Left on Labrador

C >> Charles Asbury Stephens >> Left on Labrador

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Went home that evening, and the next day advertised for a cook. It was
answered by three colored "gemmen," two of whom modestly withdrew
their application when they found where we were going, not caring to
brave the chill of polar latitudes. The other, who was not a little
tattered in his wardrobe, and correspondingly reckless, was quite
willing to set his face toward the pole. Although but recently from
"Sou' Car'liny, sar," and black as a crow, he assured us he could
stand the cold "jes' like a fly, sar."

"What name?" Raed asked.

"Charles Sumner Harris, sar. Been cook on oyster-schooner, sar."

"Charles Sumner Harris!" exclaimed Wade, who was coming in. "You never
wore that name in South Carolina."

"No, sar; lately 'dopted it, sar."

"What was your old name?" demanded Wade, looking at him as if he was
about to give him five hundred lashes.

The man hesitated.

"When you were a slave, I mean. Yes, you were: don't deny it."

"They called me Palmleaf den, sar."

"Very well: that's what I shall call you. None of your Charles Sumner
Harrises!"

"Oh! don't bully him," Kit said. "Give him a chance for himself."

"We shall see enough of his airs," Wade muttered.

He was a rather hard-looking citizen. We engaged him, however, at
thirty dollars a month; and it is but simple justice to him and his
race to add, that, like the traditionary singed cat, he did better
than his general appearance would have guaranteed at that time.

The next morning we wrote to Capt. Mazard with directions to take "The
Curlew" into Gloucester as soon as the carpenter-work was finished. He
would need two or three hands temporarily. These were to be hired, and
their car-fare back to Portland paid, at our expense.

Another matter now came up. It was quite possible that we might
encounter ice at the entrance of Davis Straits, as well as in Hudson
Straits, if we should venture in there: indeed, we might be caught in
the ice. "The Curlew," though a stanch schooner, was only strengthened
in the ordinary way.

"Will it not be best and safest," Raed argued, "to have her
strengthened with cross-beams and braces? A few strong beams of this
sort might save the vessel from being crushed."

As we were held to pay half the cost of the schooner in case of such
an accident, to say nothing of our personal peril, we judged it
prudent to neglect no means to render the voyage as safe as possible.
Accordingly, we went out to Gloucester, and arranged for having it
done; also for getting in water and fuel. In short, there seemed no
end to the _items_ to be seen to. If ever four fellows were kept busy,
we were the four from the 20th of May to the 6th of June. Our
ship-stores we bought in Boston, and had them sent to Gloucester by
rail. It seemed desirable for us landsmen to have our food as nearly
like that we had been in the habit of having as possible. We
accordingly purchased five barrels of flour (not a little of it
spoiled) at eight dollars per barrel; three of salt pork at sixteen
dollars per barrel; two of beef at twelve dollars; six of potatoes at
two dollars and fifty cents; two fifty-pound tubs of butter at
thirty-five cents per pound; coffee, tea, sugar, and "preserves" to
the tune of sixty dollars; and two hundred pounds corn-meal, four
dollars.... Then there were a score of other little necessaries,
amounting to near fifty dollars; in all, a bill of two hundred and
seventy-four dollars. These stores were bought at our own suggestion.
It would have been better to have taken the advice of some experienced
shipmaster: it might have cost us less, and we should afterwards have
fared better, to have done so.

I remember that we took along a lot of confectioneries, both for our
own delectation and also to "treat" the Esquimaux on! That was a wild
shot. As well offer an Esquimau cold boiled parsnip as a stick of
candy. We also had two boxes of lemons! Which of us was responsible
for the proposition for lemonade in Hudson Straits has never been
satisfactory settled. We none of us _can remember_ how the lemons came
on board. Wade says they were bought as an antidote for sea-sickness.
A far more sensible article of traffic was twenty dollars' worth of
iron in small bars; four dozen large jack-knives; twenty
butcher-knives, and the same number of hatchets. We had also a web of
red flannel at twenty dollars; in all, ninety dollars.

For mattresses, blankets, "comforters," and buffalo-skins, there was
expended the sum of a hundred and twenty-three dollars. Ten
Springfield rifles at ten dollars each (bought at an auction-sale),
with a quantity of cartridges, one hundred and twelve dollars. For an
old six-pound howitzer, purchased by Capt. Mazard from a schooner
supposed to have been engaged in the slave-trade, nineteen dollars;
and for ammunition (powder, iron shot, and a lot of small bullets),
thirty-seven dollars.

