The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Boy Whaleman, by George Fox Tucker, Illustrated by George Avison

THE BOY WHALEMAN

In less than a minute the bow just touched the big fellow’s body.

The Beacon Hill Bookshelf

THE BOY WHALEMAN

By

George F. Tucker

With Illustrations in Color by

George Avison

Boston

Little, Brown, and Company

1925

Copyright, 1924,

By George F. Tucker.

All rights reserved.

Published August, 1924.

Printed in The United States of America

ILLUSTRATIONS

• [In less than a minute the bow just touched the big fellow’s body]
• [Jake partly lost his balance, and the captain seized him]
• [Out of the thicket sprang our shipmate]
• [I shouted “B-l-o-w-s, b-l-o-w-s, b-l-o-w-s. There he breaches!”]
• [The sea became more boisterous, and the captain gave orders to throw the lead]

THE BOY WHALEMAN

CHAPTER I
PREPARING FOR THE VOYAGE

When I was a boy, New Bedford was not, as it is now, a great manufacturing city, but the best known and largest whaling port in the world. The wharves were then busy places; there vessels were “fitted”, as they used to say, and sent out on their long voyages; other vessels returned and discharged their cargoes. Great casks of oil were arranged in rows on the wharves; those that were sold were carted off on curious old trucks called gears, and those that were to await a better market were given a thick covering of seaweed. Everybody talked ships and oil. One would hear people say, “The Janet is reported in the Indian Ocean, clean,” that is, had taken no oil; “The Adeline is heard from in the Pacific, having made a ‘good cut’,” that is, had taken a lot of oil; “There is news from the Marcella from the other side of land, having done well.” “The other side of land” meant the other side of the world, as Australia and New Zealand, in the waters round which many whalers used to cruise.

My father, when a young man, went whaling for a single voyage which lasted for more than three years. He was a sailor, or, to use the regular phrase, a foremast hand, and at the end of two years he became a boat-steerer or harpooner. When I was a little boy he used to take me on his knee and tell me stories about the life of the whalemen,—of chasing whales and harpooning them; of angry whales smashing boats and chewing them to bits; of towing whales to the ship and cutting them in and trying them out; of losing the ship and remaining all night in the open boats; of encountering great storms and riding them out in safety; of meeting after many months another New Bedford vessel, and getting the latest news from home, and of visiting in the Pacific Ocean islands inhabited by savages.

At an early age I made up my mind to go to sea. On Saturday afternoons I used to roam about the wharves and sometimes ventured into the ships, only to be ordered out. But one day a man, called a shipkeeper, was very kind to me. The shipkeeper was the man who had charge of the wharf and the ships moored to it. He was a kind of general manager. They were taking out the cargo from a vessel.

“Haven’t I seen you around here before?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, many times. I’ve been down here on the wharves nearly every Saturday afternoon for several years.”

“How old are you?”

“Twelve.”

“What is your name?”

“Homer Bleechly.”

“I suppose you would like to go to sea—wouldn’t you?”

“Indeed, I would.”

“As cabin boy?”

“Yes.”

Then he said thoughtfully, “Not yet, boy, not yet. It’s a hard life, so you’d better wait awhile.”

“That was what my father said.”

The shipkeeper continued, “You go home and get a basket and a pail, and I’ll take you up into the loft and give you something that will make you happy.”

I did as he said, and on my return he took me to a building at the head of the wharf, in the front part of which was the merchant’s office, and in the story above, a great loft full of whaling gear and a great many other things which the vessels had brought home from far islands in the Pacific Ocean. There was a boat like a canoe, only larger and better shaped. It was different from anything I had ever seen, and was made by savages on distant shores. Then there were paddles beautifully made, with carvings done, the shipkeeper told me, with shark’s teeth and bits of sea shells. There were lots of war clubs and spears and strange-looking tools and utensils. I wanted to ship on a vessel at once and sail for the Pacific Ocean.

“Here, boy,” said the shipkeeper, “give me your basket and pail.”

He reached down into a great cask set on end and took out three large objects, each about the size of a football. “These are coconuts with the husks on. When you get home take a hatchet and cut off the husks and you’ll find the coconut.”

Then he put a big dipper down into another cask and took up a lot of pickled limes and poured them into the pail. This he repeated several times. “There, boy,” he said, “now take them things home, if you can carry them. But don’t you tell any other boys that you got them things here, for, if you do, we’ll be pestered by all the boys in town.”

When I reached home with my prizes and showed them to my mother, the good woman looked troubled. I had often told her that I wanted to go to sea and she had done all she could to discourage me. I now renewed my desire, and, when my father came home, she took the matter up with him, and they both told me how hard the sailor’s life was and how little money there was in it.

“Yes, I know, father,” I said, “but haven’t you taken me on your knee and told me all about your own voyage and the strange places you went to?”

“Yes, my dear son, but I didn’t tell you about the unpleasant things and the hardships a sailor has to put up with.”

My home was a happy one, and I was the only child. No one ever had a better mother. My father was a good man and a model parent. He earned fair wages and provided well for his little family. Why should I be discontented? Because, like many a boy, I was unreasonable. Yet, was I wholly to blame? Life in a seaport town appeals to the fancy of a boy. Longfellow wrote,

I remember the black wharves and the slips,

And the sea-tides tossing free;

And Spanish sailors with bearded lips

And the beauty and mystery of the ships,

And the magic of the sea,

And the voice of that wayward song

Is singing and saying still:

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

I determined to hide on some vessel, and, when she was well out to sea, show myself and apply for the position of cabin boy. As I look back upon my foolish purpose, I deeply regret my ingratitude to my parents and the pain I caused them. In one sense it was a simple thing to run away, but quite another to succeed in it. Before sailing, a whaler would drop about three miles down the harbor and remain there at anchor for several days in charge of the shipkeeper. Then captain, officers and crew would go down in boats, weigh anchor, and off the ship would go on her long voyage.

Soon a vessel owned by the merchant who employed my friend the shipkeeper was all ready for sea. In the late afternoon I made up a bundle of clothes and went down on the wharf and walked aboard the vessel in a free and easy way. No attention was paid to me, and fortunately the shipkeeper was at the farther end of the wharf. I went down into the cabin, and I recall how clean everything was with the coating of fresh paint. I crawled into a berth, feeling sure that at six o’clock the shipkeeper would lock the door without coming into the cabin. By this time I was getting a little afraid and almost wished that I was at home. At last I heard the town clock ring out the hour of six, and then came a footstep nearer and nearer, and lo! it was the shipkeeper. He was startled when he saw me, and for a moment appeared angry. Then he said:

“I didn’t expect to see you here. Didn’t you know that I would have to lock up the cabin every night until the vessel sails, and that you would surely get caught?”

“Yes, but I want to go as cabin boy, and I thought that they wouldn’t ship me in the office.”

“Does your mother know you are here?”

“No.”

“Don’t you see how foolish this all is? Now get out and I’ll take you home.”

I objected and he insisted. I was ashamed and did not want to go home—not that I feared punishment, but because I shrank from facing my parents. The shipkeeper took me along with him and left me with my mother. I am not going to dwell on what happened at home. I have only to say that I had a long talk with my parents that evening, and I promised that I would never attempt to run away again and that I never would ship for a voyage without their consent.

But the sea continued to call me, and Saturdays I still visited the wharves. I read every volume I could get on the life of the sailor, and was particularly delighted with such books as Dana’s “Two Years before the Mast”, and Melville’s “Moby Dick.” With the aid of my friend, the shipkeeper, I collected all kinds of articles brought home on the ships until I had a veritable little museum.

And here, let me say that my parents took the proper course. My mother was apparently troubled, but she conferred with my father, and it was agreed that when I was old enough I might go to sea. “When I was old enough” was not very definite. I felt that I was old enough then, but I knew that my parents thought otherwise. At thirteen I entered the High School and at fifteen I felt that I had sufficient education, at least for a sailor, and I implored my parents to let me go.

“You aren’t old enough,” said my mother.

“But yesterday, mother, you said that I was large and strong for my age—as large and strong as a man of eighteen.”

My mother made no reply, but there were tears in her eyes.

It was July and vacation. I was restless and impatient. Hitherto I had worked during vacations for a cooper, doing odd jobs, but now the cooper sent me home with the statement that I was of no use to him. Years afterward my mother told me that she and my father conferred and decided that it was the best course to let me ship, provided my age was not against me.

In the fifties of the last century, whaling was at its height. In the warm weather ships were constantly coming and going. There was no lack of vessels, but would they ship a boy of fifteen who was as large and strong as a man of eighteen? Of course my father’s consent was necessary. I went to my old friend, the shipkeeper. One of his employer’s vessels named the Seabird was to sail in a few weeks, and I was anxious to go in her.

The shipkeeper said, “You are big for your years and as strong as a man, but a sailor’s life is a hard one. But, if your folks are willing you should go, I’ll see the old gentleman and find out what he says about your going in the Seabird. Sailors are shipped through the outfitters, sometimes called ‘sharks.’ The outfitters provide the men with their clothes and various articles, and the owners pay the outfitters and, at the end of the voyage, the owners take the amount out of the sailor’s shares. If the old gentleman is willing to take you, don’t have anything to do with an outfitter, but have your mother provide the outfit, and I’ll give her a list of the things you’ll have to take with you.”

In a few days the shipkeeper said that his employer would see me with my father, and in the late afternoon we appeared at his office. The merchant was a Quaker, and he appeared at first a little stern. He declared that it was unusual for one so young to be taken on a whaler as a foremast hand, but my size seemed to justify an exception; that I could ship only with my father’s consent; that my parents must see to it that I had a good outfit; and that my share or lay would be 1/180. On whalers captain, officers and crew shipped on shares or lays, and my share or lay was to be one barrel of oil for every one hundred and eighty barrels stowed down, and one pound of whalebone for every one hundred and eighty pounds taken.

