Rowed The Atlantic In 56 Days

Press, Volume CVI, Issue 31161, 10 September 1966, Page 5

Rowed The Atlantic In 56 Days

(Specially written for “The Press” by ROSS BROWN) MAN a Saturday 70 years ago, New York harbour was busy, as always, with merchant shipping, lighters, ferries, while small craft set out on pleasure trips. With no ceremony, and hardly observed, two men also rowed their small boat into the stream. They were bound for France.

George Harboe, aged 30, and Gabriel Samuelsen, four years younger, had emigrated from Norway to America to discover that the hard streets were not paved with gold. Disillusioned, the two decided to do something to regain their pride, even if it seemed eccentric. They would row the Atlantic.

Quietly, they drew up plans and built a boat, 18| feet long with a beam of 5| feet. It took a year, and when their secret broke, their friends laughed. The rowboat was named Fox, after the owner of a New York police magazine, one of the few people to support and aid their scheme. He also promised them each a gold medal if they succeeded. Samuelsen, afraid that his family in Norway would hear of the proposed voyage, changed his Christian name to Frank. On June 6, 1896, a few interested journalists examined the Fox before it left the south point of Manhattan. They found neither sail, mast, nor motor, only seven pairs of oars.

Blown Back

The actual rowing began next day. Leaving the American coast, they battled against stiff winds and heavy seas. For a while they managed to take turns rowing, so that they could get some sleep. The log soon recorded that they “both rowed the whole night”—it was too cold to sleep. Bad luck haunted them. After a storm had blown the Fox backwards about 20 miles, a heavy fog came up. Then the primus stove and part of the boat caught alight—the log stated, modestly: “The fire was soon extinguished.” A pod of whales began to frolic near them, and one surfaced alarmingly close to the tiny craft. Yet when they met a German passenger ship, bound for New York, and were offered rescue, they simply

asked the captain to say: “All’s well.” Near the New Foundland banks, trawler men invited the crew of the Fox to a good meal. They refused, fearing to come alongside the larger vessels in the choppy seas.

Days In Fog

Fog again, then a day of sun. It did not herald good weather however, for a clammy fog again rolled over them, and stayed for eight days. “It is like being inside a great sack,” they wrote. They could only watch the compass—and row. Later, they celebrated the fog’s dispersal by using fresh water to have their first wash with soap. The refreshing touch of water was unnecessary for they were soon to be inundated. The wind and sea rose, settling into a storm, necessitating the use of a sea-anchor. There was no thought of rest or sleep now. The rain and the heavy seas drenched them, and worse still the chain holding the sea-anchor parted. One night the Foxfilled with water about 30 times. Everything floated. Only bread and the log in special compartments were kept dry. The storm subsided —then raged again, stronger. One of them wrote later: “In the dark we saw a huge white wave rushing on to us, and tried to hold the bow into it. The wave was concave, curled over us and broke on the stern.” The boat capsized, flinging the pair into the sea. Fortunately they wore lifebelts, made fast to the boat by lines. They tried to creep into the Fox again, one man on

either side, nearly tipping it over with each attempt. Finally Samuelsen shoved Harboe on board, but he was so feeble that he almost drowned in the water sloshing about inboard. Harboe’s face was swollen up, and he had difficulty moving. Samuelsen, caring little for his friend’s ailments, forced him to row. He soon recovered.

Freshwater cans, fryingpan, plates, and specially built seats had been swept into the sea, and they had not slept for three days. There was nothing to do but keep rowing. On July 15 they were welcomed on board a Norwegian ship, but could scarcely walk when they got on deck.

Better Weather

Nevertheless, they accepted food, water, and two bottles of Geneva gin. The captain also signed their log, stating that “the Fox has no sail or rudder on board.”

The weather improved. They went on board another ship on July 24. And then after days of changeable weather they sighted a lighthouse on August 1, and a few hours later land. Fifty-six days from New York, they went ashore at St. Mary, Scilly Isles.

At Le Havre

But their goal was Le Havre, and sleeping in the Fox, they set off the next day. Now there was no haste; they rowed by day, and anchored and slept at night. Five days later they were given a tow by the Bamburgh of Newcastle, but it was no joy-ride for the seas were high, and they kept awake during the night, baling and holding their craft on even keel.

At 9 a.m. on August 8, 1896, they left the British ship, as the French coast was close, and an hour later strolled ashore in Le Havre.

From there Harboe and Samuelsen navigated the Seine to Paris, where their two gold medals were waiting. The Fox was exhibited in London, but the show earned little money and, not being publicity conscious, they did not consider a newspaper contract for an account of their voyage. They left London for Norway, wondering if they would get some kind of acclamation there. But their arrival had no impact, for Nansen had just returned from his polar expedition in the Fram, and few people cared about the insignificant Fox.

Met The King

Only in Samuelsen's hometown, Farsund, were they praised. The boat was decked with flowers, and a great feast was held. King Oscar heard of their feat and they were called before the king, and presented with 10 crowns each.

It is not recorded how they spent the gift which was worth about 10s. Little is known of Harboe after that, except that he died in 1921, aged 57. Samuelsen returned to America, but with fortune still eluding him, he settled in Farsund for good, where he died in his seventies.

Almost Unknown

Norway has applauded so many seafaring feats, and a corresponding number of seagoing heroes, that the names of Harboe and Samuelsen are practically unknown in their native land.

And yet the two British paratroopers who recently landed in Ireland after a 92day voyage in a 20ft boat across the Atlantic—only the second men to accomplish' the feat—will, no doubt, agree that the 56 days taken by the two Norwegians will be hard to better.