The Last of the Gentlemen Adventurers: Coming of Age in the Arctic. Edward Maurice Beauclerk

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СКАЧАТЬ in the icy waters of what became known as Hudson Bay.

      We had had clear weather for the first two days and the ship, headed now into familiar northern waters, made good speed. The district manager, who was travelling with us and who hated to see anyone unoccupied, took me on as a temporary, very junior office boy, to sort out the files and account books of the posts which had already been visited. The other people still on board were mainly specialists in one line or another, who seemed quite keen to fill in my remaining spare moments with lectures on a variety of subjects. An anthropologist, an archaeologist, an ornithologist, two scientists, a representative of the Canadian government and two R.C.M. policemen were among those I can remember being on board. From some of them I gathered an amount of useful knowledge, but was never quite sure whether my leg was being pulled or not.

      The archdeacon, who six months previously had introduced me to the Arctic, was making the rounds of his widely scattered missionaries and obviously felt under some obligation to take me under his wing. I think he had it in mind to give me a warning as to the possible moral dangers that lay ahead of me, but after two quite lengthy sessions, could get no further than giving me a bar of chocolate and some advice as to how to avoid becoming constipated during the winter months, because of the effort needed to visit the outside lavatory on cold draughty days.

      The ice fields were not far away from us. Over towards Greenland, visibility ended in a long line of grey fog, behind which, they told me, the ice blocks were grinding their way steadily southward.

      On the morning of the fourth day out, we steamed through a bank of fog and came almost immediately into a large field. The massive blocks crunched against the side of the vessel, but the Nascopie pushed them aside. Every now and then we came up against a solid pan which had not broken up into pieces and the captain had to force the ship through by reversing a little way, then rushing back at the ice at top speed. The solid iron bows with the full power of the engines behind them usually sufficed to smash a path through but we made slow speed.

      Early in the afternoon, a lookout sighted black objects in the ice ahead of us. Out came the binoculars and the telescopes. ‘Walrus,’ said the more experienced northerners. Two of the passengers, unable to resist the temptation of trying to kill the inoffensive creatures, went below to fetch their rifles, but were restrained by the older hands, who told them that they would be wasting their time and ammunition, for without proper harpoons with which to secure the walrus the bodies would just sink to the bottom of the sea.

      Reluctantly the would-be hunters held their fire. We came closer and saw that it was quite a large herd. A huge old bull, seemingly the leader, lifted his head to look round every now and then, obviously checking on the safety of the group. He must have seen us, but as our approach was not particularly noisy, he did not raise the alarm until the ship steamed up to the very point upon which the walrus were resting.

      We had a wonderful view of the herd and those who had got their cameras out were well rewarded. The old bull who had been so vigilant during our approach took charge. As the Nascopie ground into the ice not so very far from them, the leader raised his head again to let out the most enormous bellow, so that they all scrambled and fought to get back into the water. The large bulls, with their great ivory tusks sticking downwards from their jaws and their fierce bewhiskered faces, were a fearsome lot. The cows with their young looked less belligerent, but together they made an awful noise, barging and pushing each other along. For a moment, they appeared to be contemplating an attack on the ship, but suddenly swept round to make off down a lane of open water.

      About an hour later, as though we had not had our money’s worth for the day, a polar bear, large, grizzled and yellowish against the ice, came out from behind a mound on a small iceberg to stare gravely at us as we passed by. This time our hunters were not to be denied. Three of them rushed down to fetch weapons. By the time they had returned to the deck, the bear had moved off a short distance, wisely having his doubts as to our intentions. The fusillade that followed confirmed his doubts and the animal, now thoroughly alarmed by the noise, raised himself on to his hind legs and dived into the sea, finally disappearing among some nearby ice blocks. He had been wounded though, for we passed a streamer of his blood in a patch of open water. The archdeacon took the marksmen to task for having caused the creature unnecessary suffering.

      We then had a spell of fine weather after leaving the Hudson Strait, and although the days were shortening and the breezes cooling as we came north, we had not realized that the summer had really ended until the fall burst unheralded upon us.

      The archdeacon was conducting a Sunday-morning service in the Nascopie dining room, when the captain turned the ship westward to come out of Baffin Bay toward Pond Inlet. The vessel began to roll as we caught the wind sweeping down the channel through which so many of those early explorers had passed in their search for the passage.

      Before the service was over, the storm had really blown up. The congregation swayed all over the place during the final hymn and the archdeacon called a halt to the proceedings when a group on the starboard side collapsed into a most undignified heap. I forced my way out on to the deck, but was nearly blinded by the hard sleet slapping into my face and the stinging spray driven by the violent wind. Sheets of spray streamed across the bows to mingle with the sleet while the ship alternately plunged down into the huge waves, then reared swiftly up toward the clouds, swinging from side to side as the sea took her.

      The Sunday lunch was ready to be served and the chief steward was determined not to be beaten by a storm. They put up the sides of the table to keep the dishes from falling on to the floor and they damped the tablecloths to keep things as steady as possible. The chief officer stamped in on a fairly even keel. With great difficulty, one of the stewards managed to get a small amount of soup in a bowl on to the table, but almost at once the bowl leapt into the air, turned upside down and poured the hot soup into the officer’s lap.

      There was really no time to even think about food as the ship pitched, rolled and corkscrewed. One moment we were clutching on to the table, the next being thrown against it, but we might have managed a little dry food had not our side of the table come apart and those of us to starboard, having lost our support, subsided into an untidy muddle on the deck, closely followed by a shower of plates, knives and cruets. As if to add insult to injury, the wall cupboard above us, which contained the reserve supply of sauces, seasoning and the likes, flew open and a shower of pickles, sauce bottles, salt cellars, sugar bowls, mustard pots and jugs crashed down upon us as we slithered about on the floor. Furniture, passengers, stewards, soup, sugar, salt, tomato sauce and even some milk scrunched and squelched over the deck, swirling about with the motion of the ship.

      Some time later, when order had been partially restored, those of us who had recovered their composure and still had any interest in food ate sandwiches in the galley, but few attempted any liquid. Before we had time to finish our meagre repast, a bulkhead door, not properly fastened, was forced open by a huge wave. The sea poured in, sweeping pots and pans off the shelves, extinguishing the oven fire and thumping one of the cooks heavily against the side of the ship. This was the final blow that the storm had to deal us, for after that the wind began to slacken, and though the heavy swell continued for a day or two, we were able to resume our normal routine.

      At Pond Inlet, our northernmost call, the scene was dramatic. The tiny buildings almost disappeared into the vastness of the surrounding hills, but there was a bustle of activity as soon as we dropped anchor for there were supplies to be unloaded, not only for the company, but also for the Roman Catholic and Anglican missions, both of which had establishments here.

      My assistance did not seem to be required in dealing with the cargo so the ornithologist took me ashore for a walk and told me not only about the birds but also all about the general flora and fauna. His lecture was delivered in such a booming voice, however, that my head was spinning by the time we returned to the ship.

      A gentler and most informative СКАЧАТЬ