For firing at seals or bears from the deck of the schooner, we had
made, at Messrs, R. & Co.'s machine-shop, a large rifle of about an
inch bore, and set like a miniature cannon in a wrought-iron frame,
arranged with a swivel for turning it, and a screw for elevating or
depressing the muzzle. This novel weapon was, as I must needs own, one
of my projection, and was always a subject for raillery from my
comrades. Its cost, including the mounting, was ninety-seven dollars.
In all, three hundred and eighty-eight dollars.

Then there were other bills, including the cost of several nautical
telescopes, also ice-anchors, ice-chisels, sounding-line, hawsers,
&c., to the sum of a hundred and three dollars.

The lumber and carpenter work on "The Curlew" at Portland made a bill
of a hundred and nine dollars; seamen's wages to Gloucester, with
car-fare back, nineteen dollars; bracing and strengthening the
schooner, sixty-seven dollars; cost of getting in fuel and water,
thirty-three dollars; and other bills to the amount of forty-nine
dollars: in all, two hundred and seventy-seven dollars. We had thus to
pay out at the start over eleven hundred dollars. Capt. Mazard, too,
was kept as busy as ourselves superintending the work, putting the
vessel in ballast, &c. Indeed, it's no small job to get ready for such
a cruise. We had no idea of it when we began.

CHAPTER II.

Up Anchor, and away.--What the Old Folks thought of it--The
Narrator's Preface.--"Squeamish."--A
North-easter.--Foggy.--The Schooner "Catfish."--Catching
Cod-Fish on the Grand Bank.--The First Ice.--The Polar
Current.--The Lengthening Day.--Cape Farewell.--We bear away
for Cape Resolution.--Hudson's Straits.--Its Ice and Tides.

[In Wash's manuscript, the voyage as far as Cape Resolution
occupies four chapters. We have been obliged to condense it
into one, as indicated by periods.--ED.]

On the afternoon of the 9th of June, Capt. Mazard telegraphed, "Can
sail to-morrow morning if the wind serves."

We had been ready several days, waiting for the last
job,--strengthening the schooner.

Good-by was said; and, going out to Gloucester, we went on board to
pass the night.

As some of our readers may perhaps feel inclined to ask what our
"folks" said to this somewhat adventurous departure, it may as well be
stated that we were obliged to go considerably in opposition to their
wishes, advice, counsel; in short, everything that could be said save
a down-right veto. It was unavoidable on our part. They could not be
brought to look upon our (or rather Raed's) project of self-education
as we did; they saw only the danger of the sea. Had we done as they
advised, we should have stayed at home. I shall not take it upon me
to say what we _ought_ to have done. As a matter of fact, we went, or
this narrative would never have been written. Nor can I say
conscientiously, by way of moral, that we were ever, for any great
length of time, sorry that we went: on the contrary, I now believe it
far the best way we could have spent our money; though the experience
was a rough one. It may also be added, that we did not publicly state
our intention of going so far north as Labrador; one reason for this
being, that we were in no wise certain we should go farther than St.
John's, Newfoundland.

Our "saloon" was arranged with a sort of _divan_, or wide seat, along
the starboard-side, at about chair-height. On this we laid our
mattresses and blankets. Each had his bunk, this _divan_ serving in
the place of berths. The captain had his toward the forward end of the
apartment. Guard bunked directly under him on an old jacket and pants.
Along the port-side there was made fast a strong broad shelf, at
table-height, running the entire length: this was for our books and
instruments. The captain had the forward end of it, the part fronting
his bunk, for his charts and papers. Before this table there was a
long bench, fixed conveniently for sitting to read or write. This
bench, together with three strong barroom-chairs and four camp-stools,
made up our sitting-accommodations. From pegs over the divan and
table there hung a miscellaneous collection of powder-horns, rifles,
fishing-tackle, tarpauling-hats, rubber coats, and "sou'-westers;" nor
had I failed to bring along the old Sharpe's rifle which had done such
good service among the moose-stags of Katahdin.

... We had brought "Palmleaf" with us, and now installed him in the
galley. As a specimen of his art, we had him make muffins and tea that
evening. Very fair they were, with butter and canned peaches.

The men came down during the evening, having been previously notified,
and were assigned to their berths. We boys turned in at about eleven,
and were only aroused next morning by the rattle of blocks, clank of
the windlass, and trampling of feet, on deck.

"We're off!" exclaimed Raed, starting up. "Turn out, and say farewell
to 'our native countree.'"

