It was past eight bells when the boats came aboard—eight bells being,
in this case, noon—and all hands had dinner. I hurried through my
work of helping the steward, and ran on deck. There was no sign of
Mr. Baker or of anything else on that limitless sea. The whale had
run to leeward, contrary to the custom of whales, which usually
run to windward when they can. The ship was rolling along in her
leisurely way, almost before the wind, and making a pleasant and
soothing noise under her forefoot and on either side as she rolled.
Ordinarily I should have enjoyed her leisurely progress, and should
have found some place which was out of sight from aft, perhaps on the
heel of the bowsprit, on the principle that out of sight was out of
mind. There I should have squatted, and gazed out ahead and fallen
to dreaming, probably, until recalled to myself by a shout of “Tim!
Where ’s that boy?” But I was getting anxious about Mr. Baker’s boat,
and I could not understand the indifferent attitude of everybody
on board. Nobody seemed to care whether he was ever found or not,
although I could not see, when I came to think it over, what more
could be done than was being done. The ship was going as fast as she
could—nearly as fast. They could have got a little more sail on her.
And the mastheads were manned.
I went up forward, and stood between the knightheads for a while,
but I was ashamed to ask anybody, and I gave it up, and went below
to work on my journal. I could not keep my mind on it, however, and
after half an hour or so I went on deck again. Mr. Wallet and Mr.
Brown were walking to and fro, and Captain Nelson was standing by the
starboard rail, not leaning, but swaying to the roll of the ship. I
went and stood beside him, saying nothing. {65}
He paid no attention to me for a long time, and I edged closer. He
glanced around then, with an expression of annoyance.
“Well,” he said, “what ’s the matter with you, Tim?”
“Nothing, sir,” I stammered hesitatingly. “I was wondering about Mr.
Baker.”
“Huh!” he said. “So was I. He ’s all right, I guess. We ’re edging
down that way now. Worried?”
“Well—no, sir, not if you ’re not.”
“Huh!” he said again, under his breath. “Always worried, more or
less, when a boat ’s lost. But Mr. Baker ’s pretty well able to take
care of himself. Nothing to worry about.”
“No, sir, I suppose not, but I thought we ’d sight him before this.
That whale must have taken him a long way.”
The captain only grunted in reply. I did not like to press the
matter, and I had turned away, when he called me back.
“Tim,” he said, “you can take your glass to the foremasthead, if you
want to, and see if you can see any sign of him.”
There was a little crinkle of amusement about his eyes as he spoke.
Evidently he thought that would be the last thing I wanted. It was.
As I turned and looked up, I saw that the foremasthead meant the
hoops. One man was already there, the tall, silent black man, that
we called Tony. I had but just got so that I could climb in and out
of the maintop without having my heart in my throat; but I was not
going to let anybody know how scared I was, if I could help it, and I
was not going to funk anything that the captain—the old man, as I had
come to call him to myself and to others of the crew—suggested for me
to do, even if he did not order it.
I turned back. “Yes, sir,” I said in a small voice; and I started.
I was an active boy, and fairly strong for my age; and {66} I did it
somehow. I think I held my breath for the last stretch, and I know
I was thoroughly scared until I got there, and Black Tony lent me a
hand into the hoops.
The ship was rolling more than I had thought. On deck the roll was
scarcely noticeable, but at the foremasthead it was a different
matter. I found that I was being carried through an arc of fifteen or
twenty feet, and at first I could do nothing but hold on to the hoop.
Tony did not laugh or speak. He did not even grin, but watched me and
waited, thereby earning my enduring gratitude. After a few minutes I
found that I did not mind the motion so much, and I put my arms over
the hoop, and took up my glass, but did not put it to my eyes.
It was beautiful weather, the sun shining brightly and pleasantly
warm, and a brisk breeze, under which the sea to leeward, as far as
I could see, was deep indigo, with white caps here and there which
flashed dazzlingly white in the sun. It seemed to me, I remember,
that I could see almost around the world, although there was a
curious saucer-like effect of the water near the ship. She seemed
to be moving in the centre of a slight depression, a mile or so in
diameter, and over that rim the sea curved away as it should. I was
so taken up with the beauty and the breadth of view that I forgot
what I had come there for, and I got to like the swing to and fro. It
was as soothing as a hammock, the gulls screamed about my head, and I
got to dreaming. I have never got over my liking for a wide prospect,
and with such a prospect unrolled before me, I am, even now, as apt
to get to dreaming as I ever was. I was too apt to do it then.
Something far off upon those bobbing waves must have attracted
the attention of my unseeing eyes, for I came out of my dreaming
abruptly; but the thing had gone. Again I thought I saw it, but it
was of the color of a sea in shadow. I put my glass to my eyes, and
searched the sea. It must have been six or seven miles off, or more,
{67} and I could not find it, but I saw only a panorama of curiously
bobbing waves going straight up and down. Then I happened upon it
again for an instant, as it crossed the field of my glass, what
looked like the bow of a boat just rising over a sea. I was still
searching for it when I felt a thump on the bottom of the ship, and
a strange shivering of the mast. It was over in a second, but I had
dropped my glass. If it had not been tied around my neck it would
have dropped to the deck below, and it might have killed a man. That
old glass was almost heavy enough to go through the deck, dropped
from the masthead. I found myself staring at Black Tony, while he
stared at me. Then he looked directly down into the sea below him.