And now my parents were busy fitting me out. The whaleman, who was to be away for several years, required clothing suited to about every climate, and an abundance of it. I was provided with needles, linen thread, spools of sewing cotton, a shaving outfit, several knives and forks with wooden handles, several combs, two pairs of scissors, lots of buttons, plenty of soap, a couple of tin plates and a large dipper, a sheath knife and belt, three thick blankets, a bedtick and pillow filled with feathers, a dozen shirts and undershirts, three suits for light weather and a heavy suit with a large overcoat for the Arctic, two pairs of thick mittens, four pairs of brogans, one light and one heavy cap, two so’westers, two large straw hats and two oilcloth suits. My father added a roll of cotton cloth which he said might come handy for trade with the natives. Did ever a whaleman have so good an outfit?

The shipkeeper told me that he would give me some points before sailing, so, on the last Saturday afternoon, he pointed to the bow of the Seabird and said:

“You see that heavy oak on the bow, and the iron shoe on the fore foot? When you see them things you may be sure a ship’s bound to the Arctic, for you have to put her in good shape to battle with the ice. Now you stand off a few feet and look at the Seabird. She ain’t as sharp and slick as a merchantman, but she ain’t bad looking. Ain’t she nice and clean? She’s been well painted, the boats are hanging at the davits, the rigging’s been tarred and slushed, topmast spar and yard put in place and sails bent on. But, say, she’ll look different from this in a few years when she comes home with the paint scratched off, the sails black and patched and the old hull greasy from stem to stern. Now you come on board.”

He showed me the spare spars lashed to the deck and told me of the extra cables stowed away. Then he took me to the hatchway, and told me to look down into the hold. I could see that it was packed with a lot of things. The shipkeeper said:

“On a whaler you live together for a long time and you have to carry loads of things with you—stores, trade, slop chest, sails and duck, sundries, hardware, copper ware, crockery, provisions, casks, staves, lumber, wood, etc. Some of the casks are filled with water, and others are packed with provisions, clothing, and so forth. As the provisions are used up and the clothing and other articles are called for, the casks are ready for the oil. The greatest things on the ship are the whaleboats. There are no such boats anywhere in the world. You’ll find that’s so before you come back. Now I’ll show you the little house you are to live in for many long months.”

He took me into the forecastle. I went down the little steep stairway into a gloomy space largely filled with bunks. I wasn’t so cheerful when I came up, and, as I walked home, I thought of the nice little room in which I had slept from infancy.

I have said that this was Saturday. In the evening my schoolmates came in. I did not betray my feelings. One of them said, “You look as happy as if you had just returned from a voyage.” On the following day my parents and I attended service as usual, in the Bethel. This little church was founded especially for sailors and was located on what was named “Johnny Cake Hill.” It still stands, looking just as it did sixty years ago. On the walls of the interior are cenotaphs erected to those who lost their lives on the deep. These had never interested me, but this morning, surrounded by sailors and realizing that this was my last Sunday at home, I thought of the perils in store for me as I read the following:—

In Memory of

Capt. William Swain

Associate Master

of the Christopher Mitchell of Nantucket

This Worthy Man after Fastening to a whale

Was Carried Overboard by the Line and Drowned

May 19th 1844

In the 49th Yr. of his Age

Be Ye Also Ready, for in Such an Hour as Ye

Think Not the Son of Man Cometh

The ship was at her anchorage in the lower harbor. In a few days came the hour of departure. Hitherto I had thought little about parting with my mother. Now the thought of it was distressing and the actual leave-taking heart-breaking.

My parents had provided me with a sea chest which was better looking and more costly than that of the average sailor. My father accompanied me to the wharf, where we found a large gathering, composed of sailors and their friends, who had come to bid them good-by. My father showed much feeling in his parting words, and like most fathers, he enjoined obedience, faithful discharge of duty and exemplary habits. The realization of the life upon which I was about to enter came upon me with full force. My chest and I were taken aboard of a large catboat, and, as we slipped away, I saw my father standing on the wharf and was not conscious of the presence of any one else. An incident added to my discomfiture. Among all the chests mine was the most noticeable, and this fact elicited unkind remarks from some of my companions.

“It’s a boy’s box,” said one.

“Full of baby’s things,” observed another.

“Call it a fancy chest,” remarked a third.

“Call the young chap himself, ‘Fancy Chest,’” cried a fourth.

“So we will,” they exclaimed.

Then one of the men scraped his feet along the chest as if to remove the paint.

Immediately a large, powerfully built man thundered, “Take your feet off that box, and all of you let the young fellow alone.”

They obeyed, and my heart went out to my new friend. I didn’t know who he was, but I soon found out. It was three miles to the ship, and as we approached her she did look fine, and her appearance cheered up my rather faint heart. When we were aboard we were told to get our chests into the forecastle, which I had visited before with the shipkeeper. The forecastle was supposed to accommodate eighteen, and the bunks were arranged around the sides in a double tier. The gloom seemed to deepen and, as I was told to take a bunk forward, which was one of the poorest, I thought of my mother and wished that I was at home. In a short time came the cry, “All hands on deck.”

When we emerged some one told me to go forward and help work the windlass.

“It’s time to weigh anchor,” he said.

A “greenie” remarked, “I don’t see how they are going to weigh the anchor; they ain’t got no scales.”

A general laugh followed. We set to work and one of the men started a rude chantey, and the old hands joined in. Chanteys are the songs sailors sing when at work, and the mere singing seems to make labor lighter.

At last the anchor came up. In the meantime men had been sent aloft to shake out the sails, and the vessel started on her long voyage. As I caught a glimpse of land and historic land, too, often spoken of by the early voyagers, I felt as if I had sundered the last tie with home, and I found it difficult to keep back the tears.

Just then the shipkeeper came to me and said, “I’m going out in the vessel and coming back in the pilot boat. Now let me tell you something. Even if things don’t go right, keep a civil tongue in your head. Do what you’re told to do, and be respectful to those over you, and never try to be familiar with them. If you do, you’ll find it won’t pay. Now let me tell you something more. The first mate’s name is Coster Lakeum. He sailed in this very vessel on the former voyage as third mate. He’s a man who doesn’t talk much, but he’s a fine seaman. I’ve told him that while you look to be eighteen you’re only fifteen. Don’t ever try to be familiar with him, and he may prove your best friend in the ship. You’ll be a lucky boy if he should take you for stroke oar in his boat.”

We had to beat out to sea as there was a head wind. As the vessel tacked I was bewildered and wondered how any one could learn the names of all the ropes and how to handle them.

“Get out of my way and get to work,” said a hard-looking, burly fellow, jostling me as he said it. He was an American of almost repulsive countenance, and a man for whom then and there I conceived a strong dislike. Well, I couldn’t work, for I didn’t know how to, and I noticed that all the greenies seemed stupid, like myself, and were at a loss what to do. The old sailors were handling the ship, and in a couple of hours we reached the offing, the pilot boat came up, and my good friend, the shipkeeper, shook me by the hand, and he and the pilot stepped aboard the little craft and were soon far astern. On our port were the islands, on one of which Gosnold made a temporary settlement eighteen years before the Mayflower anchored in Provincetown Harbor. While the islands bear the name of Gosnold’s Queen, their individual Indian names are still retained, and furnish a curious and interesting rhyme:

Naushon, Nonamesset,

Onkatonka and Wepecket,

Nashawena, Pasquinese,

Cuttyhunk and Penikese.

CHAPTER II
AT SEA

When we were well out at sea the vessel began to pitch and roll so that I found it difficult to keep on my feet. I would find myself in the lee scuppers only to be thrown back again like a piece of rubber. I noticed how the old sailors tipped their bodies to avoid disaster, and I tried to get my sea legs on and partially succeeded. Even then I slid at times, and at last I got hold of a pin and held on. The man who had come to my help in the boat, when the sailors were making fun of me, came up and said:

“You greenies are not much use until you have learned the ropes. We don’t look to you at all the first day out. Now, boy, let me tell you that the chances are you are going to get sick before long, and, if you go down into the close, stuffy forecastle, you’ll be a great deal worse. I’m the first mate, and there’s no objection to your sleeping on deck the first night out. If you do, you may sleep off the sickness and be all right in the morning.”

So he pointed out a place, and I knew then that my friend was Coster Lakeum. Pretty soon I began to feel a little sick. It was a don’t-care feeling, and it made the other sickness—the longing for home—all the more intense. Why did I ever leave my father’s house? Why did I abandon my mother’s love and care? I kept back the tears and I kept out of the way. When night came I stretched out in the place which had been pointed out and began to feel a little better. The air was bracing and the thought of home did quite as much to keep me from sleeping as the tossing of the ship. There was no one now to see the tears which ran down my cheeks. Sleep stole on, and, when morning came, I felt somewhat restored. I looked about for a place to wash in, and for a basin, but saw none. I came to the conclusion that sailors didn’t wash unless they let themselves down into the sea. It was not long before I found out that water at sea was a luxury. It was kept in a scuttle butt by the cabin door, where a drink might be taken, but there was none for washing. The sailors had to depend on rain and the sea. The cook, who was at the galley, called to me, “Come here, Sonny.”

I started, but the ship gave a lurch and down I went. He gave a loud laugh, but there was something in the tone which showed that he wasn’t making fun of me. I picked myself up, steadied my body, and at the right moment covered the distance without further mishap.

“Look here, boy,” he said, “you’re startin’ out rather young, but you must be twenty.”

This touched my pride.

“Why, I am only fifteen.”

“Only fifteen? Well, I suppose you didn’t have a very good home, so you were glad to go to sea.”

“Yes, I had a good home.”

I felt uncomfortable. The cook continued pleasantly, “The sailor’s life is a hard one, but there are bright spots. Let me tell you to do as you are told to do and do your best. Feel a little squeamish, eh?”

“Not very much now, but I did, yesterday.”

“And you will again, if you go down this mornin’ into that old forecastle, so I’ll give you a little breakfast here, if you can hold on with one hand while you use the other. Eat little to begin with.”

He gave me some coffee and a couple of pieces of bread soaked in something. I held the cup containing the coffee in one hand and the hard bread in the other, and, although more than once I thought they would slip from my hands, I managed to make my repast without accident. It wasn’t long before all hands were ordered aft. I was now feeling pretty good, but I pitied the greenies who had passed the night in the forecastle—they looked so forlorn. They had evidently been sick and gave little appearance of being able to work.

