Classic Christmas Stories (20 page)

by Pat Doyle

“W
E HAD COME TO regard ourselves now as playing a life and death game with the ocean, and with this
was the thought that, as we had defeated it so often, it
was only watching for the final change to take us off our guard and in one
fell swoop send us all to Davy Jones’ locker.”

These were the thoughts running through the frantic mind of Captain
Job K. Barbour of Newtown, Bonavista Bay, 46 Christmases ago as he,
crewmembers and five passengers found themselves some 1,000 miles
out into an angry and aggressive Atlantic Ocean, on a battered 100-foot
coastal schooner—not knowing exactly where they were, where they
were going, or how, and if they were going to get there.

They had left St. John’s on Nov. 28, 1929, for the 100-mile, 12-hour
journey to Newtown—the hurricane weather and heavy seas struck—and
they landed in North Scotland 48 days later, tired and weary men, with
an extremely ill female passenger, but all joyously happy to be still alive.

Capt. Barbour, who now resides in St. John’s, says not a Christmas
goes by without some reminiscing about Christmas Day, 1929, when he
wondered if his life was all but over.

He wrote a book about his experiences,
Forty-eight Days Adrift
, in
1932, in which he detailed the story of his perilous adventure.

The story is recalled today with the aid of some excerpts from the
book, as well as some thoughts from Capt. Barbour himself.

On Christmas Eve, 1919, the 125-ton
Neptune II
was “hove to” as a
gale continued to rage.

“We made a special effort towards some kind of celebration in honor
of the day and succeeded in boiling the kettle. The tea with bread, bologna
sausage and onions proved for us a regular feast and we enjoyed it very
much.”

For lunch they had a handful of raisins each.

For breakfast the next day—Christmas Day—they had bologna, for
dinner they had a handful of raisins, and in addition, “to honor Christmas
Day before we turned in, we had at 11 o’clock a little tea, some fruit and
Pet milk.”

That was the only Christmas in his 77 years that Capt. Barbour was at
sea—but it was an occasion that has overshadowed every Christmas since.

Job Kean Barbour was born at Newtown in 1898, the second son
of Edward Barbour, and nephew of Samuel Barbour, who together had
founded the firm of E. and S. Barbour, general merchants, around 1892.

Edward died in 1912, and the elder son, Lester, was killed in France
during the First World War, leaving Job and his Uncle Samuel to carry on
with the business.

Job first went to sea in 1912, as a cook, at the age of 14, and he kept
going to sea mainly working in the coastal trade until 1935 when, at the
age of 37, he settled down to concentrate on the family business.

While in Scotland in 1930, he had come across the Kelvin marine
engine, and realizing the possibilities, he promptly obtained the
Newfoundland agency for the family business, an agency which the firm
still features.

Today the firm of E. and S. Barbour, with Capt. Job as president, is
located on 152 Duckworth St., and his son, Lester, who has a bachelor of
commerce degree, is working along with him.

Capt. Barbour’s misadventure in 1929-30 began innocently enough
as the company’s vessel
Neptune II
, of which he was master, left Newtown
on Nov. 7, with a cargo of dried codfish, cod oil and other things for St.
John’s, where she arrived the following day, and in fine sunny weather,
discharged the cargo in 17 days.

The 125-ton three-masted schooner was 100 feet long, 22 feet wide
and 10 feet deep, and was built of oak. A Danish ship used for freighting
across the Atlantic, she had been purchased by the Barbours in 1928.

When she sailed through the Narrows on the evening of Nov. 29 1929,
with five crew members plus the skipper and five passengers, including
one woman, on the return trip to Newtown, everything appeared normal
and those on board were all of one mind, anticipating a “speedy and fair
run home.”

Little did they suspect at that moment that without navigation chart
or compass and practically without food or water, they would drift for 48
days at the mercy of the mighty Atlantic Ocean.

In fact, the lady passenger, Esther Humphries, wife of the bosom
Peter Humphries—who along with one of the other passengers had just
gotten to the
Neptune
minutes before she pulled away from the wharf in
St. John’s beamed with pleasure as she remarked, “Oh, I’m so glad that I
did not lose my passage. I’ll be home tomorrow morning with my family.”

Following his reference to that in his book, Capt. Barbour adds, “If a
voice could only then have whispered in her ear, ‘No, Mrs. Humphries,
the next land you will place your foot on will be the Bonnie Land of
Scotland!’”

The
Neptune
sailed out the harbour late on the afternoon of Nov. 29
and by 9 p.m. the vessel began to experience a taste of what nature had
in store for it.

A light snowfall had turned into a steady and severe snowstorm,
hiding the sight of anything 50 yards of both sides of the vessel, and Mrs.
Humphries was already too seasick to leave her berth.

By 5 a.m. the next day, the wind had increased to a hurricane, the
vessel was shipping heavy seas at times, and salt water had gotten into
the casks on deck containing the supply of fresh water, making it unfit for
drinking and making tea.

The wind by then was blowing with such terrific force that the
Neptune
had no other choice but to run before it.

Tremendous seas were running by then, it was freezing hard, all the
sails and ropes were frozen stiff and the deck was also thickly coated with
ice.

All on board had put on all the warm clothing they could and though
every one of the crew wore two pairs of mitts, their hands were “huge and
swollen.”

As the drinking water had been spoiled, they were compelled to go
“on allowance” of half a cup of tea in the morning and again at night, with
an apple or orange or handful of raisins for dinner.

Then things got worse on Nov. 30 as the spanker boom broke in two
pieces and the sail itself suffered the same fate.

Being about 80 miles northeast of Cape Bonavista, under bare poles,
they hoisted one jib and ran under that small sail alone.

