dark. Tea was served at five,—my first meal on board the Aurora.

The Captain and myself sat on the starboard side of the table. Wm. Adam, the mate, Alexander McKechnie, second mate, and Wm. Smith, chief engineer, sat on the other side.

Immediately after tea, I went to my room as we were crossing the bar and going out into a gale of wind. Everything was tumbling about, and knowing that in a very short time I should lose all interest in my surroundings, I began making things secure.

There were two berths. My bed was in the upper as it had a porthole, and most of my belongings were stowed in the lower.

A lot of tobacco had become loose, so I put the little packages of it between my bed and the side of the ship. The port was not screwed very tight and leaked badly for a week or so. This saturated the tobacco and generated an odor which added nothing to my comfort. The motion becoming very pronounced, I turned in, and being tired, slept well.

February 1st. Footsteps overhead and the singing of shanties on deck awoke me at daybreak, but I was intensely ill, so stayed in bed all day. My room was illuminated by a small light set in the deck overhead and by a partially submerged port, so it was not cheerful. Above my head there was a book shelf. I tried to read, but could not feel interested as it was so very depressing to look forward to months and months of this sort of thing. Matters grew worse as the day went on, the climax being reached when rounding Duncansby Head; but respite came about midnight, when we crept into Long Hope and let go our anchor.

February 2nd. Shouting and crying awoke me in the morning, and opening the door of my cabin, I saw the Captain teaching two boys that the sea was a bad place to run away to. They had been under an upturned boat and the seas coming on board had almost drowned them out. Each boy promised that he would never do it again. They were given two tins of mutton and a small sack of ship's bread, and put on shore.

Long Hope is a well sheltered harbor, between the islands of Hoy and South Walls. There was a pronounced smell of turf smoke about the place and the land was half covered with snow.

Two other whalers were at anchor near by, the Narwhal and Polynia. They had left Dundee ten days before us and bad been weather bound here for that length of time.

I brought my gun up as there were some Richardson's skuas flying about, but I did not get a shot at one. The mate, however, shot a herring gull with it and this was the first splash of the ocean of blood shed by us during the voyage.

Breakfast was a cheerful meal and the horrors of the North Sea were soon forgotten.

At noon, the tide being favorable and the wind having gone down greatly, we all three steamed out into the Pentland Firth. The Polynia was the first to move; I heard her anchor chain clanking on board to a well-sung shanty. We started next, and as there were some good voices forward we tried to outdo the others. The Narwhal followed, never to return, as she was lost during the summer.

Turning Brims Ness sharp, we kept on the Orcadian side of the firth; and after passing Turn Ness, we laid our course for Cape Wrath. Across the water we could barely make out Thurso. The land lies rather low about the mouth of the Thurso river; but on the Hoy side the scenery was fine and we soon sighted the Old Man of Hoy. During my trip to Orkney and Shetland a few years before, I had spent several days on this island, so was interested in seeing it now from the sea on this dismal February afternoon. Its sombre cliffs are always grand, but the present atmospheric condition made the scene impressive.

The Old Man of Hoy, in the simple language of the guide book, is, "An insular pillar composed of flagstones and shales. Across their denuded edges there stretches the band of amygdaloidal lava which is capped by the red sandstones to the height of four hundred fifty feet." I could make out the Ward Hill, but clouds lay low on its summit. Near there I had visited the celebrated Dwarfie Stone made famous by Scott in his "Pirate." It is a huge block of rock twenty-two feet by seventeen and seven deep. There is a passage in it with a bed like a ship's berth hewn out on each side, and it had been, of course, the home of a Trold.

I turned my back on this land of Trolds, and went down the quarter-hatch to see the second mate serving out lime-juice, tea, coffee, tobacco and sugar to the men. I heard their names called and had a good look at them as they came up. Our crew was a fine looking lot and the most respectable body of men one could find on any ship, unlike the New Bedford or San Francisco South Sea whalers, which carried very mixed crews of every color.

Most of our men had spent the greater part of their lives in Greenland waters, and though not well informed on current topics and very superstitious, they were self-respecting to a degree and absolutely fearless, and they were all of the same nationality.

Of course, life on board a whaler is much pleasanter than on any other sort of merchantman, because the ships are well found and the crews very large so that, except when actually engaged in sealing or whaling, they have an easy enough time.

The captains in the trade were very humane men, many of them scientific, and they treated their crews well. Amongst the harpooners were often found men who had themselves commanded ships and whose stars, no doubt, would again be in the ascendancy.

A few unsuccessful years, or the loss of a ship or two, would probably cost a man his command, and bad luck cannot be avoided.

Before the second mate had finished serving out I retired, as the ship was beginning to feel the heavy swell that was coming in, and by six P. M. I was absolutely "under the weather," and it was blowing hard from the northwest. We passed Cape Wrath about midnight. The following day a strong gale was blowing with snow and the engines were slowed down.

February 4th. Blowing a gale, reefed mizzen set and main topmast staysail, with the engines slowed down. During the morning a man was hurt. He was carried aft and held on the cabin table while I—very ill—and also held, sewed his scalp and dressed the wound.

February 5th. Strong gale. Ship under reefed mizzen and main staysail, steaming slow. High sea running and sun obscured all day.

This applies to the state of affairs on the 6th, 7th, 8th, 9th and 10th, during all of which time I enjoyed the horrors of mal de mer. I saw by the log that we had spent our days under fore and afters with a heavy sea running, but I made no original observations, keeping in my berth all the time, wondering during my conscious moments what brought me to sea and vowing that I would never set foot on a vessel again if spared this time.

The ship's dog (Jock) was a rather sociable and sympathetic collie. He spent a good deal of time with me, and I could not help admiring the old chap when I knew that he really did not belong to any one, but always turned up on the Aurora about sailing time and made the voyage with her. At St. John's, Jock had lots of friends and visited a good deal, but he was always on board on sailing day.

February 11th. A mere shadow of my former self, I got up and did not feel ill. My wash basin was in one corner of the room. I put my head against the corner above it and by sticking one foot against the side of the door and another against the lower berth, was able to apply a little water to my face, but the swing of the ship was so great that it swished nearly every drop out of the basin. I dressed and went to breakfast, feeling absolutely well and ravenously hungry. After breakfast, tucking my breeches inside my sea boots, I went on deck. The door opened aft. As I came out, the stem of the vessel sank low as the bows rose on the sea, and I saw a black mountain of water rolling from us. Getting to the mizzen rigging on the port side, I put my arms in the shrouds and stood on a spar lashed on deck. It was very dark for the hour and blowing the greatest storm that I had ever experienced, the wind fairly shrieking through the rigging.

We were steaming half speed and had a reefed mizzen and main staysail set. Looking forward, I saw the little ship taking tons of dark water over her bows. It came off the forecastle in a cataract, and rushing aft between the engine room and bulwarks, it surged upon the poop. We only had a few feet of free board and were making terrible weather of it. The atmosphere was full of water, as the tops of the waves were blown off in sheets. A great splash came over the quarter about this time and fairly engulfed me. Then I learned that it was better to wear one's sea boots inside instead of outside the trousers.

