Left on Labrador Part 3

Good-by was said; and, going out to Gloucester, we went on board to pa.s.s 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 m.u.f.fins and tea that evening. Very fair they were, with b.u.t.ter and canned peaches.

The men came down during the evening, having been previously notified, and were a.s.signed to their berths. We boys turned in at about eleven, and were only aroused next morning by the rattle of blocks, clank of the windla.s.s, 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 sh.o.r.e 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 sh.o.r.e. 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 circ.u.mstances, 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 b.u.t.ter with corn-bread, then biscuit and b.u.t.ter 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 Ma.s.sachusetts 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 pa.s.ses. 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 coa.r.s.e sack and thrown under the table-shelf, by their continued motion worked a gap in the st.i.tches; 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 pa.s.sed 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 lat.i.tude. 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."