We all huddled together and Captain Gamans, who was to be our master for nearly three years, proceeded to address us. The captain was a young man, not over thirty years old, of good size but not of very attractive appearance. He seemed inclined to be somewhat savage. The following remarks he delivered in a sharp, nasal tone:

“See here, you fellows, I’m boss on this ship. I want you to understand you’ll have to work and work hard. There’s no hanging round on a whaler, as some folks think. Whalemen work a great deal harder than merchantmen. Now don’t let me see any wasting of grub. I’ll put the man who does it in irons for a week. The sooner you greenies learn the ropes and to box the compass, the better. If you don’t, no watch below until you do. Competition between the boats is all right, but there must be fair play. Now for the boats’ crews and the watches; and look out for yourselves.”

Lakeum called out sharply, “Fall in line—old hands at one end, greenies at the other.”

The order was obeyed, but the vessel rolled so that the greenies wobbled about considerably. The mates examined our ribs and arms in order to size up our probable strength and endurance, while the boat-steerers or harpooners stood by and offered suggestions. Then came the selection for the places in the boats, and to my great joy I learned that I was to be stroke oar in the first mate’s boat. I felt grateful to Lakeum and the shipkeeper as well. The few who were not chosen were to remain on the ship when the boats were down for whales. Long afterwards Lakeum told me that selecting a greenie as stroke oar was something of an experiment, but my size, the recommendation of the shipkeeper and the fact that I was brought up in a seaport town and knew something of salt water determined him.

Now came what they called “the picking of the watches.” This was the duty of the first and second mates. There were three watches on our vessel. While those who made up a watch were on deck, the others were at rest or off duty. Between four and eight p.m. there were two short periods called dogwatches. That very day the crows’ nests were built at the mastheads. In each case a pair of crosstrees was fitted to the masthead, upon each side of which was constructed a small platform. This provided a foothold. A couple of padded hoops were secured above at a point a little higher than a man’s waist. With his feet on the platform, his body through the hoops and his arms resting thereon, one could look over the entire ocean, as far as the horizon, in search of whales.

In the late afternoon word came to shorten sail, and several of us greenies were ordered aloft together with the old hands. This was my first taste of the real work of a sailor. When my feet touched the foot-ropes, young and agile as I was, I had considerable doubt about keeping my place. “Tip forward, as the ship goes down and hold on as she comes back, and be quick in knottin’ your reef points,” said an old tar beside me. I managed to hold on, but I was slow and clumsy in reefing. “Green at it, ain’t you? Watch me,” he declared. I was glad when I found myself descending the ratlines and was on deck once more.

That night I slept in my bunk in the forecastle. I recall how close and stuffy it was, how the waves pounded against the ship, how some of the men, presumably the greenies, groaned as if in agony, how I longed for a kiss from my mother and for the little bedroom at home, and how glad I was when at four in the morning our watch was called and I went on deck.

Of all things on the ship the whaleboat was the most important, and few mechanics were more skilful than its builder. This craft was sharp at both ends and was something like the model of an Indian birch-bark canoe. The bow and stern were high out of water. The bow rose above the rail in a Y-shape, and in this was a brass roller for the whale line to pass over. The boat was about thirty feet long, six feet in beam and a little over two feet deep. It was so solidly built that it could ride on a sea which would smash the ordinary boat of a merchantman to bits.

The whale line was about twelve hundred feet in length and was coiled in a large tub. One end of it was taken aft to a post in the stern of the boat called a loggerhead, around which two or three turns were taken in order to bring a strain on the line when a struck whale was going down or, to use the common expression, was “sounding.” The friction caused by the line flying round the loggerhead often set it on fire, and it was necessary to throw water over it. The line was carried forward to the bow, and to it was attached a harpoon. To this line, at some distance from the harpoon, another short warp was attached, with a harpoon secured to the end. The purpose was for the boat-steerer or harpooner to throw the second iron after he had thrown the first or, if this were impossible, to toss the second iron overboard, as otherwise it might catch in a man’s clothing or endanger the other occupants of the boat.

The third day the work on the whaleboats was pushed vigorously. The oars were examined to see if there were flaws, and were then laid in the boats; the whale line was coiled down into tubs, new harpoons were fitted to poles, and these and the lances were placed in the boats. The whaleboat carried a sail, which was set when the wind was favorable, and was then steered by a rudder. At other times it was propelled by five great oars.

The boat also carried a hatchet, a water keg, a keg containing a few biscuits, candles, lanterns, glasses, matches, a compass, two knives, two small axes, a boat hook, waif flags, fluke spades, canvas buckets, a “piggin” for bailing, and paddles. A rudder hung outside by the stern.

The ordinary whaler carried four boats on the davits—three on the port side and one aft on the starboard side. Some whalers carried a fifth boat forward on the starboard side.

The first mate’s boat was the one aft on the port side. This was the one to which I was assigned. It was called the “larboard” boat. And now it is to be noted that no whaleboat ever had a name. It even did not have painted on it the name of the ship to which it belonged.

On the fourth day the weather was mild and the sea calm. In the morning the order came to lower the boats. The lookouts were in the hoops at the mastheads, but there were no whales in sight. The truth is, the greenies needed practice and training to prepare them for the encounter with whales. Lakeum said to me:

“Did you ever handle an oar?”

“Oh, yes,” I said. “I can not only handle an oar but I can do two things which my father told me most merchantmen can’t do. I can swim and sail a boat.”

“You may have to do both before this voyage is over,” was the reply in rather a stern tone.

Each boat carried six men. If, when in pursuit of whales, the wind were favorable, the sail was set; if light, oars were used together with the sail; if not favorable, the oars alone were used.

And now we were not to seek whales, but have our first practice in the imaginary pursuit. I had the stroke oar, which was nearly fourteen feet long. If this were regarded as heavy and clumsy, what would one say of the steering oar held by Lakeum, which was twenty feet long? When the boat was lowered, we scrambled into her and took our places. Another man and I were the only greenies in the mate’s boat, and it turned out that he had never handled an oar before; as for myself, I was only used to light oars of moderate length. The sea looked very calm from the ship’s deck, but when we had pushed off, we found that our great whaleboat was tossed about considerably, and this made rowing more difficult. I was anxious to do my best and I think Lakeum was aware of it, but he gave suggestions and orders in a tone which made me realize that he was my master.

The mate always helps the stroke oarsman. As Lakeum steered with his left hand, he pushed with his right hand on the handle of my oar. The other greenie blundered more than I did and in such a way as to interfere with the others. The men made him the object of their ridicule, but Lakeum told them to be quiet. Take it all in all, some progress was made that morning, and we returned to the vessel with an appetite for dinner.

This suggests the food that was served to us. There were three messes,—cabin, steerage and forecastle. Meals were served at seven-thirty A.M., at noon, and at five P.M. As to the forecastle, the food was dumped in bulk into large pans and carried from the galley to the forecastle, where the men ate it from small pans. For drink we had tea and coffee sweetened with a kind of molasses. We had salt junk and also hard bread which was improved by soaking it to flabbiness, frying it in pork fat and deluging it in black molasses. Lobscouse, a favorite dish, was a mixture of hard-tack, meat and potatoes. Duff was made of flour, lard and dried apples. It was boiled in a bag and served with molasses.

We ate our food in the forecastle while sitting on benches in front of our bunks. Sometimes the meat was divided into as many parts as there were men. Then, as the carver asked, “Who’s this for?” a man who had turned his back called another man’s name and the portion was given to him. This was repeated until all the men were served. Now let me say that during the voyage I never saw among the men a single act of selfishness or greediness. Often those who are uneducated and have had no social advantages are, in their relations with others, the most considerate and gentlemanly.

That afternoon the first vessel was sighted since leaving port. The captain was out with his glasses, and I heard him say, “It’s a whaler, and I know the managing owner’s streamer at the mainmast. The vessel’s the Rhoda, for she’s due about now and has made a splendid voyage according to the last report.” I asked one of the old hands how you could tell a whaler in the distance, irrespective of the owner’s flag, and he said, “Always by the boats. Can’t you see with your naked eye the three boats hangin’ at the davits on the port side?” This held good the world over. A whaler was always known by her boats.

While the whaler was a small vessel, she carried three or four times as many men as a merchantman of the same size, because a large number of men was necessary when whales were pursued and captured. Besides the captain there were generally three or four mates or officers, four boat-steerers or harpooners, a cooper, carpenter, blacksmith, steward, cook, cabin boy, four shipkeepers or spare men, and sixteen to twenty seamen. Sometimes the same person was carpenter and cooper and often there was no blacksmith, the work of sharpening irons and so forth being done by others. On many whalers there was no cabin boy. On the Seabird there was neither blacksmith nor cabin boy, and a man named Jonas was both carpenter and cooper.

Of the four boat-steerers, I shall mention only the one on our boat. He was a Portuguese from St. Michaels, and his name was Manuel—a broad-shouldered, stalwart fellow, with a long, powerful arm. And he was also a fine fellow—kind-hearted and good-natured. We had several other Portuguese in the crew, natives of the Azores, one or two blacks from the Cape Verdes and also one Kanaka from the Hawaiian Islands.

One member of the crew deserves especial mention. His name was Israel Kreelman, a native of Vermont. He was getting along in years and had followed the sea since his sixteenth year. He had never got above the berth of seaman, for while he did his work faithfully and well, he was not qualified for any higher position. Kreelman seemed to me, at first, rather austere, but in time I found him generally kind and companionable, and he took a real interest in me. I have spoken of the hard-looking American seaman who talked to me savagely and jostled me the first day out. His name was Jake, and in a few days everybody was afraid of him. He talked little, and when he did he was profane and abusive. I think it was just a week to a day from the day of sailing, when an event occurred which nearly ended in a tragedy.

Jake was ugly as usual and had some words with the fourth mate. He was cautioned in an emphatic tone. He did not seem inclined to retort, but directed his abuse against the food served to the men, which he called slush.

Jake partly lost his balance, and the captain seized him.

“There’s the coffee,” he said, “the captain and officers get the best of it in the cabin. Then they add water to what’s left, and this is what the boat-steerers and others get in the steerage. Then they add more water to what’s left and that’s what we get in the forecastle. It’s nothin’ but the captain’s slops.”

There was some truth in Jake’s remarks, but the language used might have been more moderate. The captain was standing near by, and his face flushed rapidly.

“Look here, Jake,” he exclaimed, “let me hear no more language of that kind. If I do, I’ll put you in irons.”