This was sufficient for the day, so I retired below to change and dry. During the evening, the Captain showed me our position on a chart which was glued to the cabin table under the cloth. We were not yet half way across.

The 12th, 13th and 14th were all equally awful, but I had my sea legs and a good appetite, so was thankful. The only pleasure I had was standing on the bridge and watching the ship burying her bows into the big seas and the water coming in tons over the forecastle and filling the main deck. She was indeed a wet ship in bad weather.

February 15th. The Captain said that he had never seen a lower barometer. A great gale was blowing and the ship was hove to. Bags of oil had been put out on the weather side, but the oil did not escape with sufficient freedom so they were hauled in and a lot of punctures made with a knife, but this did not improve matters much. It rendered the sea comparatively smooth to leeward and there was not so much spray flying, but tons of water tumbled over us and we spent a dreadful day. I tried the deck for awhile, but it was dangerous. At night the ship was laboring fearfully and continued to do so for days.

February 20th. Another fearful day. I had occasion to visit the topgallant forecastle to see the ship-keeper, who had hurt his knee. There was a line from the forecastle door to the main rigging for safety, as one was almost sure to be caught by a sea while going the length of the deck.

Two men came aft for me, and watching our chance, we reached the forecastle safe. Coming back, I decided to try it alone, so waited until a tremendous sea had broken over us, then before she had time to take another, I made a dash, but a body of water splashed over the starboard side and forced me to climb up the inside of the main rigging and stay there until some of it swept off the deck. Towards night the wind began to moderate a little.

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.

February 24th was a glorious day. One would scarcely expect to find such, weather in February in this neighborhood.

In the morning we passed through rather smooth ice. Occasionally there were large ponds and in many of these I saw seals. Sometimes they were plunging about in numbers, but generally a few heads only were visible looking at us inquisitively as we passed. There were no bergs in sight, but during the afternoon we passed some rafted ice which was piled up six or seven feet above the floes, and once we were fast for an hour in a rather heavy place, when I again tried the walking, but there was snow on the ice which was slightly frozen on the surface, and this made it heavy as one went through the crust. Towards evening the sky became cloudy; it was very cold, and snow was falling when I turned in for the night.

In the morning Cape Bonavista was in sight. It was my first view of this New World. All land was beautiful to me after a month at sea and this looked so attractive as we neared it that I wanted to settle on it for the rest of my life. However, we passed on, and during the day steamed through the narrows and tied up astern of the Arctic on the south side of St. John's harbor at what was known as Stevens Wharf.

The Arctic had sailed ten days after us and had made good weather of it as she was a long ship of nearly double our tonnage, but of nothing like our strength of build.

The Resolute's Wooden Funnel lute had also arrived. The latter on the way out had lost her funnel, so a pyramidal structure had been erected of wood lined with tin; this answered very well for a time. Some of her bulwarks had been carried away, especially forward of the main rigging on the port side. She was a fine ship, strong and well engined, but the North Atlantic in winter leaves its mark on the best.

The Resolute was owned in St. John's and commanded by a St. John's captain; but she came out from Dundee, where she had been overhauled.

So ended my first trip across the Atlantic, and, until then, the most uncomfortable experience of my life.

CHAPTER III—NEWFOUNDLAND

"Such are the charms to barren states assyn'd,

Their wants but few, their wishes all confin'd."

Our first possession across the sea was Newfoundland, and I made the voyage to it 400 years after John Cabot, the discoverer. The Mathew of Bristol first sighted Cape Bonavista, which was the first point seen by the Aurora. Cabot was a Venetian sailing out of Bristol for a time, and for his great discovery, which gave England her vast American possessions, King Henry gave John ten pounds a year. Cabot is to-day very well thought of, but nothing much is known of what became of him. The name makes an attractive one for a Newfoundland dog. I have known several of them bear it, and it is a sort of geographical education to have them running around; but there is not any place of importance in the world called after this great mariner.

The coast of the country is forbidding, being rocky and bleak, except around some of the bays; the most beautiful of those seen by me being Bay of Islands on the west coast, which reminds one of Norway. Here and in the valley of the Humber, which runs into it, there is some very fertile land, and there are some scenes of peace and prosperity. But the general impression I have obtained after several visits to the country, is that life is a struggle for many of the inhabitants compared with what it is in any other colony which we possess. Newfoundlanders are true to the land of their birth, but one familiar with North America at large would never think of advising a colonist to push his fortune in this particular part of it, because the opportunities are comparatively few and the winters are too long for any working man to remain idle. In the interior the soil is as a rule shallow; there are thousands and thousands of acres of barrens, hundreds of lakes of different sizes and numbers of streams. Great areas of the country are grown over with small timber, the trees being so close together in places that one can hardly push through them. Much of the barren country is moss-grown and boggy, so that it cannot be travelled over by horses or mules; therefore, when one leaves the rivers, it is necessary to carry everything on one's back, and, as a result, travel in the interior is not much indulged in by the inhabitants. To add to the pleasure, mosquitoes and their cousins, the black flies, are in swarms. The whole interior is a deer forest of the first magnitude, teeming with caribou (Rangi-fer tarandus). These animals weigh about 300 pounds, and they are very gray about the head and shoulders. I have seen them standing among trees which were grown over with bearded moss, when it was difficult to tell the caribou from the trees. Some of the heads are splendid with a great deal of palmation and not at all like Greenland or polar American caribou in which the palmation is generally poor and the beam long and straggling, probably due to a difference of environment. Migrating to the northern part of the island in summer, they return in September and October to winter in the south, and the sportsman intercepting them on their autumnal trip can have his choice of heads.

Another attraction is the salmon and trout fishing. The rivers, especially on the west coast, are well stocked, white trout being particularly numerous.

St. John's harbor is entered through the narrows. On the left, going in, there is the lighthouse; and on the right, or north side, the signal station. On this side is the city, lying at the foot of low hills, its principal street, Water Street, being parallel with the shore. From it run side streets down to the wharves and up the hill to the residences and churches. The Dundee ships lay on the south side, our yard being nearest the narrows. From it a path led out to the lighthouse point. A hundred yards from the ship one was on the hillside and without the pale of everything, because only a narrow fringe of buildings separated the south shore from the wilds. Along the water edge, between our ship and the lighthouse, one passed lots of fish flakes. These were constructed of a framework of vertical and horizontal poles covered over with spruce boughs upon which the split codfish were laid after being salted. The air circulated under and around them well and they soon dried. I saw codfish being dried on the beach in Shetland, but they were only spread on the shingle. There are no trees in Shetland from which poles could be made, but there is less precipitation there than in Newfoundland, so the fish dry well upon the shingle. It is over 300 years since the Newfoundland fisheries began to be worked. They proved the country's first attraction and there is nothing of the sort in the world like them. For the five years 1871 to '75 the export of dried cod was 1,333,009 quintals of 112 pounds. The Basques first appeared on the scene and a port on the west coast to-day bears their name, Port aux Basques. As early as 1527 an English shipmaster, on entering St. John's harbor, found eleven ships from Norway, one from Breton and ten from Portugal, all fishing.

