HOMEWARD.
_The whale recognized as an old acquaintance.--Incidents of the run
home.--Nantucket again._
The last whale! How many pleasant recollections are associated with
this landmark in the voyage! How many congratulations were exchanged
among us, and how many smart things said! Sweethearts and wives
are especially remembered, for both married and single are in high
feather, and this is emphatically a red-letter day in the Arethusa's
calendar. The work of cutting goes bravely on, amid a running fire of
good-natured remarks and spicy jokes, which, of course, between the
regular "natives" bear something of a personal character; for every
true knight of the island chivalry in those days had his "ladie-love,"
whose image, held in fond remembrance, fired his heart and nerved
his arm in his perilous encounters with leviathan. Each of our
Nantucketers, on occasions like this, called to mind some fair face and
form, his life-partner, either _in esse_ or in _posse_; all had either
wives to _main_tain or wives to _ob_tain. The captain himself is not
slow to take part in this badinage, for we are cutting the last whale
now, and it is a time to waive the little restraints of rank.
"This is a noble whale, and, being the last one, of course, the blubber
is uncommonly fat," said he, as he drove his sharp spade into it, and
slashed it into convenient pieces with true professional pride; "this
is the one that pays for the bridal outfits and town clerk's fees.
Let's see, Mr. Grafton, we shall get invitations to three weddings,
certain. I don't know but more, but we may count on three."
"Mr. Bunker thinks we needn't count on him," said the mate.
"Nonsense!" returned the old man. "He thinks we Newtowners don't know
his cruising-grounds, because the first landfall he means to make is
away up North Shore Hill. But he can't throw any dust in my eyes."
"You didn't mean to count me, sir," said Fisher, "for I never have
anything to do with the women."
"No, of course not," said the captain. "I'll bet that within
forty-eight hours after we all get our new sails bent, I shall meet
you, head and head, coming down the fashionable side of Orange Street,
with studdingsails out both sides--sweeping common folks like me right
off into the gutter."
"Well, I've got sisters, you know, sir," said Fisher with a half-blush.
"I must show them round."
"Yes, I know it; but, if the Fortitude gets home ahead of us, _one_ of
your sisters wont want your services."
"That's so," put in the second mate. "You can set a new studdingsail on
that boom, Fisher."
"There, you haven't a word to say, Mr. Dunham," replied the captain.
"If you were landed there to-day, there would be an invasion of
'Egypt,' and a 'rush to arms' in that quarter of the world that would
equal anything in the days of Bonaparte. A-a-ah! my spade!" said he,
suddenly changing his tone. "I've struck a ringbolt--no, it isn't--it's
something in the blubber--head of an iron--somebody has had a crack at
this whale before."
He pulled it out, and wiped it off with a piece of canvas, scraped it
lightly with his jackknife, and examined it with an incredulous look.
"Eureka!" he shouted at last, holding up the fragment of the harpoon.
"Here's my iron! Who says he isn't my own whale, when he has carried my
mark these twelve years!"
It was even as he said. There was little more than the barbed head
left, for it must have been long before the wound cicatrized, and the
small part of the shank had been reduced to a mere shred of iron from
the effects of long attrition and corrosion; but fairly legible on the
thick centre-piece of the head were the marks boldly cut with a chisel,
S. COL'S. L. B.
"Ship Colossus's Larboard Boat," said the old man, triumphantly.
"Shouldn't want any more evidence in case of life and death. It's
twelve years since I struck that fish--_the first time_, I mean."
The last round of blubber has been "piked off;" the last pot of oil
"baled down;" the last pipe stowed that "chocks off betwixt decks,"
and Old Jeff's immense "plantations" displayed in a triumphant
doubleshuffle on the main hatches. Now comes the expected and welcome
order. "Overboard tryworks!" Crowbars, hammers, or whatever else will
serve the purpose, are seized, and rapidly the cumbrous pile of greasy
bricks and mortar disappears under our vigorous blows, the pots alone
being saved for the next voyage; the deck is washed and planed off
where it had stood; and the old strainer, shattered by hard service,
and half-charred by the fire, travels the same road, overboard. We are
all astonished that our ship has such a spacious maindeck; and she
herself, by her more buoyant and elastic movement, seems to share in
the general joy, at being relieved of this unsightly burden.
