A rising swell and indications of increasing bad weather caused us to hurry our departure from Tristan da Cunha; and when the whistle was blown in warning the able-bodied population flocked aboard in a last desperate determination to rid us of all our surplus gear. Perhaps they were not to be blamed—they were mentally half-grown children, no more—but by their behaviour on this occasion they undid any good impressions we had formed of them. Greedy? That wasn’t the name for it! Unashamedly, with clutching fingers, they started in to scrounge whatever they could see. It was rather disappointing, I must confess. Of gratitude for our earlier bounty they betrayed no trace whatsoever. They had promised us fresh supplies in return for the enormous amount of stores we had freely given them, but only at the very last did they reluctantly disgorge two skinny sheep which were hardly worth taking aboard.

One party of the steadier elders brought off mail-bags and oddments of parcels for us to convey to Cape Town. They had forgotten to address the parcels, and, when told of it, seemed to think we possessed sufficient second sight to deliver the goods at the required addresses. So active did they become at last that Commander Wild was compelled to order them back into their boats, where they went sulkily, like whipped children; but the narrow conditions of their lives, the hardships they everlastingly endure, may cause these weaknesses of character. Anyhow, we left them to their drear isolation, and in drenching rain, with the ship’s decks woefully littered with the gear the islanders had disdained to convey below, we put to sea on the next lap of our journey—towards Gough Island.

An orgy of cleaning and stowing followed, in order to get the ship in trim to face expected bad weather. Mr. Wilkins dredged for samples of the sea’s bottom, but, alas! the dredge wire parted and all his trouble went for naught. Sounding regularly every hour, through grey, bleak, thick weather, we journeyed on, and, with the mist thickening, judged our chances of even sighting Gough Island very remote. Nevertheless, we sighted it dimly through the thickness early on the afternoon of May 27, and by eight bells in the afternoon watch were close up with it. At first a dense mist bank hid all of it, saving only a hundred feet or so, but the mist soon lifted, and, sailing a hundred and fifty yards off-shore, with the hands in the chains continuously sounding, we saw a fairly lofty, rugged island with varied vegetation. The outstanding feature of this island was the large number of spires and minarets that seemed carved by the hand of man from the immemorial rock; there were sharply pointed peaks, too, in quantities, and many of these stood out like clustered chimney-stacks against the sky, so that an impression of dense population was conveyed. Over the cliffs, which for the most part rose sheer from the sea, small streams fell in perpendicular waterfalls, as they do in Norway, so I was told; and the wind, blowing hard, scattered these cascades into white clouds of feathery spray, infinitely beautiful, long before they reached bottom.

Shortly after dinner we came to anchor in a bit of a bay at the north-east end of the island, where a beautiful and very densely vegetated glen opened invitingly to the sea. Near by the water had cut a tunnel through the cliffs, forming a natural arch of some magnificence; such arches we found were fairly common around the coast. This snug valley branched and branched again into innumerable smaller ravines and gullies, with thick growth a good three-quarters of the way up the slopes, merging into what appeared to be an open grassland, which continued to the summits of the highest peaks. Out from this open land, in full view of the ship, there rose a very singular peak of dome-like rock, absolutely bare, with precipitous sides, standing well clear of all the rest of the land, and looking curiously like some noble monument erected to the memory of the sailormen who had perished in these wild latitudes.

Whilst coasting along close inshore we had sighted several other anchoring grounds, though none of them, possibly, so good as the one we had selected; and we congratulated ourselves on snug moorings as we busied ourselves with preparations for landing. After a very early breakfast the boat was lowered and stowed with instruments—geological, meteorological, biological—with tents, clothing, cooking utensils and stores to last for a stay of four or five days. Mr. Douglas, Mr. Wilkins, Major Carr, Argles, Naisbitt and myself formed the landing party, Commander Wild taking charge of the boat with the two doctors and the chief. The water was delightfully clear and calm, and landing was a comparatively easy matter to seasoned veterans such as we had now become. A few yards back from the stony beach were two small huts, one an unlovely structure of corrugated iron, its roof lashed down to ensure against the risk of being blown away by the furious gales that rage here almost all the year round. The second hut was a rude but substantial structure of rounded stones from the shore, and looked like a relic of prehistoric times. Even its thatched roof, which had come adrift in places, suggested uncared-for antiquity. And all around and about these two shacks lay the debris of a deserted flyaway mining venture—pickaxes and shovels, pans and sieves, a centrifugal machine, a pump and suction-hose. Various food stores and cooking utensils were lying about in both huts, and in the iron erection we found a cooking-stove in good working order. We pitched our own tent securely and stowed all our gear away in the sound hut, enjoying all the sensations of those making unexpected discoveries; for what all this assortment of derelict gear actually meant was something of a mystery. It showed, however, that the place had been visited at no very distant period; the general impression was that a search for diamonds had been conducted here. A box half-filled with matches was found; we struck one and it ignited immediately, a surprisingly good advertisement for the tightness of the hut whence they were collected. Then, in a little cave to the right of the huts, we discovered a stone bearing an inscription, “F. X. Xeigler, R. I. Garden, J. Hagan, W. Swaine, J. C. Fenton: Cape Town: 1/6/19,” showing that years had elapsed since this futile quest had been abandoned. No further evidence offered; the exploring party, apparently having searched here and searched there for precious natural loot, seemed to have dumped down their tools, disheartened, and gone clean off the map.