In looking over the exports for 1881 one notices several interesting items; one is, 4,127 tons of cod-liver oil, another item is 300 barrels of cods' heads at $1.00 per barrel. I fancy, however, their use has not become very general yet when we know that only 300 barrels were exported, and that over sixty million cod were killed. When I speak of the cod fishing, I mean the Labrador as well as the Banks fishery. In fact, the former is probably the more fished of the two by the Newfoundlanders.

The day after our arrival our ship began discharging cargo, that is to say, taking off our whale-boats and launch, and taking out all supplies for the whaling voyage. Then they began sheathing the deck and bulwarks—even the floor of the cabin was covered with plank. Bunks were erected for the men in the 'tween decks, all stores removed from the quarter hatch and bunks put in there for the quartermasters, and the crow's-nest was hoisted up and made fast to the main mast, a few feet below the truck. The crow's-nest or barrel was a most comfortable place. One entered through a trap door in the bottom, and when this was closed there was no draught. Around the edge of the barrel and sticking out some distance there was an iron rail upon which the glass could rest, the latter being kept in a canvas bag or pocket inside. From there the ship was navigated, a wire going to the engine room and ringing the bell, but orders to the man at the wheel were called down. While these changes were taking place, in company with the surgeon of the Arctic, I wandered all over St. John's and the neighborhood, and enjoyed the hospitality of many residents. It was some distance around the end of the harbor to the city, but we could skate across if we liked. The weather was intensely cold and the land was covered with deep snow.

The Aurora having been converted into a sealer, and having taken on board her supplies and exchanged her beautiful whale-boats for a number of very crude looking punts, moved over to the north side of the harbor, and waited for sailing day to take her crew on board.

It may not be out of place to make a few remarks here about seals and sealing generally. Most people know that seal fisheries exist, but few have any idea of their extent. The ice-fields of Newfoundland and Labrador produce more than anywhere else; but Greenland, Northern Europe, the seas around Jan Mayen, Nova Zembla and Spitzbergen produce also a great harvest, and the fur-bearing seals of the Aleutian Islands must not be forgotten. Sealing on the east coast of Greenland is entirely in the hands of natives, but the industry in other places is chiefly prosecuted by Europeans and Americans. Lindeman tells us that in 1720 the ports of the Weser sent out ships, that in 1760 Hamburg sent nineteen which took 44,722 seals, that in 1862 five German ships took 17,000, five Danish 5,000, fifteen Norwegian 63,000 and twenty-two British 51,000; so this gives one an idea of the extent to which Great Britain was represented. In 1876 the Dundee ships alone took 53,000, valued at over £34,000. It was the custom for the British sealers to arrive in Bressa Sound, Shetland, about the end of February, and there pick up a considerable part of their crews, getting to the ice about the middle of March. The young seals were in good condition about this time and had not yet taken to the water, so afforded an easy prey to their foes. Around Newfoundland, sealing has gone on with great profit to all engaged for probably one hundred and fifty years, and a glance at the following table will give some idea of its extent:

In 1805 81,088 were taken
1818 145,072
1822 306,982
1831 686,836
1840 631,385
1850 598,860
1860 444,202
1872 278,372
1881 447,903

Roughly, about 350,000 every year, the greatest catch being 685,530 in 1844.

Harvey tells us that in 1857 there were nearly four hundred vessels of 80 to 200 tons burthen engaged in the industry, employing altogether 13,600 men, and that the year's catch was worth $1,700,000. Now, about eight to ten thousand men are engaged, and the seal fishing yields about one-eighth part of the entire exports of the country.

Steam was first used in 1863 and then the sailing ships began to decrease in number. In 1884 more than thirty steamers were used, while the sailing ships had become scarce.

With the advent of steam, the Dundee owners began casting covetous eyes at Newfoundland. The western ocean passage could be made early in the year, and the sealing taken in en route to the whaling. It became necessary to arrange with agents at St. John's, or to build yards where the cargo of seals could be taken care of, leaving the vessel free to proceed north. At this time six ships represented Dundee.

Arctic, Captain Guy

Narwhal, Captain Phillips

Aurora, Captain Jas. Fairweather

Polynia, Captain Walker

Esquimaux, Captain Milne

Thetis, Captain Alex. Fairweather

The Resolute, Captain Jackman, could hardly be called a Dundee ship, and it so happened that the Thetis went on other business this year; but the above were the usual six.

The seals forming our cargo from the Newfoundland ice were harps (Phoca Greenlandica), so called on account of a peculiar mark on each side of the adult, extending from near the shoulder to near the tail, and hoods (Cystophora Cristata), so called on account of a large inflatable sac on the nose of the male. On our trip to Labrador we secured quite a number of hoods, but on our first trip our cargo was practically one of harps. Both these species are migratory, coming south in winter and working north in summer as the ice recedes. As the banks of Newfoundland swarm with fish, they form a pleasant winter resort for the seals, and are very convenient to the floes on which they spend February and March. Harbor seals (Phoca vetulini) and square flippers (Phoca barbatus) are also found on the coast.

The breeding ice of the seal is the goal of every master in the trade, but there are no rules for finding it. One may consider the influence of currents and winds, and may navigate accordingly only to find the seals are not found where expected. In our own case, the Captain told me the day we left St. John's that he had no definite idea of where to go. Nevertheless we awoke one morning to find ourselves surrounded by hundreds of thousands.

Young seals are born on the Newfoundland ice February 15th to 25th, and are in perfect condition for the market by March 20th, as they have been well fed by their mothers until then. They are a yellowish white when born and remain so until they begin to take to the water, when the longish white hair is rapidly shed and the young one quickly loses its condition.

Owing to the exciting nature of the work, a trip to the ice is the desire of nearly every Newfoundland boy. The great danger is fog coming down while the men are sealing far from the ship, and next comes the danger of losing the ship and drifting about on the floes until possibly death takes place from cold and starvation.

In 1872 one hundred men perished, fifty going down with the Huntsman on the coast of Labrador. The Bloodhound and Retriever were lost the same year, their crews escaping to Battle Harbor after terrible hardships.

Scoresby tells us of the classical disaster which occurred in 1774 about sixty miles east of Jan Mayen. The sealing fleet, consisting of over fifty vessels, met at the ice edge on March the 29th.

The whole fleet entered the ice streams and their boats went off sealing. A storm suddenly arose, destroying five of the ships and injuring many more, while most of the sealers who were far from their ships were never seen again, almost six hundred men being lost. One could not talk to a sealer long without learning of some horrible accident which had occurred to himself or a friend, and while some of them were given to romance, there could be no question about the perils they encountered or about their bravery and endurance.