We stumbled up on deck; for it was still quite dark: only a
pale-bright belt along the ocean to the eastward showed the far-off
coming of the day. The shore and the village looked black as night. We
were already several hundred yards from the wharf. A smart, cold
breeze gushed out of the north-west. The huge, dim-white sails were
filling: "The Curlew" gathered way, and stood out to sea. The
chilling breeze, the motion, the ink-black waves, and their sharp
cracking on the beach, were altogether a little disheartening at
first, coming so suddenly from sleep. We felt not a little inclined to
shrink back to our warm blankets; but, mastering this feeling, braced
our courage, and drew breath for our long cruise. The captain came
aft.

"Ah! good-morning!" he cried, seeing us huddled about the
companion-way. "I meant to get off without waking you. We made too
much noise. I suppose. Smart breeze this. Make ten knots on it, easy.
Could put you to the _north pole_ in fifteen days with such a
capful,--if there were no ice in the way," he added.

"We might soon be at Hudson Straits were this to hold," laughed Kit.

"Yes, sir," replied the captain. "Eight days would do it. But of
course this is mere fine talk. You are not to look for any thing of
the sort."

"We don't," said Raed. "But how long do you suppose it _will_ take to
work up there with ordinary weather?"

"Oh! well, for a guess, eighteen days,--anywhere from eighteen to
twenty-five. Oughtn't to be over twenty-five with this schooner. Will
sail thirteen knots on a wind."

... We were now fairly clear of the shore. The wind freshened. "The
Curlew" dashed forward, rising and falling with the swells. The whole
east was reddening. The dark spar of the bow-sprit rose and fell
through it. It seemed a good omen to be going toward the light. Ere
the sun met us on the sea, we were twelve miles out of Gloucester....

Kit had often complained that he had been unable to write up the
account of our Katahdin expedition so well as he could have done had
he known beforehand that it would have fallen to Jim to do. At his
suggestion, Raed, Wade, and myself, this morning, drew lots to sea who
would be the historian of the present cruise. The reader, doubtless,
has already inferred which of us got the short lot. Well, it was fun
for the others, though any thing but fun for me. Nothing but a strong
sense of restraining shame, added to the rather inconvenient distance
from land, prevented me from deserting. Nature never designed me for a
writer. Of that I am convinced; and doubtless my readers will not long
differ with me. This is my first literary effort. If I know myself, it
will also be my last. Under these circumstances, I beg that such of my
young fellow-citizens as may happen to come upon this narrative (and I
am not ambitions to have the number large) will kindly forbear to
criticise it; for it will not bear criticism. Such of the facts and
incidents of our voyage as I have thought would be of interest I have
tried to write out. Strictly nautical terms and phrases I have sought
to avoid: first, because I believed them of no great interest to the
general reader; second, because, with this my first sea-trip, I have
not become adept enough in their use to "swing" them with the fluent
grace of your true-going, irresistible old salt; and from any other
source they are, to my mind, unendurable.

In the plan of education we have marked out for ourselves, it has not
been our intention to become sailors. We would merely use the sea and
its ships as a means of conveyance in our scheme of travel.

... Breakfast at six o'clock; two messes,--one of the crew, the other
comprising our party and the captain. The men had boiled potatoes,
fried pork, corn-bread, and biscuit. At our table we had roast
potatoes and butter with corn-bread, then biscuit and butter with
canned tomatoes. After breakfast, we went on deck a while; but the
motion was far too great for comfort. The breeze held. The coast of
Massachusetts was low in the west. To the north, the mountains of
Maine showed blue on the horizon. We went below to read. Raed had
bought, borrowed, and secured every work he could hear of on northern
voyages and exploration, particularly those into Hudson Bay. It was
our intention to thoroughly read up the subject during our voyage: in
a word, to get as good an idea of the northern coast as possible from
books, and confirm this idea from actual observation. This was the
substance of Raed's plan of study.

... By eleven o'clock we had grown a little sea-sick,--just the
slightest feeling of nausea. Kit shuts his book, rests his arm on the
table, and leans his head on it.

"You sick?" demands Raed.

"Oh, no! not much; just a little squeamish."

Presently Wade lies down on his mattress, and I immediately ask,--

"Much sick, Wade?" To which he promptly replies,--

"Oh, no! squeamish a little; that's all."

By and by the skipper looks down to inquire, "Sick here, anybody?" To
which we all answer at once,--

"Oh, no! only a bit squeamish."'

_Squeamish_ was the word for it till near night, when we seemed
suddenly to rally from it, though the motion continued the same; but
the wind had veered to the south, and almost wholly lulled. We slept
pretty well that night; but the next forenoon the nausea returned, and
stuck by us all day. Every one who has been to sea knows how such a
day passes. We had expected it, however, and bore it as lightly as
possible.

... On the third morning out we found it raining, with the wind
north-east. The schooner was kept as near it as possible, making about
three knots an hour. The wind increased during the forenoon. By eleven
o'clock there was a smart gale on. The rain drove fiercely. We grew
sick enough.