“You’re a coward. You couldn’t hurt a fly.”

Before the captain could move or reply, Jake whipped out a knife and made a lunge for him. I thought the knife was going into the captain’s shoulder, but by a quick movement of the body he escaped. Jake partly lost his balance, and the captain seized him. The vessel was pitching and the outcome was uncertain. The captain seized the wrist of Jake’s right arm, and just then Lakeum grabbed a marlinespike and knocked the knife out of Jake’s hand. The men struggled fiercely for a moment, when Jake slipped a little; this put him at a disadvantage, and down they went, the captain on top. They say you mustn’t strike a man when he’s down, but it may be that it depends on the man and the circumstances. At any rate, the captain gave Jake an awful mauling, and when he let him up and the mates took him away to put him in irons, his face looked like jelly. For several days everything went on smoothly and everybody seemed subdued. The only comment was made to me by Kreelman.

“Boy,” he said, “I’m a common sailor and will never get any higher, but there are always two sides to a case. I’ve seen captains and officers do some awful cruel things, and when I was younger, I’ve suffered myself. But in this matter the captain was right. Jake’s a bad man. I didn’t like him from the first. What they want to do is to get rid of him, and they’ll do it, too. Keep your eyes open.”

“How will they do it?” I asked.

“Never mind, keep your eyes open.”

I had heard of hanging men at the yardarm, and I assumed that, when Kreelman said they would get rid of Jake, he meant they would take his life in some way. I was uneasy and distressed. However, I had little time for reflection, as I was constantly kept at work.

We had several days of pleasant weather and each day we took to the boats, and the greenies began to show great improvement in handling the oars. The thirteenth day from home was a memorable one. I supposed that the vessel was well on her way south, but a great surprise was in store for me. It was a beautiful morning, and it was not far advanced before a hazy outline appeared in the distance. As we approached, it grew more distinct, and I was so surprised and bewildered that I didn’t even think of seeking information. Soon the object developed into a huge mountain, rising right out of the sea—in fact from six to seven thousand feet in height. It was evidently at one end of an island. Before long the vessel was put in stays. Then came the order to lower the larboard boat. The greenie who belonged in the boat was told to remain on the ship, and then Jake appeared in the custody of the mates, and was told to take the greenie’s place in the boat. Jake’s face was covered with scabs and scars, and he didn’t appear so bold and defiant as he did before his encounter with the captain. Lakeum steered for the shore, which wasn’t over five hundred yards away, and I wondered what it was all about and particularly where we were going. My curiosity increased when on our arrival Lakeum shouted, “Twenty minutes shore leave.” The men scrambled out of the boat—Jake, despite his beating, the most agile of all. In a minute Lakeum and I were alone.

“Aren’t you going with the boys?” he asked.

“No,” I said, “I’d rather stay here. Will you tell me where we are?”

“Where do you think?”

“I haven’t any idea.”

“Well, young man, this is one of the Azores. They call it Pico, and that mountain rising right out of the sea is one of the most wonderful things in the world.”

I wanted to ask why we were there, but I knew that that was none of my business. Lakeum helped me out.

“There are two reasons why we are here. You’ve noticed that we’ve had no second mate. We are going to have one in a few minutes. It is no uncommon thing now for a Portuguese to ship in New Bedford sometime ahead, and then go over to the Azores in the packet to see the folks and wait for the ship. This is our case. Mr. Silva’s his name and he must live pretty near here, for our captain had his instructions just where to put the ship in stays. Now then, don’t you see how Mr. Silva’s helped us out?”

Lakeum, usually rather serious, laughed heartily.

“Puzzled again? Well, just hear me. Don’t you see this is the way to get rid of Jake?”

“He’ll come back, won’t he?”

“Come back? We’ll never see him again, and we never want to. As a rule we don’t want a man who’s in debt to the ship to desert, but this man is dangerous, and nobody’s safe when he’s around. We are only too glad to get rid of him. We’ve given him a chance, and he’s taken it already.”

“Why didn’t the captain put back to New Bedford when the fracas was over and have Jake arrested?”

Again Lakeum laughed.

“Why, boy, that would never do. Some of us would be called as witnesses, and the rest would disappear. The voyage would be broken up and the owners would be the losers. When the captain gave Jake his licking he gave him his judge and jury and everything else.”

We were at a little landing, and a road led up from it into the island. On each side of the road was a wall made of large blocks that looked like brown stones. Lakeum told me that these blocks were pieces of lava, that the island was volcanic and that there were on it many extinct craters. For the first time I saw oranges on the trees, and it seemed to me as if I had entered into a new world. Pretty soon down the road came a cart driven by a boy. In it was a man seated on a chest. The cart was unlike any I had ever seen. It was a crude affair, and the wheels were of solid wood. Lakeum greeted the newcomer as follows:

“Well, Mr. Silva, I never saw you before, but there’s no need of an introduction. I know who you are. I’m Lakeum, the first mate. Let’s get your chest aboard.”

Silva showed a row of dazzling teeth and Lakeum continued, “I gave the men leave. There they are up the road, coming this way. They’ll all be here in a minute, except one.”

Silva showed his teeth again and said, “Hard ticket, eh? Got a good poundin’, did he? But he’s better off. The ship must stand it. He’s spent the money the outfitter let him have—spent it before he came aboard, and he has got on a new suit, such as it is, and it ain’t cost him nothin’.”

Silva grinned again. Then the smile vanished, and lowering his tone he said, “I feel almost like desertin’, too. I come back here to get married, and I’ve just left my little wife. I’ve been married only two weeks. She wanted to see me off. I couldn’t stand it. It’s a hard life we whalemen lead.”

Though a boy, I was touched by the brave fellow’s words. All the men showed up but one, and Silva took his place. As we pulled for the ship I knew that it would be many months before we should again pull for the shore.

CHAPTER III
ABOUT WHALES

We now bore away south—all hands anxious to see whales. One morning the captain called us aft and addressed us as follows:

“I want to tell you about the prizes. Every man who sights a whale that is captured gets a prize. If the whale makes fifty barrels or less, a flannel shirt; if over fifty barrels, five dollars. These are the prizes given away during the voyage. Then at the end of the voyage the owner will give two gold watches—and good gold watches, too—one to the man who raises the largest sperm whale during the voyage, and the other to the man who raises the largest bowhead, that is the whales that stow down the greatest amount of oil. Keep your eyes open.”

The name I went by was “Fancy Chest”, and it stuck to me to the end of the voyage. As we walked away, Kreelman said:

“Well, Fancy Chest, what do you think of it?”

“Fine.”

“Not so fine as you think. The flannel shirt isn’t good for much, and you can’t spend the five dollars at any of the few places where we stop, for they don’t know that kind of money. I went on a voyage once and got a so-called gold watch when we got home. It was pinchbeck. I had to shake it to make it go, and I shook it so hard it made my arm ache.”

This was discouraging, and I was pretty well disillusioned. It was to be my fortune during the voyage to draw a watch, but I must withhold the story about it till the end of the book.

Kreelman continued, changing the subject, “It’s about time to have fresh meat. I’m about tired of hard bread and lobscouse.”

“Do they keep it on board?”

“Fancy Chest, you are still a greenie. Look in the sea and see what you see.”

We had seen porpoises before, but never so many as there were now. They were dancing all about the vessel, as if bent on a frolic. One of the boat-steerers went forward and rigged a platform just over the bow. Then he took his stand on it, with harpoon in hand. Two or three of the graceful creatures came up as if to encourage advances, and then disappeared beneath the surface. They were not near enough for the boat-steerer’s purpose. Then a daring fellow leaped up as if to defy the harpooner, only to fall a prey to his iron. Soon another porpoise was captured. I looked at the pretty creatures lying on the deck—each about five feet in length—with some pity, which gave way to the pleasant thought of the approaching repast.

As I went by the galley the cook said, “You’ll get something at dinner to make you feel good.” And we did. The meat was boiled with “doughboys” or dumplings, and nice it tasted, too. This change in diet cheered us all, and that afternoon there was more contentment than I had seen any day since we sailed.

I had now learned to box the compass, and I knew the ropes. There used to be an impression that the duties of a whaleman were light. This is far from the truth. The labor was incessant. There was no limit to the hours, and the work was often carried on in the night watches. Contrary to the general impression, the whaler was cleaner and more trim than the merchantman. And now a few words about whales, as we were soon to have our first chase.

Whales have lungs and warm blood, and their bodies do not differ much from those of a cow or a horse. There are several kinds, but in the good old whaling day only two kinds were of real value—the sperm whales or cachalots and the whales which yielded bone. The largest cachalot ever captured was nearly ninety feet long and nearly forty feet in circumference, and weighed about ninety tons! Think of it! One hundred and eighty thousand pounds! Now, if we say that thirteen men weigh a ton, a whale of this kind will weigh more than the entire population of a village of over eleven hundred inhabitants. It is also said that a large sperm whale weighs a good deal more than a hundred oxen, and has the strength of several hundred horses. The head is blunt and flat, and the skull sometimes measures more than twenty feet in length. The eye is near the angle of the jaw; it has no lashes, and is about as large as the eye of a colt. The creature can see ahead or to either side, but the eyes are separated by the immense head, so that each eye seems to work on its own account; and this is thought to be the reason why sperm whales act so queerly at times. The most curious organ is the ear. It is just behind the eye and is so small that a pencil can hardly be inserted in it.

The lower jaw, which contains the teeth, is far smaller than the upper jaw, but it was regarded in whaling days of considerable value, for the posterior part called the “jawbone” and the teeth, which weighed about a pound and a half each, furnished the material out of which sailors made so many curious articles.

The sperm whale has no nose, but a substitute in a spouthole on top of the head.

The interior of the mouth is white, and the tongue is small and the throat large.

The head is, in size, about one third of the body, and in it is what is called the “case” containing spermaceti, formerly used in the manufacture of candles. It is dipped out with buckets, and sometimes fifteen barrels are taken from a single head. What is this great oil case for? Some think that the animal draws upon it for nourishment during periods of food scarcity, just as bears store upon their bodies great quantities of fat to draw on later. The whales are covered with what is called blubber, which keeps them warm in cold water and relieves the pressure when they “sound,” that is, go down to great depths.