Still onward, homeward, she bounds along! down into the south-east
trades, where the duty of dressing her up for home begins; where the
operations of fitting, rattling down and tarring down furnish ample
employment for us all; where outward-bound merchantmen are met, and
passed every day, and longitudes compared by chalking them in gigantic
figures on boards, like showmen's posters; where the south-east trades
haul to north-east, and knock us off into the "bight of Brazil,"
compelling us to beat off and on for several days; where _catamarans_,
or triangular rafts, fully officered and manned by one Portuguese,
come off several miles to sea, to catch fish, and to sell them, too,
if a passing ship comes conveniently near; where a big, black steamer,
evidently of Yankee build, but wearing the gorgeous Brazilian flag,
and showing the name "Bahiana," passes almost within hail of us. We
are favored with a slant of wind at last; Cape St. Augustin is doubled
and left astern, the towers of Pernambuco are seen, with ships in the
roadstead, and now the coast again trends to the westward, and is soon
lost to our view.
"Sail ho!" a whaler, too, right from home! Now for a gam, for
newspapers, perhaps letters, too, for some of us, for books, for
tobacco! She hails us, and gives her name as the "Delta, of Greenport."
No letters for us there; but we get bundles of New York papers, and
peruse them, all four pages, from "clew to earring," advertisements and
all. They are filled with politics, for this is campaign year (1844),
and of course, we are highly competent, after nearly three years'
absence, to understand the issues of the hour! Not a word is said
about the National Bank, or the Sub-Treasury, or any of the old bones
of contention which are familiar to us, but everything is Texas or no
Texas. Henry Clay's name is prominent, and excites no wonder, for his
fame has long been national; but "who is James K. Polk?"
The equator is crossed, and now how we check off the degrees of
latitude, day by day, as we run them up in the north-east trades,
for we are on the home side of the line! Our rigging is all fitted
and tarred down, and a coat of paint from the mastheads down to the
water-line, inside and out, works a wonderful change in the appearance
of our noble ship. How eagerly we hail the first patches of gulf-weed!
and as we plough through immense quantities of it, day after day, and
haul great snarls of it in on deck. wonder what is the use of it, and
what becomes of it all, finally?
We pass Bermuda without the usual heavy squalls characteristic of that
locality, but off Hatteras we lie to a couple of days, and ride out
a "clear nor'wester," which seems to blow out of the sun and stars,
rather than the clouds. Block Island is our first landfall; and,
leaving this on our port bow, we shape our course for the Vineyard
Sound. It is nearly night when we see a pilot-boat coming for us, and
every heart leaps with joy at the thought of soon being at anchor in
a home port. Merrily we rouse up the chain cables from their rusty
lockers, and tumble the anchors off the bow; our maintopsail is thrown
aback, and the pilot-boat shoots up within hail.
"What ship _is_ this?" he asks.
"The Arethusa, of Nantucket."
"O yes! how d'ye do, Captain Upton? You look deep," says the pilot.
"Full ship," replies the old man, rather proudly. "What's sperm oil
worth?"
"'Bout eighty-five cents. Haint you got a piece of salt pork to spare,
captain?"
"Yes, half a dozen," answers the captain, who, knowing the ropes, has
it all prepared beforehand. "Here, pass this meat into the boat."
"Now, haint you got a few fathoms of second-hand towline that you can
spare as well as not? You see my peak-halyards, they're about worn out."
"Here it is, waiting for you," says the old man, with a laugh. "It's
the most remarkable thing, that a Sound pilot-boat's peak-halyards
always _are_ about worn out! Here, pass this coil of line into the
boat. I suppose you can get us into Oldtown to-night, can't you pilot?"
"Well, I guess you don't want to go in there, captain. I can get you in
to-night as far as Holmes' Hole, anyhow, and if it's fair weather in
the morning I'll take you right down to the Bar, and the camels will
take you in."
"Ah, yes, the camels; they're a new institution that we've never seen
yet. They've been built since we were away. Do they work well?"
"O, yes, indeed," says the pilot, "pick the ship right up, cargo and
all, and back her into the harbor and drop her alongside of the wharf."
"Good," says Captain Upton; "those are the very animals that I want to
see."
"I reckon the folks down to Nantucket are getting worried a little
about you, captain. They heard from you on Japan, somewhere in the
middle of the season, but they didn't hear of your being at the islands
in the fall, when we got the reports from the fleet. 'Spose you made a
port in some out-of-the-way place?"
"Yes, I made a running cruise of it, and didn't anchor till I made my
last port in Sydney; so I've brought my own report from there."
