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.
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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.
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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.
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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!