The flippers, one on each side of the body, are not like the fins of a fish, but are the limbs of land mammals, covered with blubber to form paddles, and are supplied with bones, blood vessels and nerves.

The tail of the whale divides into two flukes, the distance across which is fifteen feet. This great weapon is used for a number of purposes—for motion, as a weapon when pursued by enemies, for play, called lobtailing, whereby he throws his tail high in the air and then, lowering it, smites the sea with terrific force, and for peaking, which is the tossing of the entire flukes with a part of the body in the air before plunging below.

When the whale so plunges below he is said to “sound,” and, as he breathes like any other animal, he must take in for his dive a great supply of air; otherwise he would drown. This great creature can hold his breath for a long time, and, when he comes up, the air in his lungs is heated, and, hence, as it is expelled into the cooler air, it condenses and forms a vapor. This is what one sees when the whale spouts. If this vapor touches the human skin, it stings. Now the spout of the sperm whale is rather a poor one. It doesn’t go straight up, but goes forward for a short distance. The blowings are repeated sixty or seventy times at a rising, and then the whale goes down again, and remains below for fifteen to forty-five minutes, and occasionally for an hour or more.

Now what does the cachalot do when he is under water? It is believed that he goes to a great depth in search of cuttlefish or squid. Some of these dead cuttlefish thrown up on the shore are known to be forty to fifty feet in length, and, while some say that live cuttlefish of great size have been seen on the surface of the ocean, the statement may well be doubted. But it is known that fierce battles take place under water between them and the whales; and it is a fact that dead whales have been found floating with their bodies badly cut and bruised. But the cachalot is generally the victor. The cuttlefish is not the only food. It is a fact that pieces of sharks have been found in the stomachs of sperm whales.

The most curious thing about the sperm whale is that in rare cases it produces ambergris, often worth its weight in gold; and this, it is said, is due to the cuttlefish. This material is solid, is generally ash-colored, is lighter than water and is fragrant when heated. It is a growth in the intestines of the sperm whale, produced, it is thought, by indigestion caused by the whale not being able to assimilate beaks and other pieces of cuttlefish so often found in the ambergris. Ambergris is generally found in cutting up the whale. Its chief use is in manufacturing perfume. It is not the perfume itself, but the substance which prevents evaporation.

The sperm whale is a great wanderer. He keeps away from the cold water of the extremities of the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, but travels all over the rest of the watery world. How do we know all this? Because the whale himself has told us. Harpoons had stamped in them the names of the ship’s owner and sometimes the name of the ship. Often a whale with the harpoon in him would make his escape, when the line parted, and afterwards be captured six or seven thousand miles away from the place of encounter with the harpoon still in his body.

Some of the antics of the sperm whale are striking. He will rise in the water and turn to look around him. Again he will raise his head above the surface and remain for some time in that position, bobbing up and down amid the waves. Then, suddenly turning, he will raise his flukes in the air and beat them upon the water with great violence. The sound caused thereby may be heard for many miles. This, as I have said, is called lobtailing. Then he will spring from the water so as to show a large part of his great frame. This is called breaching.

The female or cow cachalot is only about a third of the size of the male or bull. The mother goes far out to sea with her baby calf, apparently fearing no enemy, and her affection for the little creature is very strong; so whalemen would kill the calf first, for they knew that the mother would not forsake her offspring. The cow is said to show affection for the bull, for when the bull is killed the cow will stay by, only to be captured herself.

How do whales sleep? It is generally thought that it is when they are floating on the surface, either during the day or night. Both whalers and merchantmen are known to have run on to whales with a result similar to that occasioned by striking a rock or reef. If the whales had been awake they would doubtless have avoided the vessels. A famous case of collision was that of the Union, Captain Gardner, which sailed from Nantucket in 1807. At ten o’clock at night, when running at seven knots, she struck a whale with such force as to smash in the timbers on the starboard bow. The pumps were started, but the water gained rapidly and in a couple of hours the vessel began to sink. Three boats left the ship, one of which was abandoned, and the men were divided equally in the other two. There was a heavy sea, and the Azores were over six hundred miles away. They rigged sails which were carried away by the gale, and the two boats were finally lashed together and for a time allowed to drift. They had little water, and the men were put on scant rations. When suffering intensely from thirst and hunger Flores was sighted. Captain Gardner and his men made six hundred miles in seven days and eight nights. This young master was only twenty-four years of age. He followed the sea for many years. In one of his voyages his encounter with a sperm whale resulted in a badly bruised body and a mutilated hand. This injured member is shown in the photograph of the old gentleman in the rooms of the Old Dartmouth Historical Society in New Bedford.

Now a few words about the whales which yield whalebone or baleen. It used to be said that the whale which yielded excellent bone and a generous quantity of oil was called the “right whale” to capture, and hence the name. Later its larger relative was found in the Arctic regions and called the bowhead, because of the structure of the fore part of the head, which is shaped like a half-circle. The whalebone of the bowhead is much larger than that of the right whale, and in former days was more valuable. The slabs are in the upper jaw, and in a bowhead are often a dozen feet or more in length. When the mouth is closed these slabs slant back and lie between the two jaws. When the mouth opens they hang almost perpendicularly along the sides of the mouth, presenting the appearance of a screen, which, as the inner side of each slab is furnished with bristles or hairs, serves as a sieve. A bowhead once captured had two hundred and eighty-six slabs of bone on one side of the mouth and two hundred and eighty-nine on the other. The lower lip supports and holds in place the lower edge of the sieve, while the upper lip is drawn up. The right whales subsist on crustaceans, called “brit,” which are taken in great quantities through the mouth and are strained out by means of the bristles on the inner side of the whalebone. The water flows out and the “brit” is caught by the sieve. The brit is yellow and so abundant in some latitudes as to give the appearance of extensive fields of golden grain. The right whales are said to eat fish, if “brit” is not obtainable. The rushing of a right whale through a field of “brit” has been compared to a snowplow passing through a drift. He leaves behind him a trail of blue water, spouts with great force and is difficult to capture. Here we should note that the whalebone whales cannot see ahead of them.

While the bowheads are very heavy, they are not more than sixty-five feet in length. The tail is about twenty-five feet broad and six feet deep. One of these whales, taken in 1855 in the Okhotsk Sea by the ship Adeline of New Bedford, yielded two hundred and fifty barrels of oil, and another taken in 1861 by the General Pike of the same port produced two hundred and seventy-four barrels. The whalebone whales carry their nostrils on the summit of the head. There are two spout holes; they are f-shaped, close together, and are located about eighteen feet from the end of the head. As they are nearer the lungs than in the case of the sperm whale, the vapor shoots up straight, spreading as it rises. These whales are encased in a layer of blubber which is from a foot to two feet in thickness. It is softer, more oily and also more sticky than that of the sperm whale. The tongue is thick and soft, is glued to the floor of the mouth, and generally contains about six barrels of oil, although it is said that the tongue of a very large bowhead has been known to yield twenty-five barrels. Such a tongue is equal to the weight of ten oxen. The flesh of the animal is coarse, firm and red in color. The flukes are very powerful. Hence the maxim, “Beware of a sperm whale’s jaw and a right whale’s flukes.” While the sperm whale is a great traveler, the right whale never crosses the equator.

The female right whale is much larger than the female sperm, and at the breeding time she frequents shallow waters. Her affection for her young is very strong. It is said that she will clasp the calf with a fin very much as a human mother holds her child. The young of the bowhead mother is seldom seen, and it is thought that she keeps it under the ice until it is weaned.

The bowhead’s method of feeding is like that of its relative, the right whale. The crustaceans in the North Atlantic and Arctic, called “slicks”, give the water the appearance of oily streaks. They are produced by different kinds of jellyfish and range in size from a pea to six inches or more in diameter. When the bowhead is feeding, the spread of the lips is about thirty feet, and the method of feeding is the same as that of the right whale.

Now what happened as the result of the pursuit of all these creatures, well called the leviathans of the deep? Let any boy or girl take the map and see where the whalemen cruised and captured whales. Not content with Baffin’s Bay, Hudson’s Bay, the waters along the coast of Greenland and in the North Atlantic, around the Azores, Madeira, the coast of Africa, Ascension, Tristan da Cunha, the Falkland Islands, the Cape of Good Hope and the Rio de la Plata, the venturesome whalemen sought the Indian Ocean and more particularly the great stretches of the Pacific and the Arctic Oceans. Now let the boy or girl look carefully at the map of the Pacific Ocean and see the multitude of islands in that great stretch of water. It is said that more than four hundred islands were discovered in the Pacific by American whalemen; and, when one sees the names of Nantucket, Howland, Gardner and Starbuck, he need not be told that the names were given by either Nantucket or New Bedford whalemen.

CHAPTER IV
THE FIRST CHASE

From early morn, when the men took their places in the hoops, to look for whales, there followed the regular order of the day. If the weather were good, the captain took his observations; the watches changed at proper times, and the men at the wheel and the lookouts were relieved every two hours. In the afternoon, usually at about four, the pumps were tested and the decks scrubbed. There was no noise in the ship save that occasioned by wind and wave and orders to the men. However, in the second dogwatch, which was generally about twilight, some fun was permitted. The men gathered, chatted and smoked. Rude strains were drawn from a battered accordion, while all the time the boat-steerers were at the bench aft the try-pot, engaged in whetting harpoons.

We had, in our day, the old-fashioned log to determine the rapidity of the ship’s motion, but it wasn’t used very much, as in cruising for whales the speed of the vessel was of little consequence.

On the approach of a storm the merchantman sometimes failed to make preparations in season. Not so with a whaler. Only a few days after leaving Pico we encountered a storm. As the gale bore down upon us from the windward blackness, and the long range of wave crests grew larger and the situation became more serious, we were quick to shorten sail and, under storm staysails, met the gale without any fear. Higher blew the wind, heavier pounded the sea, our staunch boat shipped little water, though tossed about like a shell.

A week or more passed, and the men in the hoops saw not a single spout. Kreelman said to me, “Fancy Chest, the sperm whale, you know, is a low spouter—just a little bushy spout forward—and it’s not easy to see unless the whale’s near. The men with the sharpest eyes are the Gay Head Indians, and we’ve got one of ’em on board, and he’s up in the hoops now. He can see a sperm spout if any one can.”