Each steersman in turn was lashed to the wheel for an hour only, for
as Capt. Barbour put it, “It was too cold for human flesh to stay there any
longer.”

The next day, Dec. 1, the crew of the
Neptune
found themselves 150
miles northeast of Cape Bonavista and realized they had overshot their
home port, Newtown, by 120 miles.

As the seas continued to run very high, the vessel became in outward
appearance “one huge lump of ice from stem to stern, ” and the weight
had made the hull settle down a foot or so below the usual waterline in
normal times with a full freight on board.

As the days went gradually by, the heavy seas and stormy weather
continued and the
Neptune II
continued to drift farther and farther away
from home.

On Dec. 6, the vessel shipped a sea which filled her deck level to the
rail and washed away the wheel house and steering gear.

The crew promptly rigged up two tackles, one on either side of the
tiller, and with that makeshift apparatus, four men, two on each side,
were required to do the steering and keep the vessel before the wind.

However, Pearce Barbour, the mate was able to get the broken wheel
fixed up so that one man could again steer.

The
Neptune
by then was on the edge of the Gulf Stream and in a few
hours all the ice melted from the deck, sails and rigging.

While there were periods of lull, the stormy weather kept returning
with hurricane winds and heavy seas, and the coastal vessel was taking a
heavy beating in many ways.

As Capt. Barbour described it in his book: “We huddled in the
forecastle and let the elements do what they liked with our ship. It was
certain death to venture on deck.”

Even in the forecastle, however, they were not safe from the furey of
the seas which swept under the doors and around barriers, flooding the
floor knee-deep, drenching the crew and covering Mrs. Humphries in
her berth.

For the most part, the people on board the
Neptune
were living on
half a cup of tea twice a day, some biscuits, canned fruit and milk.

Despite the continuing battle with the elements, the crew and
passengers kept up their spirits as best as possible and tried to make
repairs to various pieces of equipment as was needed.

By Dec. 12, the
Neptune
was some 720 miles out in the Atlantic from
the east coast of Newfoundland, and although the crew kept trying to
set a course toward their homeland whenever they could, they were not
really making much headway.

Two days later, one of the crew managed to catch some rain water
that was devoid of salt; pork, cabbage and turnips were rounded up and
put in the boiler, and it turned out to be “the best ‘scoff ’ that we ever had.”

It was the first cooked meal they had had since leaving St. John’s, Nov.
29.

The stormy weather and heavy seas gave repeat performances from
time to time and the little
Neptune
was drifting around the Atlantic with
no idea where she was and where she would eventually end up.

A couple of other vessels were sighted on occasion but due to the
Neptune
having no wireless, because of the heavy seas, and since
Newfoundland crew didn’t know the flag language, they were unable to
get assistance.

During the few days before Christmas, the sturdy vessel was “hove to”
most of the time trying to sit out the hurricane weather and heavy seas.

On Dec. 24, the elements took no notice that it was Christmas Eve,
and a heavy sea struck the ship with such force that George Bungay, who
was in his bunk, five feet up, was thrown on the floor.

His head struck the hot stove and his side was also injured, so he had
to be hefted back into the berth and lashed in so there wouldn’t be a re-occurrence of the mishap.

Christmas Day was spent rather uneventfully with the vessel making
little headway.

Boxing Day, Dec. 26, with food and coal supplies getting short, the
crew managed to get some more supplies out of the hatches.

In fact things looked so good for a while that day, they hoisted all
available sail and ran 20 miles toward Newfoundland—only to run into
another hurricane which forced them to heave to one again.

Finally, on Dec. 30, Capt. Barbour made up his mind that it would do
no good to continue to attempt to get back to Newfoundland.

He called the crew on deck and said, “Our fresh water supply (from
catching rain water) will last only a few days, our rigging and sails are
worn out and we are nearly worn out ourselves.”

So they shaped their course for the British Isles, with the hope of
getting to the English Channel.

The
Neptune
floundered on when it could but Dec. 31, New Year’s Eve,
a part of New Year’s Day, she was hove to once again, as it was blowing a
gale.

Mrs. Humphries was extremely ill by this time and it was thought
she might die at any time, although she improved somewhat a little later.

The vessel made a little more headway before once again running into
the rough weather.

Said Capt. Barbour, “We could see nothing but the wild waves and
the circle of the horizon on all sides, at the mercy of winds and tides in
the Atlantic, with no maps or charts or any aids to navigation, and even
if we had sextant and quadrant, no one on board would have been able
to use them.”

It was a New Year’s Day and night that wouldn’t be forgotten in a
hurry.

The days and the nights went by and somehow the Newfoundland
coastal vessel and all those aboard managed to survive to keep going and
even to keep their spirits up, with scoff now and again and even some
accordion music by one of the crew.

However, the crew were not getting much sleep and not knowing
their whereabouts made them uneasy.

The food supplies were extremely low by now as well.

Land was finally sighted on Jan. 14, but the crew of the
Neptune
still
had no idea where they were, whether the land was inhabited and if so, if
the inhabitants spoke English.

Two days went by before the steamer
Hesperus
out of Scotland
discovered the
Neptune
and came to rescue.

Capt. Barbour was “thunderstruck” when he was told he was in the
north of Scotland.

As the steamer prepared to tow the
Neptune
to Tobermory, Capt.
Barbour told the Scotchmen, “Men, you all look like angels to me.”

The horrendous voyage was over and all aboard the
Neptune
,
including Mrs. Humphries had survived.

The vessel had been severely battered and tossed all over the Atlantic
Ocean, the crew and passengers had not gotten much sleep and had had
little to eat, they had wondered from one day to the next if they would ever
see dry land again, and they had fought hard to conquer the elements . . .
but conquer them they did—and all lived to tell the tale.