CHAPTER XXII.
M
MISSION INLET, Cape Blossom, July 1, 1898.—We came across Holtham Inlet in good order Tuesday. That was the only day so far that any steamers have come through. The weather was fine for us and a broad channel was open and clear of ice as far as the Mission. The same evening a west wind arose and the ice has been shifting back and forth across the inlet ever since. The "Riley," "Agnes Boyd," "delight," "Mattie Farington," "Nugget," and "Iowa" came through the same day, and all are here in the little harbor safe from the ice floes. The sea ice stretches unbrokenly from a couple of miles below the Mission across to the north side of the Sound, and no one has been able to get in or out of the Sound except a couple of natives, who crossed from Point Hope on a sled. They report the ice as firm as winter, with no prospect of its breaking up, and say that it will be "twenty sleeps" before we can expect to get through, and "maybe the ice won't break up at all." The beach from here to the Mission is lined with tents and presents quite an animated scene. Everyone expects to go to Cape Nome as early as possible. We have no word from our good ship "Penelope" later than May 3, and she was all right then. She wintered seventy miles below Cape Blossom. The weather is very cold and disagreeable. Heavy winds bring penetrating fogs from off the ice, with storms of rain and sleet, and we have had a heavy snowstorm. We have our two 10 × 20 tents up, end to end, on the gravel bar separating the "goose pond" from the Sound, and have very comfortable quarters. In onetent is the cook stove and dining-table, and the other is a sort of parlor with the big heater in use. We loaded up heavily with wood before leaving timber on the Kowak, but I think we shall have to make another trip for wood before long. Everything in the line of driftwood is cleaned up in this vicinity, but there will be the usual annual crop when the ice breaks up.
I just now heard a gull squalling and ran out with my gun in time to get a shot at a Pomarine jager which was in pursuit of it. I got the jager all right and it is a fine bird, the first I have obtained of this species. The long-tailed and parasitic jagers are quite common. I found a nest of each on the Kowak delta. Yesterday I found four sets of the eggs of the northern phalarope, and shot three golden plover, which are the first I have taken. Collecting now is very uncomfortable. I wear the same heavy mittens. July 1, which I wore all winter, and in fact heavier clothing all through than was worn at thirty degrees below zero. Our warm parlor tent is quite an attraction and we have plenty of company as usual with us. We are talking about mail. No news from the outside world since September 15 of last year.
July 15.—Somewhere in Bering Sea off the Alaskan Coast.—I am sitting on the coal-box in the galley on board the "Penelope." I am a fixture between the fire-box of the cooking range and the window, and have to flatten myself against the wall to keep from burning my clothes. There are four "galley slaves" in this 6 × 8 coop, but this is absolutely the only place possible to write in. The sea is smooth, with a light breeze, which is ahead. Foggy as usual and very chilly. The galley is the only place except in bed where one can warm up, and it is in pretty lively demand whenever the cook does not claim full possession. There are twenty-four men aboard, but all have gone to bed save the captain and three men on watch. The captain has scarcely slept a wink since we started a week ago. The strong currents, unfavorable winds, and thick weather are retarding us unexpectedly.
We were watching on the Sound on July 3 when two schooners were sighted through the ice off Cape Blossom. On the 4th five of us went out in a small boat and were delighted to find one of them to be the "Penelope," all safe and in good time. Captain Delano and the four boys. Miller, Clyde, Brown and Rivers, must have had a very rough experience, being on duty twenty-four hours at a time. The ice in Escholtz Bay, where the schooner wintered, began breaking up and moving out on June 15, and from that date until she anchored off Cape Blossom, the "Penelope" and her little crew were at the mercy of the ice floes. They had very narrow escapes from being pinched between floes or crowded aground. Once they were forced on a bar and only got the ship out of her danger by breaking the ice up around her and "kedging" out. At one place their stint of open water was narrowing, as the ice pack drifted toward shore, and something had to be done immediately or they were lost. A strong off-shore wind was blowing, and the captain set all sail and headed straight for the ice. When the "Penelope" met it with full force she raised herself up, sliding gracefully on to the floe, and then her weight broke it down. Then she plowed through the ice until she reached a strip of open water beyond, where she was safe for the time being. And with all her battlings the "Penelope" came through with scarcely more than a skin scratch on her sides. Before the ice broke up the captain had repaired her, painting her white with blue trimmings, and renovating her from deck to hold. Six vessels wintered near her and their captains all agree that it was little less than a miracle that any were saved. Two, the "Ainsworth" and one other, were wrecked by the ice. The "General McPherson" and "Penelope" had about the best anchorage for the winter, in a cove behind the Chain Peninsular.