Toward the end of February, the sweilers, as they are called, began to arrive in St. John's looking for berths. As the steamers afforded better opportunities, the able men got them, while the older ones took to the sailing craft, where life was not so strenuous. These men were dressed very much alike and were most athletic; some of them were perfectly wonderful in the way they jumped from pan to pan, barely touching some of the smaller ones in passage. The owners did not overfeed the men on these trips, providing them with sea biscuits and pinnacle tea chiefly, pork and duff being served only three days a week and salt fish on Fridays. The water from which the tea was brewed was obtained by thawing pinnacles of ice. When ice floes came together they rafted one on to the other and shattered fragments stuck up in all directions. Snow piled upon these and was frozen. When water was wanted, a body of men with axes went on the ice and broke off the pinnacles, which were taken on board and stacked on deck. As water was required these were put into a tank and steam turned on. Tea was made with this water, and molasses added in place of cream and sugar. Our water for the cabin use was not obtained from this source.

On steamers the crew received one-third of the catch, on sailing ships one-half. This was made to the Newfoundland men only on the Dundee ships, the Dundee crew getting paid so much a month, as well as a fraction of the catch. When a ship was amongst the white coats, as the young seals were called, the crew lived well, as they ate the livers, hearts and flippers of the seals. The men carried a supply of livers and hearts in their belts and ate them frozen or cooked as opportunity afforded. It is easy to see how little cooking can be done for a crew of three hundred men on a small ship. I have often seen a man tie a cord to a liver and drop it into a pot of tea sitting on the galley stove, drawing it out when warmed up or when the owner of the pot came for his tea.

Sailing ships were allowed to leave port on March 1st, but steamers could not clear for the sealing until March 10th, and the laws were very strictly enforced. It was not unusual for a ship to have her pans of seals pilfered by another ship during a fog, and this often led to legal complications. I have frequently seen our men cut private marks on the fatty sides of the sculps so that they might be identified afterwards. Of course, any ship would pick up a pan which had lost its flag. Sometimes the sweilers had great luck, being gone only a week or two and coming back with their pockets full. A sculp was worth $2.00 to $3.00, and as the men received one-third of all taken, it amounted to a good deal for them, and as it came oft at a season when there was nothing else being done, it added greatly to its value.

Ships engaging in this work had to have their hold hulkheaded off so that, should they encounter bad weather, the cargo would not shift. As the Aurora was tanked, that was all that was necessary. If the ship were long in reaching port after taking her seals on hoard, the fat might break down and the oil flood everything, unless the ship had tanks. In our case the sculps were on board such a short time that they were as fresh looking when landed as when taken. The fat was separated from the skin on shore by a man with a long knife. He drew a sculp over a board and caught the edge of it with his left hand; using the knife with his right, in a few sweeps he removed all the blubber. This was thrown into a sausage machine and afterwards steamed in tanks to extract the oil, which was refined by exposure to the sun's rays. The oil was used for machinery and in lighthouses, and the skins were made into harness, boots, etc., farmers using the refuse for fertilizing purposes.

When one saw this small army of fine looking, hard working and very poor men, he could not help being sorry that their forefathers in emigrating had not gone a little further and settled in Canada or the United States, instead of on this inhospitable land. Think of how comparatively easy their lives would have been, and what a return they would have reaped for their work. Newfoundland meant to every one of them a life of toil with not much more hope than the mother country could have given them. Poor soil and a relentless winter mean this as a rule in a country the mineral resources of which have not been developed.

CHAPTER IV—NEWFOUNDLAND SEALING

"The ice was here, the ice was there,

The ice was all around;

It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,

Like noises in a swound."

March 10th. At five A. M. all was life on board the Aurora. On awaking, I had coffee, which was in the cabin, and, muffling up well, I went on deck, as it was bitterly cold. The night was cloudy and dark but the ship was illuminated with torches, and on each side of the gangway stood the mate and ice-master, calling the roll. The Newfoundland men came on board as their names were called, about three hundred in all, including the quartermasters, who lived down in the quarter-hatch. The men all wore boots made of untanned seal skin, from which the hair had been removed. They were very light and serviceable and came up to the knee. Spikes were driven into the soles to prevent slipping on the ice, and the decks were preserved from these by rough plank sheathing. There was great wrangling and disputing, as many of the men had been celebrating the occasion.

At six A. M. we cast loose and by degrees broke our way from the wharf. The scene, when the sun arose, was intensely interesting; all the sealing ships were out, trying to crush their way towards the narrows, and, as the harbor was entirely frozen over, this was hard work. Two ships, the Resolute and the Polynia, were behind us, and these last sent two or three hundred to assist our Newfoundland crew in pulling on a hawser over our bows, while our Scotch crew on board ran backwards and forwards across the deck to make the ship roll. This rolling often helped greatly when the ship put her bows in a crack. Our method was to go full speed astern for a few yards, and then full speed ahead, the eight or nine hundred men on the ice pulling for all they were worth at the same time, and the Aurora's men on board running across the deck to keep up the roll. As there were thousands of men similarly employed on and about the other ships, and as they were all singing, the scene may be imagined.

The Nimrod and Neptune were moving on, well ahead of us, and when we got into their wake, the Aurora moved along faster. It was eight bells by the time we passed through the narrows; there the ice was much looser, so we all pushed off in our various directions to look for the breeding haunts of seals. Captain Fairweather kept a little nearer shore than the others, and by evening there were only a few ships in sight.

I retired early, as I had been up for many hours, and even the bumping and thumping of the ship, as she went full speed ahead and full speed astern every few minutes all night, did not keep me awake.

March 11th. When I went on deck, a wonderful Arctic scene presented itself. A snow storm was raging and the ship looked as though she had been fast there for years. She was literally buried in snow, and the weather was so cold that the snow had frozen on her yards and rigging. The morning was dark and one could not see very far. Under the starboard bow the ice was heavy, causing the ship to lie over to port. The wind was from the southeast and had driven the ice in on us. There was a great deal of creaking and crunching from moving floes and the wind made a lot of noise in the rigging. By noon the weather had moderated and the snow ceased; by night the wind was coming from the northeast and the ice slackened, the ship being upon an even keel. Of course, snow was not allowed to remain very long on deck, as our big crew had nothing to do but shovel it off.

I looked into the 'tween-decks and saw a horrible mess. The bunks were full of men, many playing cards, as each bunk held four. They must have been stifled. For light, lamps burning seal oil were used, and the reek coming from the main hatch would almost have suggested fire.

During the night, the ship got under way, and her bumping awoke me several times.

March 12th. In the morning, we were again beset. Hearing a noise on deck, I went up. On the poop a lot of duffs were lying about like 64 lb. shot. A crowd of angry men could be seen on the main deck and facing them was the Captain. A big Newfoundland man came up the steps and, breaking a duff in two, held it up and asked the Captain to look at it. It was an awkward moment and called for immediate action. But the Captain was a man of action, so he planted a blow between the man's eyes and asked him to look at that; the man dropped back dazed and the trouble came to an end at once.

The Captain told a story at breakfast about a steward once saying that more tea would not be required for the next voyage as he had been boiling the leaves from the cabin and giving it to the crew. An order was at once issued to serve out good tea of the proper strength instead. Next morning all hands came aft to complain about the black stuff the cook was serving out, and demanding that proper tea, such as they had been having, should be served.