"This is worse than the 'poison spring' at Katahdin!" groaned Kit.

The skipper came down.

"Is it a big gale?" Raed managed to ask.

"Just an ordinary north-easter."

"Well, then, I never wish to meet an extraordinary one!" gasped Wade.

The captain mixed us some brandy and water from his own private
supply, which we took (as a medicine). But it wouldn't stay _down_:
nothing would stay down. Our stomachs refused to bear the weight of
any thing. Night came on: a wretched night it was for us. "The Curlew"
floundered on. The view on deck was doubtless grand; but we had
neither the legs nor the disposition to get up.... Some time about
midnight, a dozen of our six-pound shots, which had been sewed up in a
coarse sack and thrown under the table-shelf, by their continued
motion worked a gap in the stitches; and three or four of them rolled
out, and began a series of races from one end of the cabin to the
other, smashing recklessly into the rick of chairs and camp-stools
stowed in the forward end. Yet I do not believe one of us would have
got up to secure those shot, even if we had known they would go
through the side: I am pretty certain I should not. They went back and
forth at will, till the captain, hearing the noise, came down, and
after a great amount of dodging and grabbing, which might have been
amusing at any other time, succeeded in capturing the truants and
locking them up. The next day it was no better: wind and rain
continued. We were not quite so sick, but even less disposed to get
up, talk, or do anything, save to lie flat on our backs. We heard the
sailors laughing at and abusing Palmleaf, who was dreadfully sick, and
couldn't cook for them. Yet we felt not the least spark of sympathy
for him: I do not think we should have interfered had they thrown him
overboard. Wade called the poor wretch in, and ordered him, so sick he
could scarcely stand, to make a bowl of gruel; and, when he undertook
to explain how bad he felt, we all reviled him, and bade him go about
his business.

"Nothin' like dis on de oyster schoonah," we heard him muttering as he
staggered out.

... The storm had blown us off our course to the south-east
considerably; and the next morning we tacked to the northward, and
continued due north all that day and the next. It may have been
fancy; but we all dated our recovery from this change of course. It
had stopped raining, and the wind gradually went down.

Now that the nausea had passed off we were hungry as wolves, and kept
Palmleaf, who was now quite recovered, busy cooking all day long....
The weather continued cloudy. The view from the damp deck was dull to
the last degree. Capt. Mazard was in considerable doubt as to our
latitude. Not a glimpse of the sun had he been able to catch for five
days; and during this time we had been sailing sometimes very fast,
then scarcely making way in the teeth of the strong north-easter. To
the north and north-east the fog banks hung low on the sea. So light
was the wind, that the sails scarcely filled. The schooner seemed
merely to drift.... Toward night we entered among the fog-banks. The
whole face of the sea steamed like a boiling kettle. The mist rose
thin and gauze-like. We could scarcely see the length of the deck. It
was blind work sailing in such obscurity,--possibly dangerous.

"Have you any idea where we are, captain?" Raed asked. We stood
peering ahead from the bow.

"Somewhere off Newfoundland. On the Grand Bank, I think. Fog indicates
that. Always foggy here this time o' year."

"It is here that the gulf stream meets the cold currents and ice from
Baffin's Bay," said Kit. "The warm current meeting the cold one causes
the fog: so they say."

"I have seen the statement," remarked Raed, "that these great banks
are all raised from the ocean-bottom by the _debris_ brought along by
the gulf stream and the current from Davis Straits."

"But I have read that they are raised by the melting of icebergs,"
said Wade. "The iceberg has lots of sand and stones frozen into it:
when it melts, this matter sinks; and, in the course of ages, the
'banks' here have been formed."

"Perhaps both causes have had a hand in it," said Kit.

"That looks most probable," remarked Capt. Mazard. "These scientific
men are very apt to differ on such subjects. One will observe
phenomena, and ascribe it wholly to one cause, when perhaps a
half-dozen causes have been at work. Another man will ascribe it
wholly to another of these causes. And thus they seem to contradict
each other, when they are both, in part, right. I've noticed that very
frequently since I began to read the scientific books on oceanic
matters. They draw their conclusions too hastily, and are too positive
on doubtful subjects."

I have often thought of this remark of Capt. Mazard since, when
reading some of the "strong points" of our worthy scientists.

"How deep is it here, for a guess?" asked Wade.

"Oh! for a guess, a hundred fathoms; about that."

"Too deep for cod-fishing here?" Raed inquired.

"Rather deep. We'll try them, however, in the morning."

Suddenly, as we were talking, a horn--a genuine old-fashioned
dinner-horn--pealed out, seemingly not a hundred yards ahead.