July 5 and 6 were stormy and nothing could be done but straighten out accounts with various parties at the Mission. Many who left earlier in the Cape Nome rush, borrowed or bought provisions from the stores on the "Penelope," and left orders for us to collect from their representatives when we should get down in July. They thus saved the labor of hauling their stuff on the first part of their trip, as the "Penelope" was a hundred miles on the way. We have heard nothing of our Cape Nome contingent. On July 7 we had fine, calm weather, and loaded the "Penelope." making two trips out to where she was anchored, nine miles from the Mission on Cape Blossom. These two trips were our last with the "Helen." We also took on six passengers and their freight to Cape Nome, besides two sailors who worked their passage. It was decided that the poor "Helen" must be left, and, in case we should not return for her this summer.Missionary Samms could have her. She never could stand a sea, and if we took her machinery back to San Francisco it would not be worth much more than old iron. There goes $1800! Be this her epitaph: "She served her purpose, if she was slow."
We set sail southeast from Cape Blossom on the 8th and anchored off Chamisso Island on the 9th for water. It was too rough to load the water tanks until night, and we had until midnight on the island. I was delighted—fairly wild! There are big rookeries of murres, puffins and gulls on a detached islet, and a party of us made landing and collected forty dozen eggs. I went over the cliffs on a rope and was hauled up and down their faces. There was little danger except from falling rocks which might be loosened above me, and we were always very careful about that. I had a good crew, with Dr. Coffin as foreman. The murres lay their eggs on little projections or narrow shelves of rocks on the face of the cliff, in most places entirely inaccessible save from above. At the last descent I had one scare. Whether the boys above me had an equal scare I will leave them to say. I was about fifty feet below the edge of a precipice and probably the same distance above the rocks in the surf. I had obtained everything within reach and had yelled to "hoist away," but got no response. I was too far down to hear the voices of those above, neither could they hear me. The rope didn't budge and I continual swaying in uncertainty in mid-air, rather dubious as to the result. Finally I gave a successful "yank" on the rope, and was then jerked upward at a great rate of speed, scraping my elbows and shins in my frantic efforts against being thumped against the sharp projecting rocks. When I rose over the edge I found six men on the rope. Three were usually sufficient, but this last trip the three could not start the rope, and not until the sixth man, Casey, took hold, did it give an inch. We found that the rope had caught in a narrow chink in the rocks. Had it required one more man to start me, where would he have been found? I probably should have been left to swing for many hours. But I wasn't. Nothing happened wherewith to satisfy the adventure-loving and "narrow escape" craving modern journal, and I haven't all the eggs blown yet. Either I have become sea-sick or on duty. Besides, popular sentiment is against me. The boys don't like the idea of eating the egg after it is blown by my pipe from the shell. In vain I assure them that the blow-pipe is thoroughly disinfected according to the latest advices of science. They Insist upon seeing the shells cracked open, lest there might lurk some hidden secret within known only to Shafer and myself. This new lack of faith on the part of the hitherto "nice boys" is very disastrous to scientific investigation. I think they might trust me, for I eat at the same table and get away with my share of doughnuts and Cookies. I leave it to Shafer if I don't. Dr. Coffin and Rivers have taken the egg craze, so between us three I hope a good series will be saved out of the lot.
On Chamisso Island we saw records carved on logs in a fair state of preservation of the visit of "H. B. M. S. Blossom, 1820." "H. B. M. S. Herald, 1848," and some Russian vessel 1837. Those were some of the old Arctic explorers.
Iceberg.
Iceberg.
At 2 a. m. July 10, the "Penelope" set sail westward out of Kotzebue Sound, and after dodging through scattering ice and close along the south shore, sometimes in thirteen feet of water, she got safely out into the open beyond Cape Espinberg. We, with one other, were the first boats out this year. The ice opened first this season on just the opposite side of the Sound to that of last year. We had a good gale in the Arctic and another in Bering Sea just after getting through the Straits. It was fearfully rough and how the "Penelope" did pitch and roll! Worse than any time in the Pacific last year. I was sea-sick and so was almost everyone.
I belong to the Sailors' Union this year. Brownie is assistant cook, as I was last year. We sailors are divided into watches of four hours each, three men in each watch, giving one hour and twenty minutes at the wheel to each man. I, with Clyde andRivers, am on from 12 to 4. Eight hours a day on deck and sixteen off, doesn't read like hard work, but it's plenty.
Off Cape Nome.
Off Cape Nome.
We have had only the worst weather. Until we got through the Straits we encountered frequent squalls of snow and sleet. To-day it has been rainy and foggy. It is difficult to keep one's hands and feet warm during the hour and twenty minutes at the wheel, even with our best clothing on. I could not report for duty during the gales. We have seen several vessels, and last night spoke the whaling tender "Bonanza." Her captain yelled at us that there is "A big strike at Cape Nome!" I am inclined to think that the whole world is making fun at the expense of these "fool gold-hunters," as we are called. I wish I were at Dutch Harbor collecting birds. Later, 11:30.—A breeze has sprung up favorably and the captain says we are within fifty miles of Cape Nome.
Cape Nome, July 20.—Got in all safe and anchored close off shore. Boys have located seven claims not yet developed. Plenty of gold in sight. Hurrah for the Arctic gold-hunters of the "Penelope" crew!