The weather was now fine, and the world very white, the only visible black being a pond of open water half a mile to the east of us. The wind was again from the east and the cold intense; in fact, one could hardly face it on account of small particles of ice driven by it.

After breakfast I took my rifle and went to the lee side of the open water. It was perhaps a fourth of a mile long and a hundred and fifty yards wide. Every little while a few seals would bob up at one end of the hole and then, giving a few plunges, disappear. I crouched behind a pinnacle for shelter and, watching past the side of it, soon had a shot. I fancied I heard the bullet strike, but the seal disappeared; presently another came. This time I was sure that I saw the water around bloodstained, but there was a ripple and it was difficult to see anything lying low on it. I spent several hours at this work and was perfectly certain I had hit many seals. On one occasion, I saw the side of one I had shot, with the water breaking over it, but presently it disappeared. I knew that at this season the animals would float, and as I was on the lee side, why did they not drift down to me? Cold at last drove me back to the Aurora, and, on relating my experiences, the ice-master told me that I would find the dead animals at the weather side of the hole, as the ice, drifting before the wind, would travel faster than the dead and almost completely submerged seals. So taking a man with me, I had the satisfaction of seeing seven big male harps pulled out, the first I had ever killed and the first secured by the ship.

During the afternoon the ice eased off and the ship again proceeded. She was getting along pretty well at bedtime, but not making any particular course.

March 13th. It was about five A. M. when the steward came to my room and lit the lamp. He said we were among the "white coats" and he seemed greatly pleased. I dressed and, going up, found bright moonlight. The ship was hard and fast. In every direction I could hear sounds like the crying of children. I could also see gangs of men on the ice and some coming on board. The men had been taking advantage of the moonlight to begin their work, and all were in splendid spirits, as a full ship meant much to them.

About six the whistle sounded for all hands to come on board for breakfast, and after that they were organized into companies, commanded by their own quartermasters, and proceeded about the slaughter in a well regulated manner. Each man carried a spruce pole, on the end of which was a sort of boat hook called a "gaff," and each also had a tow rope. The method of proceeding was as follows:

A company would go in a certain direction and then scatter. A man would kill four or five whitecoats by hitting them on the head with his gaff. He would pull them together and sculp them, that is, with his sculping knife he would make an incision on the under surface of the body, its entire length, through the skin and fat. How the skin, with its subcutaneous fat, was very loosely adherent to the rest of the body of the young seal, so with a very few sweeps of the knife the body was separated and thrown away. He then made a few holes along each side of the sculp, which was oblong, and through these laced his tow rope. When the four or five had been thus arranged, he towed them to a selected pan, where they were piled with the others, a pole was stuck up, bearing a flag on which was the name of the ship, and this being done, the sealers moved on and established another pan.

While the St. John's men were busy with the sealing, the Scotch crew remained on the ship, throwing the coal overboard. The ship, leaving Newfoundland, took a lot of coal, as she did not know where she might have to go or how long she might be away. In our case, we found the seals at once, so the coal, being of no further use and of no value, compared with the seals, was thrown overboard.

I went aloft to have a look at our surroundings. We were in Bonavista Bay, and in the distance I saw the Neptune sealing. She was a large ship and took an enormous cargo. It seemed too bad that these should be the only two vessels in the midst of this harvest. I saw, with the glass, seals by the thousand; they were principally to the north of us, and it was evident that we would fill the ship, unless a gale broke up the ice too soon. Astern, I noticed a patch of ice on which there were lots of old harps. Getting my rifle and going over to the place, I found a great many seal holes in the ice. I watched. A seal would stick its head out of one and, seeing me, would instantly go down again. This was going on all over the area before me. Sitting down, I decided to take the first head presenting itself. By watching any given hole, one would probably very soon have a shot, but it was more exciting to take the heads as they came up. It was very quick shooting and good sport. Every time I hit a seal, I killed it, because only the head could be seen. At this season, the animals, being in prime condition, floated; but getting one out of its hole was very difficult. If one turned it around and seized the hind flippers, the fore flippers caught the ice, and there was nothing to take hold of about its head. I found, that by sticking an empty cartridge through the nose and catching this at each side, a man could manage to pull the seal out by throwing himself back. I amused myself at this game until eight bells, when I went on board for dinner and found the Captain in splendid spirits. There was every chance of his filling his ship and being first in, and I questioned whether these honors had ever been obtained by any Scotch master at the Newfoundland sealing before. After dinner, I took a man with me who pulled out the seals and sculped them, hauling them to the ship, which remained fast. The crew got on well with the coal and soon had several tanks cleaned out and ready for the nearest pan, and by night we had about 2,500 on board. I went aloft again and saw our pan flags flying in great numbers, while the men were very busy several miles away. After dark, the sealers came on board and reported having killed probably 10,000. Many of the men had given themselves bad cuts with their sharp sculping knives, but all were very happy, forward and aft.

March 14th. Every one up at dawn. The ship was alongside a pan when I came on deck, and the winch was going all the time, while the orders "Heave away port," "Heave away starboard," were being constantly given, and every few minutes a bunch of sculps would be hauled on board and thrown below by the men on deck. When this pan was cleaned up, the officer in the barrel directed the ship's course to the next, and so it went, all day long, a portion of the crew working coal as usual. I went aloft and saw our men, five or six miles away, piling up our cargo. In the afternoon, I went off: in the direction the men were and fortunately I had a gaff: with me. I had on very thick clothes and a pilot jacket over all. When about a mile from the ship, and while walking over a nice, smooth piece of ice, I noticed that it was bending under me. I turned and was getting back to the hummocks, when I went through. Fortunately, the gaff caught on both sides and I only went in up to my arms, so was able to climb out. The cold of the water was intense and I had a fright. Before reaching the ship, my clothes were frozen hard. One great comfort about the Aurora was that she was a steamer, so when any accidents of this kind occurred, it was a great thing, having the top of the boiler to retire to. Here one had warmth at any rate. As there was nothing much separating the top of our boiler from the stoke hole, there was a deposit of ashes and soot, but a little thing like that did not much trouble a man fished out of a frozen sea.

It was cold and dark when the sealers began coming on board and a fog was settling down, so about nine P. M. we were quite uneasy over some who bad not turned up. The whistle sounded frequently, and it was a relief when the last appeared. Some were really very much exhausted and were given rum.

We took on board about five thousand seals and the men had killed many thousand more.

March 15th. A snow storm blowing, so the men could not go to the sealing, and very little new work was accomplished. However, the ship managed to reach a lot of her pans, and the Newfoundland men hauled the sculps from others farther away, so that by night, four thousand more were on board. Coal was worked energetically all day.

The barometer was rising at night and the snow had ceased, so the weather looked more settled.

March 16th. Sealers away when I came on deck, and our own crew very busy with the seals and coal. The ice showed a lot of leads and there were seals in the open ponds, so I spent my time at them with the rifle and had some good shooting.