The glen was interesting; we divided ourselves into parties to explore it, each party taking a separate branch. In the bottom of the valley a torrent brawled and tumbled amongst large boulders, and trekking up this path was a difficult and arduous matter, as Wilkins and I found to our cost. But in the blessed name of scientific research obstacles only exist to be overcome, and on we went. Many trees of island wood greeted our eyes as we progressed, and what struck me particularly was the number of extremely beautiful parasites which grew thickly on these trees. Wilkins secured samples; very fragile they were, and of great length, their colour being for the most part a pale yellow-green.

After proceeding a mile the stream fell over a precipice into a narrow gorge, so, striking off sharply to the right at this juncture, we climbed a slippery slope of rock covered with a soaked matting of mosses. This slope soon became almost vertical, and our way was beset with difficulties. We had to dig our feet into the wet mould, which fetched away continually from the bare, dripping rock below, or else secure precarious foothold on the short tree-ferns, which themselves were very insecurely rooted. But there was all the thrill of discovery in the adventure; it was just like exploring a perfectly deserted island on which we might be required to exist for unnumbered years; and the feeling that the unexpected was going to happen round every corner was very strong.

Thus, after struggles unending, we reached the summit, one of those rugged pinnacles we had observed from the ship prior to landing. Even at this considerable height the vegetation was profuse, whilst on every side the land rose in similar steep and rugged eminences. From this vantage-ground we were able to discern the easiest route to the island’s summit. For the first fifteen hundred feet it lay through the thick growth of the glen and the left branch of the left fork. Then our best way appeared to be to take to one of the grassy ridges which separated the innumerable gullies and ravines converging on the main glen. Having discovered so much, we also discovered that the day was so far advanced that it was time for us to make our way back to camp; and the return journey was not such hard going as the outward venture. For myself, I simply slid down the greasy moss helter-skelter, breaking up every now and then by clutching—and uprooting—a tree-fern. Mr. Wilkins preferred shooting waterfalls to this method, but there was not much to choose between the two, both being equally wet and equally rapid. After dinner most of the shore party indulged in an orgy of mice-hunting; for the huts swarmed with the little beasts—the only living relics of the mysterious expedition whose traces we had discovered.

At six the following morning we all roused out and had a gorgeous dip in the stream—cold but invigorating—and then squatted down to a most delicious breakfast of burgoo and bacon (burgoo, as the initiated know, is sailorese for porridge). Immediately thereafter the work of exploration was resumed, both parties joining forces until we reached the first fork in the glen, where we separated. Mr. Douglas took the right branch towards the huge natural monument of which I have spoken before, Mr. Wilkins the left, according to the route we had mapped out the previous afternoon. As the vegetation was dripping wet we were quickly and thoroughly drenched. We tried for the most part to keep to the bed of the stream, but as we constantly encountered perpendicular and unnavigable waterfalls, we had to take to the slope again and break a tedious way through big tree-ferns and island wood.

At last we came out on the open grasslands about two thousand feet up, and here we made better progress. Mr. Wilkins shot a few finches in true castaway fashion, to heighten the impression of our being shipwrecked mariners; and once, hearing a loud cheeping, thrust his hand into a hole and brought out, pecking and fighting protestingly against the unceremonious usage, two large birds of the petrel family. He also took specimens of a very unusual plant that considerably resembled a young fir tree. There was little else to be seen here, so we came to a halt a few hundred feet from the summit, on a small flat ledge where was a providential pool of rainwater. Here we lunched on biscuits and sardines, washing down the cold collation with draughts from the pool, in drenching rain. I have eaten uncomfortable meals under different circumstances, but never in all my recollection have I eaten one in less pleasant conditions.

Nothing was to be gained by going farther, so we descended, sliding as on skis downwards because the ground was so wet and slippery. Battering again through the vegetation, which was for all the world like walking up to one’s neck in water, we gained camp late in the afternoon, as woebegone a pair of objects as even a desert island could expect to produce. Robinson Crusoe on first landing wasn’t a patch on us, and the Swiss Family Robinson were fashionable members of highly civilized society as compared with our sorry selves. We promptly kindled a huge fire at which to warm and dry, Major Carr and Argles shooting large numbers of sea birds, which the vivid blaze attracted. By dint of exercising a little imagination it was easily possible to believe that we were the survivors of some maritime disaster waiting—waiting for the appearance of a friendly sail, constantly alert against attack by bitterly hostile savages.

The next day it was blowing hard and promising bad weather generally. A big surf was running, and Commander Wild, finding it impossible to land with the boat, had to yell his instructions to us on the beach, so deafening was the noise of wind and breaking water, in addition to instructions he threw us delicacies—crayfish and Naisbitt’s pipe. Naisbitt welcomed the latter as a mother does her long-lost child, for, lacking this vital necessity of civilized existence, he had fashioned a wonderful and fearsome affair, which he treasures to this day—a pipe composed of a chunk of driftwood and a stalk of tussock grass.