"Port your helm there!" shouted the skipper to Bonney, who was at the
wheel. The old sea-dog, Trull, caught up a tin bucket setting near,
and began drumming furiously; while the skipper, diving down the
companion way, brought up a loaded musket, which he hastily discharged
over his head.

"Shout, halloo, scream!" he sang out to us. "Make all the noise you
can, to let them know where we are!"

The schooner sheered off, minding her helm; and, at the same moment,
we saw the dim outline of a small vessel almost under the bows.

"What ship is that?" demanded Capt. Mazard.

"Schooner 'Catfish' of Gloucester," replied a boyish voice.

"Where bound?"

"Home."

"Can you give us the latitude?"

"Can't do it, skippy. Haven't seen the sun for a week. Not far from
forty-five degrees, I reckon."

"Are we in any danger of Cape Race?"

"Not a bit. We're more than a hundred miles east of it, I think."

The little schooner, of not more than sixty tons, drifted slowly past.
There were seven hands on deck; all boys of sixteen and eighteen, save
one. This is the training which makes the Gloucester sailors so prized
for our navy.

... During the evening, we heard at a distance the deep, grum whistle
of the Inman steamer going down to Halifax,--whistling at intervals to
warn the fishermen. It continued foggy all night, but looked _thinner_
by nine next morning. The captain brought up an armful of out-riggers
(a short spar three or four feet long to set in the side-rail, with a
small pulley-block in the upper end to run a line through.)

"Now, boys," said he, setting the out-riggers, "we will try the
cod.--Palmleaf! Palmleaf! Here, you sunburnt son! A big chunk of
pork!"

"They won't bite it," said old Trull.

"I've sometimes caught 'em with it," replied the captain. "It's pork
or nothing. We've no clams nor manhaden (a small fish of the shad
family) to lure them."

The stout cod-hooks, with their strong linen lines, were reeved
through the blocks, baited, and let down into the green water. For
some time we fished in silence. No bites. We kept patiently fishing
for fifteen minutes. It began to look as if old Trull was right.
Presently Kit jerked hastily.

"Got one?" we all demanded.

"Got something; heavy too."

"Haul him up!" cried the skipper.

Kit hauled. It made the block creak and the out-rigger bend. Yard
after yard of the wet line was pulled in; and by and by the head of a
tremendous fellow parted the water, and came up, one, two, three feet,
writhing and bobbing about.

"Twenty pounds, if an ounce!" shouted young Donovan.

"Heave away!" cried the captain. "Now swing him over the rail!"

They were swinging him in, had almost got their hands on him, when the
big fish gave a sudden squirm. The hook, which was but slightly caught
in the side of its mouth, tore out. Down he went,--_chud!_

Such a yell of despair as arose! such mutual abuse as broke out all
round! till, just at that moment, Wade cried, "I have one!" when all
attention was turned to him. Slowly he draws it up. We were all
watching. But 'twas a smaller one.

"About a seven-pounder," pronounces the captain, safely landing him on
deck, where he was unhooked, and left to wriggle and jump out his
agonies.

A minute later, Raed had out a "ten-pounder;" and, having once begun
to bite, they kept at it, until the deck grew lively with their
frantic leaping.

"Got all we want!" cried the skipper, after about an hour of this sort
of thing. "There's a good two hundred weight of them.--Here, Palmleaf,
pick 'em up, dress 'em, and put 'em in pickle: save what we want for
dinner.--Now, you Donovan and Hobbs, bear a hand with those buckets.
Rinse off the bulwarks, and wash up the deck."

"This is the kind of sport they have on a cod-fisher every day, I
suppose," said Raed.

"Yes; but it gets mighty stale when you have to follow it for a
month," replied Donovan. "I know what cod-fishing is."

... Toward noon the sun began to show its broad disk, dimly outlined in
the white mists. The captain ran for his sextant; and an observation
was caught, which, being worked up, gave our latitude at 45 deg. 35'. We
had probably made in the neighborhood of thirty miles during the
night: so that the _boys_ on "The Catfish" had given a very shrewd
guess, to say the least. In the afternoon we had a fair breeze from the
south-east. All sail was made, and we bowled along at a grand rate.
Early the next morning we saw the first ice,--three or four low,
irregular masses, showing white on the sea, and bearing down toward us
from the north-west with the polar current. This current, coming along
the coast of Labrador, is always laden with ice at this season. To
avoid it, we now bore away to the north-east, keeping for several days
on a direct course for Iceland; then gradually--describing the arc of a
circle--came round west into the latitude of Cape Farewell, the
southern point of Greenland.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15