Within half an hour came the gladdening cry from aloft, “B-l-o-w-s! b-l-o-w-s! b-l-o-w-s! There he breaches! There he white-waters!” The captain called out, “Where away?” “Two points on the lee bow.” “How far off?” “Two miles, sir.” “Keep your eye on him. Sing out when we head right.”

The captain gave orders to call all hands, get the boats ready, square the mainyard, put the helm up, keep her off, stand by the boats and lower away. Then he took his glasses and climbed to the main crow’s nest. The braces, sheets, and halyards were thrown from the pins, and then, while the men reached and hauled, the mates slacked away, the yards swung and the vessel came about. The boats quickly took to the water, and the crew swarmed down the falls and dropped into their places. The boat-steerers went forward, the officers aft. There was suppressed excitement, but no disorder. The wind was favorable, the masts were stepped in all the boats, the sails hoisted and peaked and the sheets paid out; and away we went. Each boat, of course, carried six men. As it happened, we were headed for a “pod” or “school” of sperm whales. All the boats were in the chase, and the men left on the ship were the captain, the four sparemen or shipkeepers, the cook, the steward and the carpenter. The vessel fortunately was to windward and could easily bear down on a boat if it made fast to a whale. Here I should say that every whaling house had its private code of signals. As the vessel was often a long distance from the boats engaged in the chase, signals gave needed instructions. The signals were generally about fifteen in number. They consisted of the position of colors and of the sails. Thus the men were told of the location of whales they could not see from the boats, of an accident to their companions, such as a stove boat, or the need of their presence on the ship.

We had not gone a quarter of a mile before the wind shifted and we had to take in sail and resort to the oars. My feelings are so well told by Captain Robbins, an old whaleman, in his book called the “Gam” that I propose to quote his exact language. The captain says:

“I shall never forget the dazzling sensations of that first moment—the tall ship, with her checkered sides and her huge white davits; the two sharp-bowed clinker-built boats—five long oars in each—two on one side, three on the other; the sun-glint upon the oar-blades as they lifted above the surface, the white splash when they dipped again; the rapid, nervous, brutal stroke; the pose of the officers as they stood in the stern-sheets of the boats, each with his lifted left hand holding the steering oar, and each with his right hand pushing upon the stroke oar; and, yet more vivid, the one figure I could see in our own boat. For the mate stood last, steering with one hand and helping me row with the other.”

Just as Captain Robbins describes, Lakeum steered with his left hand and pushed on the handle of my oar with his right. He was an interesting figure as he urged the men on in a low tone, telling them at the same time not to make any noise. “It’s a pretty good pod and we ought to get a good-sized bull,” he declared. Of course, Lakeum was the only one in the boat who could see ahead. The rowlocks were thumbed with greased marline, to prevent any noise of the oars. Soon came the order to take in the oars and use the paddles. Then I knew that we were close to a whale. In a few minutes we were told to take the oars again and await orders. I turned my head and beheld just in front of the bow of the boat a low black mass, and I saw the boat-steerer leaning forward as if awaiting the mate’s order. The fateful moment had come and my feelings were intense. The boat moved ahead very slowly, and, just as the bow touched the monster, Lakeum shouted, “Up and let him have it.” The boat-steerer rose in a moment and pushed his left leg into the clumsy cleat in the forward thwart. Then he rested the top end of the harpoon handle in the palm of his right hand, steadying it with his left. He hurled the iron with all his force and saw it bury itself in the blubber up to the hitches. Seizing the second harpoon, he threw it with equal success.

Lakeum shouted, “Stern—stern—all, and get out of the suds!” He and the boat-steerer changed places,—he to enter into a fight with the whale, and the boat-steerer to become the boat-steerer in fact. The whale threw up his flukes and brought them down with terrific force. The sea was white with suds, but we got out of them safely. Down went the whale and out went the line with a whizzing sound which soon became a regular roar. The line went out so fast that it set fire to the loggerhead, and I put out the fire by pouring water on it.

“I never saw a whale get away so fast,” said Lakeum. “This boat’s nose may be under water any moment.”

The bow was then pretty close to the surface. In a moment Lakeum shouted, “All hands scramble aft!” This was to save us from disaster by balancing the boat.

I was somewhat alarmed and instinctively took the knife from the cleat on the thwart. The men rushed aft in disorder, due to the pitching of the boat, when a voice rang out, “Man caught; cut the warp!” I didn’t have to hack twice; the knife was as sharp as a razor, and one motion severed the line. A sharp cry came from the man who was apparently caught, and overboard he went. Despite my excitement and fright, I was foolish enough to think myself a hero, but I wasn’t. The whale was gone for good, but we were temporarily happy in the thought that we had saved the man from a terrible death. The supposed averted tragedy, however, was more of a comedy. My severing the line hadn’t helped the man any, for it happened that his foot had pressed on the warp and he had been merely thrown into the water, and, as he had hit a man on the way and knocked him over, the order was given by some one to cut the warp. The man in the water struck out for the boat and we soon pulled him aboard.

Lakeum’s face changed color. He looked daggers at me. There were no whales now in sight, and he gave orders to pull for the ship. As he pushed on my oar our countenances were close together. For a time nothing was said. As we neared the vessel, the expression of anger and disappointment passed from his face. Lowering his voice he said:

“I don’t think you are to blame or the man who gave the order to cut, either. You have to work quick at such times. I’ll tell the captain about it and make it all right with him. On some boats there would have been a blast of profanity, and men who had done as you and the other man did would have got bread and water for a week, but such treatment is wrong.” He paused and then resumed, “That was easily a hundred-barrel bull, and he was worth pretty close to five thousand dollars.”

Our boat was the only one which had made fast to a whale and the rest of the day on ship was a dreary one, despite the fact that the sea was quite calm and the sky without a cloud. In the second dogwatch the men gathered and talked over the misfortune of the morning. A few deplored the loss of the whale; the others made light of it and made me the target of ridicule and joke.

“Well, Fancy Chest, you cut the right line at the wrong time. You’ll make a whaleman,” said one.

“He’s so smart that he’ll be harpooning a whale with a knife, next time,” said another.

“I guess they’ll take that five thousand dollar whale out of Fancy Chest’s lay,” observed a third.

There was a loud laugh. Then Kreelman interfered:

“Let Fancy Chest alone. Put yourself in his place, you smarties. For a boy fifteen years old he did well, and a man fifty couldn’t have done better. Any old sailor would have cut the line as Fancy Chest did.”

Kreelman was in a pleasant mood so far as his relations with me were involved, and ignoring the others, he observed:

“I think you are goin’ to make a whaleman, Fancy Chest, and there are some things I can tell you about whales and whalin’ that you don’t know, although you’ve learned two things to-day from bein’ in the boat. One of the things you learned is that the boat-steerer don’t throw the iron with his arm raised but gives it a kind of thrust, and the other thing you’ve learned is that, after he’s thrown the iron, he and the mate change places.”

“And why is that?” I asked. “I can’t see the sense to it.”

“There ain’t no sense to it, but it’s been done since whalin’ begun. People do things because their fathers did ’em before ’em. Many a whale’s been lost because the boat-steerer, after a long chase, was all tired out from havin’ to pull an oar. The boat-steerer ought to sit up in the bow and do nothin’ until the whale’s reached so that he can be in good condition to strike. And after he’s struck he ought to stay in the bow and kill the whale, and the mate remain in the stern. There are many things you ought to know. After a sperm’s struck and goes down, he throws out a kind of oil called ‘glip.’ If the boat passes through this glip or crosses the line between it and the whale, he knows it and puts on more speed. Sometimes the sperm is cunning, for while soundin’ with his head in one direction, he will turn and swim just opposite. Now as to the right whale—never follow his wake, for the moment the boat runs into his suds he knows it and makes off in great haste.”

Kreelman continued, “Now, Fancy Chest, them that has book larnin’ write about whales, but we old tars knows more than all of them fellows put together. Sperm whales talk to each other just as folks do.”

“You don’t mean that, do you?” I broke in.

“Talkin’ ain’t always with words. There’s another way of talkin’, especially among animals, and whales is animals. Whales can pass the news from one school to another, so can one whale to another. The moment a whale is struck, other whales in the neighborhood know it and either make off or, if the struck whale is a cow, draw near as if to give help. Can you explain it? I can’t. Men in the hoops often notice that when their own boats is attackin’ whales, a school several miles to wind’ard will appear to be frightened and disappear. Can you explain it? I can’t. Sometimes there’ll be a school of whales spread out over a long distance, and as if by signal they’ll all go under at the same time. Can you explain it? I can’t.

“But there are lots of things whales do that remind you a good deal of human folks. Sometimes you see a lot of sperm whales together, and that’s what you call a big school. Then sometimes you see a little school. Now both them schools may be all bulls, or they may be all cows, with just one bull to take care of ’em. In such case this one bull is a good deal of a gentleman, for, if there’s anything from behind to cause fright, he seems to tell the ladies to make tracks, and he stays behind to look out for the enemy—whether it’s a whaleboat or whatever it is. So this bull, with his caravan, goes travelin’ all over the ocean. Now you let any other bull come near and there’s sure to be a fight. In one of my voyages we saw a fight in the Pacific Ocean. It was a fine day and a smooth sea. The lookout called out whales, and we lowered. It seems it was a school of cow sperms, and there was a big bull with ’em. As we were gettin’ pretty near, another big bull, that had been soundin’, come up not far off, and the two went for each other. Their heads come together with terrible force, and, believe me, you could hear the noise a mile away. Then they drew back and seemed to rest for a minute and then they went at it again. This time they locked jaws. But there was somethin’ clumsy about it. They didn’t seem to show the spunk they did when they first come together. The ladies all disappeared, and we men in the boats laid on our oars and watched the battle, pretty sure we’d get both fellows in the end, and we did. They tried to twist their jaws round without doin’ very much, except that in wigglin’ their bodies and rollin’ round they made lots of suds. It was pretty certain that both of ’em was badly hurt. Our boat and another stole up quietly and we got both of them. And what do you think we found out? Why, one of ’em had his jaw twisted and a number of his teeth torn out, while the jaw of the other was broken off, so that it hung only by the flesh. It’s no uncommon thing to capture a whale whose jaw was long ago shattered and his head battered, and who’s had an awful hard time to get food to eat because he couldn’t fight the cuttlefish. We call them whales ‘dry-skins’ because the blubber makes so little oil.”