At dinner the mate told us we had taken on board over three thousand sculps and by night two thousand more were added to these. About sixteen thousand five hundred were now on board.

I spent some time aloft. The glare from the ice was fearfully trying as the sun was very bright. Owing to the open character of the ice, we followed the sealers quite well. We found several of our pans broken by the weight of seals on them; in every case we saw sharks in the open water beside the broken pan. Once the ship had her engines going ahead to keep her bows against the ice, while she took seals on board (I was looking over the rail aft), when I saw a shark gliding up to the propeller. It hit him on the side and cut a flap out about two feet long. He swam about with this mass hanging from him for awhile and then went back to the propeller, which finished him with an awful gash across the neck. This was the only one I saw killed.

The night was clear and the men had no difficulty in getting on board.

March 17th. It was blowing and the ice was rather tight; there was also some snow, so the sealers were employed bringing sculps on board, as pans were being broken. I saw one split in two. Half the sculps had been lost in the water, and there were numbers of sharks around. A man stuck his gaff into one several times, and it did not appear to mind. It was difficult getting the seals on board as the heavy snow squalls prevented our seeing the leads. However, twenty-five hundred more were secured from broken pans in our immediate neighborhood. The ship was drifting south all the time; and the Neptune was still in sight when it cleared in the afternoon.

March 18th. All hands up early and a good start made. Nearly all the coal over the side. I watched the men bringing on board pinnacles in the morning. As they had been sealing steadily for a week and had not paid much attention to their toilets, sleeping in their clothes, etc., and as each one had a fringe of frozen livers sticking in his belt, and the sheathed decks were soaking in oil, the pinnacles had a chance of acquiring a nutritious quality which must have given body to the tea manufactured out of them. However, the men did not mind, and as our cabin supply of water was all right, I did not mind either.

The ship picked up a lot of pans and added five thousand more to our collection. Towards evening it became foggy and cold, and we had several frights about men being lost. One fellow came on board and stated that he had seen so and so two miles from the ship, unable to proceed. Some rum was given to him and with a couple of others he started off to bring the exhausted one in. All were on board safely by nine P. M. There was no doubt but that often the rum served out found its way into throats that were far from being too weak to swallow, but such dreadful accidents have occurred that one acts on the safe side. There was no abuse of liquor on board the Aurora, but the Captain did not hesitate to supply it when absolutely necessary.

March 19th. A nice day for sealing, as there was no difficulty getting about to the pans. We brought on board about two thousand, and the ship was practically full. Now we began to clear out the 'tween-decks and to throw the men's bunks overboard. They did not object to a few days of supreme discomfort because they received one-third of the catch. We had the bunkers filled with coal and a lot of sacks piled upon the poop, and every available place was cleared out for this valuable cargo. The ship began to look dirty, as she had scraped off her paint, and the coal dust and oil bad been liberally applied.

It began to blow in the afternoon, with snow squalls. All the men were on board in good time.

During the day I caught a young seal. It had shed nearly all its long white hair and the short, silvery coat underneath looked very pretty. I amused myself plucking the balance of the original coat. The seal appeared to enjoy it. It was killed accidentally a few days later.

March 20th. Blowing bard with snow squalls. A number of pans were broken and many sculps lost, but we secured all we wanted; about one thousand came on board and the 'tween-decks were nearly full.

March 21st. A fine day, but the ship beset, so we cleaned up and finished off the 'tween-decks; then we put all on deck that we thought the ship would carry. This would not have been done had the ship had to go any distance, but all the time we were sealing we had been drifting south, so that we were now a very short distance from St. John's. The Captain and mate would stand on the ice and look her over and then decide that perhaps she would carry a few more, and so on, until there was not much of the Aurora's bull above the water. The ice opened in the afternoon and we laid our course for St. John's, steaming half speed. The ship was decorated with flags, the men cheering and singing—at least two hundred of them without shelter; they stood upon the forecastle head and among the sculps on deck. The wind had died away and it was a beautiful afternoon. There were plenty of leads and the ice becoming more open every hour.

March 22nd. During the night we passed through Baccalieu Tickle and in the morning we were close to the coast. As we steamed through the narrows, the men climbed the rigging and cheered. We had accomplished a wonderful thing. The ship was the first in of the year, and was also full. Soon we were tied up at our old berth on the south side, and our crew were busy discharging our cargo of about twenty-eight thousand seals. Each young seal counted one in settling with the crew and each old seal counted two; of course, an old seal took up much more room than two young ones, and on a voyage like this, where the ship could be filled with young, the crew were not anxious to kill old ones. On our two trips, the Aurora actually killed 28,150, but the crew were paid for 29,300.

CHAPTER V—THE LABRADOR SEALING

"Now, Brothers, for the icebergs of frozen Labrador

Floating spectral in the moonshine, along the low black

shore!

When the mist the rock is hiding and the sharp reef lurks

below

And the white squall smites in summer, and the autumn

tempests blow."

The work of discharging our cargo began at once—first the sculps on deck, then those in the 'tween-decks and then those in the tanks. Thereafter the ship was given a rough cleaning; new berths were erected in the 'tween-decks and quarter-hatch but not so many as before. The bunkers and tanks were coaled and then we cast about for a crew. All the seals taken on this second cruise would have to be shot, so we did not expect to bring back very many; but the Aurora had her own Scotch crew under pay, and they had to be fed, so she might as well be at sea picking up a few seals as lying in the harbor waiting for May 1st. It was not so very easy finding a crew as they would have little to eat and could not possibly earn much money. However, at last we were ready and on Wednesday, April 2nd, sailed. We had heard nothing of the Arctic, and very little of any of the other ships. The Neptune came in after us with about 40,000, which was a tremendous cargo, but she was a big ship. There was much more room with our reduced Newfoundland crew, and we steamed out of the narrows for the second time with the ship very much more comfortable than on the first occasion.

I must say the appearance of the Aurora at this time was disreputable in the extreme. The paint had been scraped off by the ice, and the filthy sheathing covered the decks, while the fragrant bilge water flowed from her side in a pellucid stream.

The Captain told me that he intended following the seals which were going north towards Labrador and that he expected to fall in with great herds of year-olds, called bedlamers. We left port after breakfast and steamed out onto a calm sea, shaping our course north. During the afternoon we saw patches of ice scattered about and when night came we slowed down and kept a bright lookout.

April 2nd was a blustery day with occasional snow showers. There was no sea, however, to tumble the ship about as there was a good deal of ice. We were easily able to avoid the fields by steaming around them. Some were very heavy looking, having quantities of rafted ice on them. Towards night, it became calm and thick.

April 4th. Steamed dead slow all night as it was thick. In the morning the sea was calm but still foggy. This was pea-soup day. We always had pea soup on Fridays; we also always had fish for breakfast; it was salt cod. The salt was taken out in some way and then the fish was cut into very small pieces and boiled with broken up sea biscuits and butter, pepper, etc. I have never tasted anything so good since. In fact, I have never since tasted anything so good as the food on the whaler after the first month. There was an absurd arrangement about our meals; it was all right at sea, but in Greenland, when we walked about during the night perhaps as much as during the day, it was distressing. Breakfast was at eight, dinner at noon, and tea at five; there was no regulation meal between five P. M. and eight A. M. I modified this by having a special meal at eleven P. M. At that time I took a pot of coffee from the galley and retired to the pantry for a quiet half hour.