We ran into Holmes' Hole and anchored at nine o'clock among a large
fleet of coasting vessels, who had made a harbor for the night like
ourselves. Before daylight in the morning we were heaving up again,
and, with a fair wind, we ran down for Nantucket Bar with all our
bunting flying. Down goes our anchor again in the old berth which we
left three years ago, the sails are rolled up to the yards in a hurry,
and a boat is lowered to pull the captain ashore. The owner is seen
with his horse and the inevitable green box on wheels, waiting on the
cliff shore to receive him, and take him to the arms of his family. The
boat pulls square in, and lands him on the north beach, and returns to
the ship, for an immense black Noah's-ark-looking craft is already seen
moving out of the docks in the harbor, which the pilot tells us is "the
camels." Several boats soon arrive, with friends and relatives of the
Nantucket men. Here is our worthy mate's son in one of them, a stout,
well-grown lad and evidently a "chip of the old block;" and here in
another boat is an embryo "Cape Horner," a young brother of Obed B.,
who is already shipped, and is to sail in a fortnight.
"Ah, Obed;" he says, as he hops in over the rail, with hands
outstretched, and his nut-brown, young face lighted up with pleasure
and excitement, "I'm going in the Ranger; and if you hadn't got home
just as you did, you wouldn't have seen me for I don't know how many
years. Yes, the folks are all well at home, and the camels will have
you into the wharf before night. The steamer will be along soon. We've
got a new steamboat, too, since you went away. Say, Obed, I got the
dollar from Captain Upton's wife this morning. I was the first boy
that knew it was the Arethusa. One of the men came down out of the old
south tower, and told me what signal the ship had set, and I put for
the captain's house. I got the dollar, and then I dug for another, for
I knew where the mate's wife lived, too; but some other boys had found
it out by that time, and I had a tight race for it with Jack Manter,
but I was tired then, I had run so far, and Manter got ahead of me, and
sung out first, as he rushed into the front entry, but I tumbled right
in after him. Mrs. Grafton was scared half to death at first, till she
understood what the matter was, and then she laughed and cried both
at once, and handed out a dollar, and said we might divide it, if we
liked, but it belonged to Jack, for he was a little ahead of me, and
I didn't care much, for I'd got one. Some mates' wives don't give but
half a dollar," said he, pausing to get breath.
I cannot stop to hear any more, for here is Richards, still out-door
clerk of Messrs. Brooks & Co., and he is the only man likely to have
any news for us "off islanders." He is ready with a hearty greeting and
hand-shaking, and is prepared to "infit" us with clothing of any style,
price or quality, as soon as we land. He produces a bunch of letters
which have been directed to various ships expected to arrive soon,
"care of Brooks & Co.," and rapidly shuffles them over. Yes! there is
my loved sister's handwriting, and here is another from my parents. I
tear them open with a beating heart; all is well with those nearest
and dearest to me. That is enough for the present. I will read the
details when more at leisure, and in a few days I will be with them. I
shall not write in reply, but, like the ship, I will bring home my own
report.
"Here comes the camels round Brant Point!" cries the mate, running with
the spyglass to look at the clumsy, floating dock which is creeping
slowly at us, without any visible means of propulsion, so far as we
can see, for the propellers are under the stern. It looks like nothing
in the way of naval architecture that we have ever seen, but might
serve as an immense floating battery, to be moored for the defence of a
harbor. As it draws nearer, we can see that it is built in two parts,
being divided lengthwise. The inside of each section or half is built
concave to receive the hull of the ship, and to fit round her sides,
and under her bilge and floor, as nearly as possible to its general
form. The two parts are connected by several heavy chains, which are
secured on the deck of one "camel," passing down through it under the
keel of the ship, and up through the other, where they are hove taut
with windlasses.
The camels having taken up their position near the ship, the plugs
are drawn, allowing them to fill with water and sink. Being now ready
to receive the ship, our anchor is hove up, lines streamed, and she
is hauled in between them. The connecting chains are then hove taut
by the windlasses, and thus the ship is completely docked, her bottom
resting fairly on the concave inner surfaces of the camels, and the
chains passing under her keel. She is now ready to be raised, and as
soon as the steamboat heaves in sight, returning from her regular trip
to New Bedford the steam pumps are set in operation throwing out the
water from the camels. The steamer passes within hail, and goes on
into the harbor to land her mails and passengers, the captain promising
to return at once and hook on to us. Meanwhile the steampumps work
steadily on, throwing out the water, and the whole fabric is seen
gradually to rise, inch by inch, till the water is all out, and the
ship is lifted out of the water, the camels themselves being flat and
the draft very light. We are just in time for the returning steamboat,
hawsers are run to us, she takes us in tow, and after a short struggle
to overcome the _vis inertiæ_ of the immense arklike contrivance, we
move along under good headway. We round Brant Point and steam up nearly
to the end of the wharf, when the steamer leaves us, the camels are
filled and sink down again, the ship is dropped out from between them,
lines run to the pier, and, in a few minutes, she is tied up head and
stern alongside her wharf, and ready to discharge her oil. "Hurrah for
the camels!" is the sentiment of every man on board, and of nearly
every one on shore, too, except the lightermen whose "occupation is
gone."