Early in the afternoon the geologists set out with the intention of gaining the ultimate summit. Towards nightfall the weather became pronouncedly worse, and the wind, sweeping down the gullies with hurricane violence, made us wonder if the island itself would remain firm on its foundations. Rain and hail accompanied the wind, and away above the peaks were white and glistening with driven snow. A wild, bizarre night enough; and the sensation of being marooned and left to our own devices was very strong, by reason of our lack of communication with the ship, which was only occasionally visible through the noisy squalls. What was happening to the geologists upon the distant peaks we could only surmise. As there was nothing to be done to succour them, we turned in at ten o’clock, amid the thunderous flapping of the tent’s canvas, which battered about at such a rate that we felt certain it must inevitably carry away. We were right. At four in the morning it did carry away; a whole side was blown out. In rushed the storm, roaring its delight at having penetrated our inner defences. We had perforce to turn out, collect our belongings and store them in the hut, where we continued our sleep with philosophical calm, except for the irritation of the mice, which scampered all over us and evidently thought we were manna sent from heaven for their especial benefit.

The morning breaking somewhat better, Commander Wild was able, with careful handling, to bring the boat ashore and effect a landing, taking off Mr. Wilkins and Naisbitt and their baggage. Naisbitt, who is the unlucky man of the ship, contrived to carry out his usual act of falling overboard whilst helping to ship the stores. Giving me a rifle, they left me alone on the beach, to soliloquize in Selkirk fashion as best I cared. I had a very pronounced Robinson Crusoe feeling, I must admit—and the rifle failed to bring comfort to my lonely soul, for there was nothing to use it against that I could see.

Standing on a lonely beach, holding an unnecessary rifle, struck me as being waste of time, so I set to work, in true castaway style, to employ myself—in making a meal. Food plays a large part in the economy of desert-island life, and I was no exception to the rule. I experimented to the extent of boiling a number of flint-like ship’s biscuits until they were quite soft; then I poured off the water, put in some baking-powder, and pounded the lot into a solid mass. Adding salt, pepper and other condiments, I placed the mixture in one of the mining pans, which I had previously smeared with dripping, and, inverting another mining pan on top by way of a lid, proceeded to bake my impromptu pie. I am in nowise disposed to brag about my culinary masterpiece, but it really was quite good to taste; and I pass on the recipe for Pi À la Gough Island to such potential castaways as might happen to read these pages. The dish is cheap and uncommonly filling—considerations worth while when lost to the resources of the outer world.

Whilst I was busy, Query, who had accompanied us ashore and followed the geologists, turned up, accompanied by Argles. Argles was full of details of a bleak, comfortless night spent on the hill; he told how, when starting for the summit that morning, he had fallen down a steep place, so that he hurt his side and was compelled to turn back. I sympathized, fed him, and we awaited the return of the rest of the party, which occurred later in the day. Both Mr. Douglas and Major Carr were very excellent imitations of drowned rats; their woes clung thickly to them; their faces were blue and lacking laughter. They’d reached the top, however, where they had been able to do some useful work regarding surveys of the other peaks.

We turned in for that night on the floor of the hut—no more experimenting with fragile tents for us, thank you—and the mice carried on their best entertainment for our benefit, scampering about us, over our faces, over our blankets, everywhere. One wakened me at break o’ day by nibbling my nose; and deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, we surrendered their citadel and turned out. We packed up everything, as Commander Wild had determined to take us off this day or perish in the attempt; for it was quite on the cards that if he failed to-day a favourable opportunity might not occur again for weeks, or maybe months. As Gough Island offered scant entertainment either for body or mind, we were quite determined to run all reasonable risks to regain the Quest.

The boat arrived about 8 a.m., and Commander Wild was craftily bringing her inshore, slacking away on the anchor rope to prevent her being smashed, when he saw the danger of the scend of the surf lifting her and banging her bottom down on the unkindly beach. He pulled off and made for the lee of a high cliff, which we ascended after landing, with the aid of ropes, hauling our gear to its summit, afterwards lowering the lot down the other side and sliding down the ropes ourselves. Query presented a problem, as even a South Polar dog can’t negotiate ropes; but some bright genius thrust him into a sack and lowered him down willy-nilly, Query making no end of a fuss of it all the while.

Fierce, very fierce gusts were coming away down the glen with a loud screaming as of hordes of fiends, and the surface of the water was curdled with spray, whilst the spindrift hurtled in blinding clouds. Pushing off, we gained the Quest after a stiff pull, and the ugly old packet seemed to smile us a genial welcome, so homelike did she appear to our eyes.

Anchor was weighed and we steamed along the coast for a short distance to where a narrow island rose like a gigantic pillar out of the sea for about two hundred feet. There the surf-boat went ashore again, but, though a nasty swell was running, she came to no harm, because a dense bed of kelp provided an ample buffer if at any time we hit a boulder too hard. In the meantime Jimmy, who is a man of varied accomplishments, slew the pig.

Accompanied, so it seemed, by his dying screams we got under way for Cape Town and the joys of civilization.