April 5th. The day was fine. A good deal of ice was in sight and occasional seals could be seen. When one was seen ahead, or a few points on either bow, the ship bore down upon it. As we came close, the seal would first raise its head to see what was coming, then raise its body upon its flippers and stare.

A number of men with rifles were always on the forecastle head and of this number I was generally one. If some one did not try too long a shot and frighten it, we always killed the seal. We had a large number of punts on board and one was towed astern in the daytime and with it every seal was picked up. They all counted. Some days we had very good sport and I enjoyed it.

April 6th. Sunday. Huff day. We had plum pudding on Sundays and Thursdays. The puddings were not round, but oval. The steward made delicious sauce out of condensed milk and, of course, we had the Spartan sauce with everything. The Captain was very consistent in his observation of Sunday—no unnecessary work was done on that day. If there were whales, we fished, but I never saw a man kept at work on Sunday if it could be avoided. This day we did the usual shooting from the forecastle head. The temptation to shoot first was dreadful. I dare say we picked up fifteen or twenty seals. This was a sad Sunday because of the death of our canary. I was in the cabin when Jack, the steward, discovered the fact. He immediately took the seed box out of the cage to the pantry, filled it and brought it back. Captain Fairweather came down shortly after to breakfast and immediately noticed the absence of the bird, as it was always hopping about and making a noise. Jack was called. A look of surprise came over his face when asked about the canary and he immediately climbed on to the seat and, looking into the cage, said, with tears in his eyes, "Oh, Sir, the poor wee bird is deid;" adding, as he pulled out the drawer, "Well, it is not for want of plenty to eat." I don't think for a moment that the bird died of starvation, but Jack wanted to simplify the post-mortem inquiry by eliminating that possibility. Our steward was a remarkable man and eminently qualified by nature for his position. He could produce a look of absolute innocence or of sympathy at a moment's notice; his suaviter in modo would have fitted him for the diplomatic service; and as a dreamer he was without a peer.

There is a great knack about dreaming. To make a reputation and keep it up even on a whaler requires the judgment of a Delphic priest.

It was the presence of Jack, the steward, that gave the atmosphere of a home to the Aurora's cabin and we all liked him.

April 7th. I saw a most interesting thing today. It was an old dog hood; to call it Cystophora Cristata might give the describer some relief; but it would convey no idea of this angry-looking creature as he reared up and gazed at us. How we all resisted firing until he had exhibited himself, I don't know; but when he was looking perfectly terrible and fifty yards away, a dozen copper-nosed bullets found their billets about his head and neck. He was 7 1/2 feet long and a tremendous size around the shoulders. The bag on his head, when fully distended, must have stood eight or nine inches, and extended from the muzzle to four inches behind the eyes. The hood is only found on the male. It is considered ornamental by the females of the same species, but horrible looking by all other animals, I am sure. The beast added about 400 pounds to our little cargo, but the animal, skin and all, certainly weighed seven or eight hundred. During the day we killed quite a number of hoods, but the first was the largest. We did not make much of a run, but dodged about and picked things up. A young hood is rather blue-looking on the back and white underneath.

The engine slowed down at night, as usual.

April 8th. This was one of the most lovely days, with bright sunshine, and there was dazzling ice in every direction. To the east of us we saw a beautiful barque under canvas; she was playing our game, dodging about and picking up seals. As she was not a steamer, and had a small crew, she was consequently inexpensive to work; there was no reason why she should not pay her owners well, especially if she got amongst the hoods, five or six of which would yield a ton of oil. We kept out to her, and finding she was the Maud of Dundee, I was sent on board to hear the news. I was hospitably entertained by the captain, who gave me some old Dundee papers, but those I brought from the Aurora were much more recent. When I returned, I saw a funny thing happen. We had a Newfoundland cook, Jack; he had a triangular face with the base up; a tuft of hair grew from the apex and was the only decoration. With his long shaved upper lip, he had an amusing look and he was a character.

The ship was bearing down towards ice upon which there was a young hood. It had been injured and made no effort to escape. Thinking it dead, no one fired and we were almost on to it when Jack, looking over the side, saw it. He had not killed a seal that season, so, seizing a gaff, he leaped on to the pan and we all cheered. As Jack lit on the ice, it broke in two. The seal slid gracefully off its half, but Jack's half, almost submerged, swung around under the ship's quarter, where the propeller was threshing away. Jack paused for a moment between Scylla and Charybdis, and then giving a wild leap, he disappeared in the sea as far from the propeller as he could jump. It was most amusing to see this big man give his wild leap; he was fished out by the punt astern. A small matter, like a man being half drowned, always amused these simple people so much.

I have said that the Newfoundlanders were not over-fed on this trip. We had, for cabin use, numerous quarters of Dundee beef lashed in our tops. They kept splendidly up there. One morning the steward reported a quarter of our Dundee beef stolen. One of the Newfoundland cooks was sent for at once and I heard the conversation between the angry Captain and the astonished cook. I heard the cook report every morning how he was on the track of a thief: "Begorra, sor, I have my eye on him;" or, "Begorra, sor, I could put my hand on the man," and so on until we got back without the thief having been turned over; I heard afterwards that the cook certainly could have at any moment put his hand on the man who took the beef.

April 9th. This was one of the most interesting days I spent. At breakfast, I heard the captain and the mate discussing blinks, that is, reflections. For instance, an ice blink at sea would mean a sort of whitish reflection in the sky over an area of ice, or a water blink would be a dark reflection in the sky over a dark area. We were surrounded by ice and were approaching a dark blink. Was it water or seals? Before breakfast was over, the report came from the crow's-nest that the seals were ahead. I went aloft and saw an extraordinary sight. The ice ahead of us appeared to be positively black with seals. They covered acres and acres. We steamed right up to them and then about twenty men, with rifles, went on to the ice and a lot of others followed to sculp and haul the sculps to the ship. This ice was not solid but made up of thousands of pans all detached. They were generally touching in places, but two or three sprawls would bring any individual seal to some sort of a hole through which it could escape; therefore, it had to be killed instantly or it would disappear. The shooting began at once, the men kneeling down and opening up at the nearest animals. Just as fast as they could consume ammunition, they fired at seals close at hand, and, as these disappeared, at those farther away. There was far too much shooting for much result. Presently they began to get closer. A would kneel down and fire as fast as possible so as to use as much ammunition as he could before B would pass him. B would then rush past and begin shooting, and so on. Now, with regard to this rushing about,—we were travelling on pans of ice of all sizes, some a few feet square, some as large as a table, some twenty times that size, but we certainly had to watch where we were going. When the men scattered, they shot better, but it was much more dangerous, as the express bullets were singing about everywhere. I had two men who took me off to one side and who gave me the best shooting I ever enjoyed. The seals were inclined to bask in the sun and enjoy themselves; so, if we went about it quietly, we could easily stalk a pan and advance to within fifty or seventy-five yards; then, if we shot carefully and only hit heads, we would not disturb the others. Should we wound one, it would not only go down itself but would frighten the others on the same pan. I shot off a number of entire pans by quietly getting close and then picking them off.