“Did you ever see a cuttlefish?” I asked eagerly.

Kreelman was silent for some time. Then he replied:

“I’ve seen big pieces of ’em which come out of the stomachs of sperm whales, but I never see a live one, and I don’t know any one who ever did. When you talk of them great things at the bottom of the ocean it kind of makes you creep. Some folks say that they’ve come up to the surface and run their big arms all over vessels and taken the crew under water and eaten ’em up. I never seen it. Whalemen don’t like to talk much about the cuttlefish, but some do say that the whaleship which sees a cuttlefish never returns to port.”

I saw that Kreelman was not disposed to continue the conversation. Just then Lakeum passed. Kreelman waited until he was well aft and then said:

“That’s a strange man. He seems out of place on this vessel. He’s a good sailor and all that, but there’s somethin’ about his life that we don’t know. He’s been edicated and he comes of well-to-do folks. He’s got a will of his own, but he treats the men fair, and you never hear no swearin’. The men in your boat say that if you hadn’t ’a been a greenie, you never would have cut the warp to-day, and that you would have got it straight in the face if any one but Lakeum had been mate of the boat. But he treated you well, and no doubt he’s made it all right with the captain by this time. Fancy Chest, that man’s name ain’t Coster Lakeum. Nobody never had such a name. No one knows his given name. Now you keep to yourself what I’ve said.”

I went to my bunk in a more cheerful mood, and that night I dreamt that I was boat-steerer and that I made fast to a sperm that stowed down oil worth five thousand dollars.

CHAPTER V
CAPTURING AND CUTTING-IN

I have said that there is a wide difference between a merchantman and a whaler. A ship that carries a cargo that is to be delivered must make the port of delivery with all possible speed. On arrival the sailors, who are paid wages, are not very likely to desert; and, if they do, their places are usually easily filled. The food on a merchantman generally strikes a pretty good average, because, in most cases, recruits are obtained in the ports visited. It is different with the whaler. There isn’t so much variety to or change in the food on the whaler; the sail is shortened at night, and the slower she goes at all times the better. Her cargo is to be taken from the sea, and the whales are just as likely to find her as she is to find them. Then the whaler is a home, such as it is, for three or four years, and it is the duty of the captain to keep away from ports as much as he can.

The Seabird took it very leisurely. Day followed day and we saw no whales. I had to take my place in the hoops, and I searched the sea for whales until my eyes fairly ached. I noticed that as we cruised farther south, most of the birds were different from those of the North Atlantic and far more numerous. The most interesting to me were the albatross. They would come very near the vessel. They seemed to float along rather than fly like other birds, and their cry was somewhat like the braying of an ass. It is said that when they have gorged themselves with fish and jellyfish, they will sit motionless on the water and may be taken with the hand. One of them seemed almost bent on getting on the ship, and some of the men, watching their opportunity, captured him and secured him on the deck. He measured fifteen feet in spread of wings. The plumage was soft and mostly white. The beak was long and hooked at the point and was of a delicate pink. The most curious things about him were his webbed-feet with no hind toe or claw. The capture of the bird afforded a pleasant change in our lives and provided a theme of conversation for the rest of the day.

After covering six or seven thousand miles, we reached the Rio de la Plata, called by whalemen the River Plate. This is an estuary between Uruguay and Argentina, and is a famous whaling ground. Here once occurred one of the most terrible battles with a sperm whale of which there is any record. When struck, the whale cut the boat in two with his jaw and thrashed the wreck into bits. After the men were picked up, two other boats planted irons in him and he smashed both these boats to pieces. Of the men in the water, two could not swim, so they climbed up on the whale’s back and sat down just forward of the hump. Another boat arrived and took all the men on board. The whale had six harpoons in him, but he made no effort to escape. Two spare boats having come up, the whale tried to sweep his jaw through the bottom of one of them, but the craft was, for a time, well handled. He succeeded, however, in rushing through the boat, and after four boats, about twelve hundred fathoms of line and all the whaling gear were lost, the whale made off.

Boylike, I fancied that all whales on this ground must be very fierce. If I had any fear, it was only for a moment, for I was anxious to hear the glad cry from aloft and to be ordered to the boat. Just a week from the day when we reached the ground came the welcome announcement, and all the boats were lowered. The whales were to the windward and pretty far off. Lustily we pulled, but as it happened the other boats led. There is sometimes luck or chance in the pursuit of whales, and so it was with us. A whale made a kind of detour and gave us a splendid advantage. We approached the creature in very much the same way as we had formerly approached the whale we had lost. The boat-steerer threw both irons successfully and we got out of the suds and avoided the awful sweep of the great flukes. The whale sounded, and the warp passed out quickly but not so fast as to draw the boat’s stem very near to the surface. At last the line slacked, and we were ordered to haul in, hand over hand. As we did so, the line was coiled in a wide heap in the stern sheets, as in the wet state it would not lie very close. When the whale reappeared we were ordered to take the oars, and, when we reached the great black object, Lakeum drove the lance between the third and fourth ribs into his vitals. We pulled away, and the monster began to thrash like an animal in a fit; the water was crimson, and jets of blood at least six feet high leaped from the spout hole. They gradually diminished until the blood merely oozed from it. The whale made a final breach, fell on his side with a fearful splash and lay dead in his own blood and a lather of foam. Then came the cry, “Fin out!” Lakeum ran the lance into the whale’s eye, to make sure he was dead, and then the tow-line was made fast to a slit cut in the spout hole. Here let me say that the whales we captured didn’t all die in the same way. I remember one whale whose head rose and fell in the last struggle, while the flukes beat the water rapidly and vigorously. I remember more than one whale that performed the “flurry,” that is, swam for a few minutes in a circle, to the peril of the men in the boat—that is, “milled”—and then rolled on his side, dead.

The whale we had just killed did, before death, what sperm whales nearly always do. He threw up the contents of his stomach, consisting of pieces of cuttlefish. As I looked at the monster, I thought of the saying of Melville, quoted wherever whaling was carried on, and likely to be quoted so long as any one cares for the story of the enterprise, “A dead whale or a stove boat.”

Another boat at some distance was also fast to a whale. There were no other whales in sight. If there had been, Lakeum would have “waifed” our whale—that is, planted in his body a barbed iron rod bearing a flag. We were now to tow our whale to the ship—no easy task, even in calm weather. The first step was to pass a chain around what they call the “small” at the root of the tail. One of the old hands, with a rope around his waist, climbed on to the slippery object and, with some difficulty, got a line around the “small” and thus enabled the men to secure the flukechain. We set the sail and we used the oars, too. The ship, which had worked to windward, bore down on us and lessened the distance. We got to the ship before the other boat referred to. They were all ready for us—cutting-fall, spades and cutting-stage. The last named was a plank platform which reached beyond the carcass and just over the surface. Now it is to be remembered that there was only one boat on the starboard side, so that side was all clear from bow to gangway. The whale was secured by the fluke chains. The head was under the gangway and the tail was to the bow. The weather was good and so we “cut to windward”, that is, with the whale toward the wind. In this way the wind filling the sails counterbalanced to some extent the weight of the cutting-falls, and helped to keep the vessel on an even keel.

Cutting-in required great skill. A bunch of blocks was secured above, through which a rope was passed and then carried to the windlass. The great, lower block, to which the blubber hook, weighing about a hundred pounds, was attached, was swung over the whale. Two men on the cutting-stage, provided with long spades, cut a hole in the body just above the nearer of the two side fins. A line in a half-circle was cut around the hole, and the hook was inserted. A little army of men singing their chantey began heaving at the windlass. Then the ship careened to the whale, a sharp sound was heard, the ship rolled backwards from the whale, and the tackle rose with a strip of blubber attached. The strain caused the whale to roll over in the water, and, as the blubber peeled off along the line called the “scarf”, it was hoisted higher and higher aloft till its upper end grazed the maintop. The men at the windlass ceased heaving and a harpooner with a long, keen weapon sliced out a hole in the lower part of the swaying mass. Into this hole the end of the second great tackle was hooked so as to retain a hold upon the blubber. Then he severed it completely, so that while the short, lower part was still fast, the long, upper strip, called the blanket piece, swung clear, and was all ready for lowering. The heavers renewed their chantey, and, while the one tackle was peeling and hoisting a second strip from the whale, the other was slowly slackened away, and down went the first strip through the main hatchway, right beneath, into the blubber room. This gloomy place was about thirty feet each way and between six and seven feet high. From a beam swung a lamp, which gave a dull light. Blanket pieces weighed a ton or more each, and, as they were coiled away, they looked like hideous serpents.

While the floor of the blubber room was slippery at all times, it was particularly so when a heavy sea was on. Two men with short-handled spades hewed off blocks from the blanket pieces, called horse pieces, and pitched them up into a trough secured to the upper edge of the hatch. Then they were loaded into tubs and dragged away. The mincing of the horse pieces was performed at a wooden horse, placed endwise against bulwarks, the pieces falling into a tub.

The beheading of the whale required skill similar to that involved in the treatment of the carcass. He had no neck, and, as a fact, where the neck might have been was the thickest part of him. It was necessary to cut deep into the flesh and divide the spine at the point where it was inserted into the skull, not an easy task, as the whale tossed and rolled in the sea. If the whale had been a small one, the head would have been hoisted on deck, but, as it was a large one, it was held against the ship’s side and partly out of the sea. The upper part of the head is called the “case.” A block was arranged so that it hung down from the yardarm, and a man dropped down to the head. A light tackle called a “whip” passed through the block. Then came the task of beheading the whale, which was no easy one.

It is to be noted that the other boat which I have mentioned as fast to a whale succeeded in killing the creature—a cow—and towing her to the ship. She was secured astern to await the disposal of our cachalot. I have forgotten to say that while cutting in the first whale, the sea was full of sharks and the air thick with birds. This was not peculiar to our case, but was common wherever a sperm whale was cut in. Sharks! Sharks! Sharks! Squirming, darting, wiggling, showing their white bellies as they turned this way and that and displaying rows of huge teeth as they opened their hideous mouths. Their efforts to tear off pieces of blubber were not very successful, but the fact that they remained by the whale and showed no disposition to depart seemed to indicate that they knew that a treat awaited them when the carcass was to be cut from the ship and to drift away.