Our old landlord is on hand to furnish us board and lodging at the old
rates; Messrs. Brooks & Co. are in the same place, the same business
operations are going on now as three years ago, and the same knots of
seafaring men, or, at least, their very counterparts, pervade "the
store," and pass their time in much the same manner. No one seems to
have changed or grown any older. There is nothing new under the sun but
the camels and the steamer "Massachusetts."
Of course, we could not be paid off until the oil was discharged
on the wharf, gauged, and filled up, so that our "lays" could be
calculated exactly. This detained me several days; for, although
I might have drawn money from the owners, or from Brooks & Co.,
yet I preferred to settle up the whole matter before going home to
my friends, rather than to be under the necessity of returning to
Nantucket. I, of course, took my place among the veteran whalemen, now.
I had earned the right to wear a fine, blue roundabout, and morocco
pumps, with long streamers of ribbon, to roll and swagger as becomes
the "ancient mariner," and to patronize the green hands who formed the
last cargo of the Lydia Ann, for that gallant craft is still running as
good as new.
The newly-arrived seaman, if he be man enough to keep himself sober,
finds the time hang heavily on his hands. A restless activity is
observable in all his movements, and some sort of excitement must be
found to drive away the blues. It _is_ found, at least so long as the
money lasts. We patronized the livery stables extensively; for every
day a string of carriages might be seen bound at racing speed to or
from Siasconset, or "South Shore," the occupants urging the smoking
horses to their greatest efforts, in desperate rivalry to "outsail"
each other; and the cruise is a dull one, and wanting in interest,
unless there is either a capsize, a breakdown, a runaway, or a
collision. Jack is no horseman, though he is prone to think himself an
excellent one. His courage and coolness in emergencies, perhaps, stand
him in as good stead as would a better acquaintance with the management
of the animal, for he never becomes excited after the danger arrives,
and never loses his self-possession at the very moment it is needed. It
is owing perhaps to this fact, that he never gets hurt in these little
equestrian diversions, though he often has heavy bills to pay for
repairs, to the livery-stable proprietors.
The bowling-alley is another of the seaman's favorite resorts, where
he can strip to his shirt sleeves, select the heaviest balls, and
sling them at the pins with a perfect _abandon_ or "looseness," as he
would term it. The game is muscular and boisterous, and these are its
recommendations; for, it is notable that the whaleman, or at least, the
_young_ whaleman, never affects billiards. Gentle exercise, such as can
be taken with the coat buttoned, is not to his taste, until after he
arrives at the rank of chief mate, and has more sedateness, and more
dignity to maintain.
But few days are allowed me to participate in the rough sports of my
brother Cape Horners, for the stevedore's gang, and the laborers, with
the gauger on the wharf have not been idle, and the "figurer," as he is
called here (and who, by the way, is not one of the owners of the ship,
but a disinterested party), is ready to settle up and pay us off. The
next morning sees a goodly number of us on board the steamer, bound for
our respective homes. We take our last look at the ship that has borne
us in safety over so many thousand miles of ocean, as she now lies at
the next wharf, high out of water, and in process of being stripped to
a girtline, for she is to be fitted out again as fast as possible under
command of Mr. Grafton. He has offered me a good berth in her, but I
have not committed myself yet by any decided answer. Kelly and Hoeg
are both going with him, as boatsteerers, of course, and perhaps some
of the others. But I must visit my home in the country, and look about
me a little before I make up my mind for another whaling cruise. In
the meantime, I bid them a hearty farewell, as to all others who have
accompanied me, either in the good ship herself, or in these sketches,
through the pleasures and perils, the lights and shades of my checkered
cruise in the Arethusa.
THE END.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] This word "gallied" is in constant use among whalemen in the sense
of frightened or confused. It is perhaps, a corruption of the obsolete
verb, _gallow_, to be found in old writers. Thus Shakespeare has in
King Lear, "The wrathful skies gallow the deep wanderers of the dark."
[2] The general reader may not be aware that the word "foopaw." in
nautical parlance, means a failure or bungling performance of any duty.
Evidently a corruption of the French "_faux pas_."
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
-Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.