The seal, properly hit, just drops its head, while the others hold theirs up for you. This was warm work and the barrel of the rifle became so hot that I had constantly to put it on the snow to cool off. I watched some of the Newfoundland men shooting when we started and saw several of them miss every shot. All they did was to endanger their fellow men and wound an occasional seal; of course there were some crack shots among them, but it would have paid well to have tested the ability of all before serving out rifles to them. As there was not a cloud in the sky, we were greatly sunburnt and several had a touch of snow-blindness in spite of wearing colored glasses. We probably picked up three or four hundred seals, and had there been about eight or ten men who understood the use of firearms, they would have killed a thousand easily.

The sealing cap worn by the Dundee men was very suitable. The peak was covered with lamb's wool dyed black, so when turned down it absorbed a great deal of the glare. Wool had to be wound around the metal work of the colored glasses we wore on account of the cold.

April 10th. Nothing makes one rest like a hard day's work in the open air. My shoulder was black and blue with firing and my ears rang with the noise while my eyes smarted and my face burned, but I slept like a log until seven bells.

The ship had not moved all night. We were off the coast of Labrador, but out of sight of land. There was a great deal of ice everywhere and by dawn we were steaming north as fast as possible in the effort to overtake our game. By noon the seals were in sight and we went through the same performance as the day before. I did not attempt it with the main body, but with two good men went off in a slightly different direction. The express was certainly a good rifle, and its trajectory very flat, when we consider the powder. I examined a great many wounds that day and in every case found the bullet had expanded well if it had hit anything hard. These seals were nearly all bedlamers and we did not kill any hoods either of these days, although we had picked up quite a number coming up the coast. This was a shorter day, and we did not kill so many. It was quite late when the ship took the last of her men on board, for they had become scattered. One man had fallen in several times and was very much exhausted. However, I was able to make him swallow some rum and he soon revived. A sailor is very feeble and dissolution near at hand when a little rum cannot be coaxed down with a spoon or other suitable instrument—even then I would not advise leaving the bottle close to him while looking for the spoon, lest, during his unconscious struggles, he should spill it.

April 11th. We were always on the lookout for the Arctic, but saw nothing of her. Before leaving St. John's we heard that the Thetis had been sold to the American Government for the Greely relief expedition, so she would not appear among the sealers that year. Captain Fairweather's brother was master of her, so he was disappointed.

We kept north in our effort to overtake the seals, the barometer falling a little towards evening, and a swell coming in from the southeast. We were well on the outer or eastern edge of the ice, as the Captain did not want to take any chance of being jammed among heavy floes coming down the coast. During the evening we had a most wonderful sunset. The sky was red not only to the west, but nearly all over, and the reflection on the ice was magnificent. The frozen sea is fascinating when the sun goes down and before dark; also by moonlight, or bright starlight.

During the day the glare is too great but a moonlight night on a frozen sea is the grandest sight possible. The weird sounds caused by the ever restless ice are a fitting accompaniment. On this Friday night, the sounds caused by the ever increasing sea, crunching the pack up, were rather startling at times, but we kept pretty well out of it, so we were safe. There was quite a little motion on board, owing to the swell, and we steamed easy ahead all night, going full speed at daybreak, and by noon had the satisfaction of finding our seals. We went oft, but not quite as usual. The roll of the sea had crunched the pack up and broken all the large sheets of ice, so we were obliged to jump from one pan to another while they were rising and falling on the long swell of the Atlantic. There was nothing sudden or uncertain about the motion. The long heavy rollers lifted one up and lowered one down, and when between them, one could not see very far. Now occurred a sort of stalking that I have never seen described, i. e., running after a large wave and keeping perfectly still when the following wave overtook one; then repeating the stalk, always running in the trough between the two waves. In this manner I did some efficient work and shot a great many seals.

Most of the time was spent watching where to put my feet; but, on feeling the rise coming, I stood perfectly still and watched the seals. I was regaled with accounts of men who had been injured and cut in two by this sort of thing; but we did not meet with the slightest accident and every one was picked up by sundown. The ship managed to follow through the ice pretty well, picking up a few seals here and there, as they had been sculped, so that we added several hundreds to our collection.

April 13th. Sunday. The day was fine and we picked up occasional seals but did not find a herd. It was a complete day of rest for all hands. The ice to the west of us looked very heavy and the Captain was careful to avoid it. We lay to at night, but by daybreak on Monday morning we were dodging north again.

April 14th. I had my first shot at a walrus, sea-horse, as it is called. Shortly after breakfast the usual rifles were on the forecastle head when the officer in the crow's-nest called down that he saw a walrus. The ship was kept down on it, and presently we all saw the big animal with his long white tusks. In this case, they were very long and could be seen from a great distance. He was on a pan with open water all around, so we steamed straight at him. As we approached, he raised himself higher and higher on his flippers and disappeared after having received a fearful fusillade, at less than a ship's length. I would have liked the chance of examining his skin just to count the hits and see the effect. We heard the thud of striking bullets, but the walrus gave a plunge and was seen no more.

We did the usual amount of sealing from the ship, but had not any men on the ice. Two or three times we had several punts out, but they did not pick up very many.

April 15th. We dodged back and forth amongst the floating ice, keeping a little closer to land but not seeing much of interest. There was a very large floe which bore evidence of great rafting; between the hummocks on it there was fresh water, regular ponds with connecting channels. I was on this floe, as we shot a few seals on it, so tasted the water, which was sweet and good. I have often seen quite big ponds on floes fast to bergs, and we took water on board sometimes from these.

For the next few days we steamed south without seeing anything of interest. The weather was cold, but fine, and the ice less as we neared St. John's. We were careful after dark and generally steamed slow. The crew were employed in cleaning up.

April 19th. Saturday. Arrived at St. John's in the morning and took our usual berth. Our entire catch of seals for the two trips was 28,150, but the crew were paid for 29,300 as there were some large old seals and they counted more.

There was great news for us on our arrival. I have already mentioned the sale of the Thetis to the American Government. We now received orders from Dundee to take the place of the Thetis and proceed to Davis Straits. The gear removed from this ship was being sent out to us by an Allan boat. We were to keep our eyes open for the lost Greely, as a reward had been offered by the United States for any whaler picking him up.

A Voyage to the Arctic in the Whaler Aurora

A VOYAGE TO THE ARCTIC IN THE WHALER AURORA

By David Moore Lindsay, F. R. G. S.

"Our infant winter sinks, divested of its grandeur, should our eye astonish'd shoot into the frigid zone."

BOSTON: DANA ESTES & COMPANY PUBLISHERS

1911

DEDICATED

TO

SIR THOMAS MYLES