“Isn’t there any danger from these creatures?” I asked Kreelman.

“Not very much. A shark is an awful coward, unless he’s sure he’s got the better of you. I’ve seen one of ’em jump clean out of water to try to get a man on the whale’s back, but, instead of that, a man on deck got the shark with a spade, and, as he fell back in the water with the blood flowing, the other sharks got him. Now and then one of ’em will jump out of water and fall back among the others, not so much for exercise but to show how hungry he is. Then it isn’t always easy to get him with a spade, but I’ve seen it done.”

The birds hovered about twenty feet above the carcass. They were of all varieties, sizes and colors. Their screaming and screeching were enough to drive one distracted. I had read of the wild pigeons, that flew in such great flocks a hundred years ago, that for a time they shut off the light of the sun, and, as I gazed at the winged vampires, I could not help thinking that a not very large increase in their numbers would serve the purpose of a dense cloud. Just then there was a great commotion in the water.

A man holding a spade declared, “They always do that just before one of ’em jumps out. You can’t always get him, they’re so quick, but I’m goin’ to try if I get a chance.”

Hardly were the words uttered when a huge shark leaped into the air, and the chance of which the spadesman spoke was an easy one, as it happened, for the shark rose to a considerable height and so turned his body as to present a good front for a spade. The man who had spoken drove the implement clear through the fellow, and, as he held the handle fast, the great weight of the body detached the spade, and out gushed the blood as the shark fell back into the sea. If there was commotion before, there was turmoil now, and, as the sharks devoured their unfortunate companion, the water was red with blood. The birds came lower and increased their shrieking. The awful scene was not soon to be forgotten.

The “case” was full of pure spermaceti and constituted nearly half the head. In a large whale the case contained nearly three tons of spermaceti. This is the way our case was baled out. A bucket was attached to one end of the whip, and the other end was held by a couple of hands on deck. These hoisted the bucket. The spermaceti bubbled like new milk and was emptied into a large tub.

After the blubber was stripped from the body and the contents were removed from the head, these members drifted away, and, to the relief of everybody, the sharks and birds followed the carcass. And now the ship was reeking with oil and grease—a fitting preparation for starting the try-works. The relief spoken of was only temporary, for the cow whale took the place just vacated, and the air was again thick with birds and the sea filled with sharks.

And what was the reward for all our labor? The whales were first sighted by the Gay Head Indian, and, as our whale yielded sixty barrels, the Indian received five dollars. As for the crew, we were given a great treat. Our customary food was, of course, lobscouse, but now to it was added, at supper, a limited supply of gingerbread. That was all. But now trouble arose over a garment. The boatsteerer who struck the cow whale asked for a flannel shirt, and most of us heard the discussion between him and the captain.

“Why do you want a flannel shirt?”

“Ain’t I entitled to it, sir?”

“Why?”

“I struck the cow.”

“What if you did? I ain’t offered any prize for striking or killing a whale. Only the Gay Header is entitled to a prize and he’s got it, because he sighted the whales, and the first one made over fifty barrels.”

“Well, it seems to me that when whale is sighted and there’s a pod of them, that after the mastheader gets his prize of five dollars for the first whale captured, the boat-steerers of the other boats, who strike whales that are captured, ought to get a flannel shirt each.”

“Yes,” said the captain scornfully, “and then the boat-steerer who struck the first whale captured wouldn’t get anything at all.”

This observation pretty effectually disposed of the boat-steerer’s argument. But the men did not allow the discussion to die. A few days after, when the oil from the two whales had been stowed down, some of the crew took the matter up in the second dogwatch, and showed real intelligence in the presentation of their views. The boat-steerer’s contention met with no favor. The general view was that the capture of every whale in reality justified the bestowal of five dollars or a flannel shirt upon the mastheader and that, even if four or five whales were taken from one pod, he was entitled to all the prizes. This was, of course, liberal interpretation. The incident seems to us now unimportant, but I recall how, as a boy, I listened to the debate, how deeply interested the men were in the discussion, and how it ended with the remark of one of them, that it didn’t make any difference what they thought on the matter, as the captain was likely to save all the money and shirts that he could.

CHAPTER VI
TRYING-OUT AND ROUNDING THE HORN.

And now came the trying-out. The try-works were placed between the foremast and mainmast. The timbers underneath were of great strength and capable of sustaining a mass of brick and mortar. They were some ten feet square and five in height and were secured to the deck by heavy knees of iron. The try-works were covered by a hatchway, on removing which two great try-pots appeared. When not in use they were kept clean by an application of soapstone and sand. The furnaces under the try-pots were furnished with heavy iron doors. Under the enclosed surface was a reservoir which was supplied with water as evaporation went on.

The first fire in the try-works was started with wood, but, after the oil was tried out, the pieces, called scraps or fritters, served as substitutes. Thus the whale supplied his own fuel. The horse pieces had to be minced, and the clank, clank of the mincing machine was constantly heard. At night the sight was a novel one. As the blubber was thrown into the heated pots, the flames leaped out of the doors, the smoke rolled away in great volumes, the oil pitched with the pitching of the vessel and the smutched faces of the watch made the scene all the more gloomy. Was there ever a whaler that didn’t have plenty of cockroaches? If so, ours was not one. As the heat increased, out came the little fellows and ran about in search of new abodes.

The work at night was carried on under the glare of blazing cressets, called bug lights, hung from the davit heads. These cressets were supplied with the scraps taken out of the boiling oil. The light they gave could be seen for a long distance, and, though we had not seen a sail that day, the light that night brought a vessel to us. She came very near and wanted to know if we were on fire and needed help. She was a merchant vessel bound for New York, and, as she went on her way, the pleasant incident made us feel grateful and put new vigor into our work. The deck was so slippery from oil and blood that at times it was difficult to keep on one’s feet. The boiling watch lasted six hours and, when it ended, the released men presented a sorry sight with their dirty, cold and clammy clothes and their faces showing such intense fatigue. As they went to their rest, choking with smoke and carrying a sooty deposit in their nostrils, they were happy in the thought that there was no longer occasion for harsh language among the men and still harsher commands of the mates. And yet I should modify this statement, for the work was not one of continuous hardship, for at times we made a show of merriment by nibbling bits of fried blubber and frying doughnuts in the grease. Later in the voyage we dipped biscuit in salt water, heaved them into a strainer and boiled them in the oil; also with the help of the steward, we made fritters of the brains of the whale, mixed with flour, and cooked them.

The hot oil was strained into a large copper cooler, where it settled, and was then poured into casks—not always an easy task while the vessel pitched and rolled. The barrels were coopered, the hatches removed, and the barrels lowered into the hold. The casks were of various sizes, some of them containing three hundred gallons or more. When the oil was all stowed down, came the clearing up. Crude sperm oil, which was of a golden tint, and lye made from the burned scraps were excellent for cleaning. Soon deck and rigging were as orderly and presentable as if the whaler were a regular merchantman. The two whales yielded sixty and thirty barrels and the work of trying-out went on without a rest for three days and nights.

We were now getting south, and we were told by the old hands that it was probable that we should see few whales before rounding Cape Horn. No one yet had made any demand on the slop chest and, as the clothes of some of the men were getting a little worn, the crew began to make use of needle and thread. It used to be said that a whaleman could be told by his patches, and we had proof of it in the work of some of the men. My clothes were in good condition and, while my mother had taught me to sew and to patch a little, I was glad that I was not one of the first ones to attempt repairing. I watched the others, and I found it hard to repress a smile as the good-natured blunderers plied needle and thread. One man patched a dirty, dark garment with a piece of white cloth. Another attempted to sew on a button by carrying the thread over the side or edge. A third put an old jacket inside of another, sewed them together and patched the openings. He said that he did this in order to have something warm to wear when going round the Horn.

I have said that the men were kept busy on a whaler. Yet life was not all labor and peril. There were times when the sailors were allowed to engage in “scrimshawing”, that is, carving and decorating sperm whale’s teeth and bones. Jawbones of the whale were towed astern so that they might bleach to a dazzling whiteness. The lower jaw was lashed down to ring bolts, the gums were lanced with a cutting spade, and the teeth were drawn out by a tackle rigged from above. They were then pickled in barrels of strong brine. Another way was to leave the lower jaw on deck until the gums rotted and released the teeth. A few whalemen had delicate tools with which they carved out sketches of whales and whaling scenes on sperm whale’s teeth, but most of the work was done with crude tools and sometimes with a jack knife alone. In using pieces of the jawbone, the whalemen seemed to favor “jagging wheels”, so popular for crimping purposes. They were probably thinking of the pies they had enjoyed in their distant homes. The best collection, probably, in the world, of these curious and now valuable articles, will be found in the rooms of the Old Dartmouth Historical Society of New Bedford.

We were now off the Falkland Islands, when a sail was sighted. The lookout announced that she was a whaler. He knew that, of course, by the boats she carried. Word was given to write letters for home as quickly as possible. It was evident that the approaching vessel desired to “gam” because she was bound home and wanted to learn the latest news. The social feature of whaling was gamming—that is, the ships exchanged visits by boats’ crews, the two captains remaining for the time on one ship, and the two first officers on the other. Another method as well was to let part of the crew of one ship visit the other, and, while the captains and officers were in the cabin, the men gathered forward, chummed, smoked poor tobacco, sang songs, danced to the notes of a battered accordion, played games, and, perhaps, listened to the yarn of some good story-teller.

The vessel we were interested in proved to be the Billow of New Bedford. The captain with a boat’s crew boarded us. They were bound home after a four years’ voyage, with a good cargo of sperm, and had heard nothing from New Bedford for nearly a year. As we had been out a considerable period, there was little or nothing to communicate, but the visit did everybody good and, as the boat returned, we gave them a lusty cheer.

This very day, as there came a lull in some work I was doing for Lakeum, he said, “Where are we now, Bleechly?”

“Off the Falkland Islands.”

“What’s on the starboard side?”

“The Strait of Magellan.”

“Who was Magellan?”

“A great navigator.”

“When did he discover the Strait?”

“I think in 1520.”