What he saw there I did not know, but he gave a cry, and I felt
rather than heard a sort of scraping along the keel, and the
Clearchus almost stopped, and she began to careen. She careened more
and more, and up there at the masthead it seemed as if she must
capsize. I did not stop to think, but a panic seized me, and I slid
and scrambled down the starboard rigging until I was in the foretop.
There I stood and collected my scattered wits, and realized that, in
my panic, I had come down, without a thought, over rigging that I
had been very much afraid of. Although the topgallant shrouds have
ratlines on them on all whalers and most merchantmen, they are pretty
high up and seem none too secure to a boy on them for the first time.
If it had not been for my momentary scare I might be up there yet.
I was about to come down from the foretop with much dignity and a
swelling of the chest, when I saw that all hands, including the
officers, were looking intently into the water astern, and naturally
my gaze followed theirs. The ship had recovered her equilibrium by
this time, and was going serenely about her business; but, about
half a cable’s length in her wake, some huge, smooth body was slowly
rising to the surface. At first I thought it was a {68} whale which
we had run into and over; but as it continued to rise, I saw that
it was too big for a whale. It broke the surface, exposing a smooth
shape like a vessel’s bilge, dark-colored and covered with weed, and
continued to rise very slowly until the whole length was revealed,
and I could even catch glimpses of the keel. It remained on the
surface for half a minute, perhaps, then a sea heaved up the stem,
and the hulk began to sink as slowly and majestically as it had
risen. It was the hull of some vessel, waterlogged and water-soaked
so that it floated some feet below the surface of the sea, rising and
falling, or perhaps remaining stationary below the influence of the
waves. It must have been afloat for years to be so covered with weed.
I wondered where it had been when it met disaster; possibly on the
coast of Africa, or in the Bay of Biscay, or even in some more remote
seas; and how much longer would it be a plaything of ocean currents?
Captain Nelson was standing under the after house, still gazing
astern, when I went to report to him. Half a dozen men, including the
sailmaker who performed the duties of carpenter, and the cooper, had
been sent below to see whether the Clearchus had been damaged by the
collision, but the old man did not seem worried. I asked him about
it, no doubt a piece of impertinence on my part.
He shook his head. “Did n’t you see where we had run over her?
Did n’t even scrape off the whole of the weed. Glancing blow.”
“What sort of a vessel was it, sir? Do you think it was a whaler?”
He shook his head again. “Not a whaler. No copper on her bottom.”
Then he smiled suddenly, for he had seen the whole of my performance.
“See anything up there?”
I told him that I thought I had seen a boat, but I could not be sure,
there was so much mirage or something. {69}
“Looked like a boat, did it?”
“Yes, sir. Like the bow of a boat. I could n’t see it very well. It
was the color of the water, and it looked as if it was cut off, but I
don’t suppose it was. There was something that looked like a flag or
something.”
Captain Nelson smiled more broadly. “May have been a flag or
something. How far off?”
“Eight miles, perhaps. I don’t know.”
“Well, the lookout has n’t reported it, and I ’m afraid you did n’t
see anything. I did n’t know but you had seen a ghost, you came down
so fast.”
“No, sir—” I began. Then I felt myself growing red, my face and my
neck, even to my body and the roots of my hair, and I stammered and
stopped.
“Never mind. You got down quicker than you will again for a long
time, and I was afraid you might have trouble. There was some excuse
for you. I ’ve been scared, myself.”
“Then, Captain Nelson, may I go up again?”
“Now? What do you want to go up again now for? Nothing to see up
there. See if the steward does n’t want you.”
We stood on to leeward for the rest of the day without sighting the
boat. I was getting really worried about it. At sunset we shortened
sail, as we did always on cruising grounds. The light sails were
taken in, the topsail close-reefed, and the ship was brought close
to the wind, lying to during the night, so as to stay as nearly as
possible in one place. If we took any chances of overrunning the
boat, there was some danger that it might be lost in earnest, while,
if we kept to windward of it, there was little chance of that. I
stayed on deck after supper as long as I could keep my eyes open,
in the hope of seeing the flare which Wright had mentioned, but I
saw none. By two bells—nine o’clock—I was so sleepy that I fell
asleep halfway up the main rigging, and just caught myself as I was
{70} falling, my arm hooked around the shrouds. Men sometimes fall
sound asleep on a yard, toward the end of a long watch, hanging on
unconsciously by their shoulders and their legs, with an arm hooked
around a stay. No officer will arouse a man in this condition, for
there is great danger that he will fall overboard in his instinctive
start at a command. I did not know of this at the time, but I was a
little frightened at my narrow escape from a fall, and I went below
and turned in at once.
I fell asleep as soon as I touched my bunk, and slept until morning.
I remembered very vaguely that there was some unusual noise over
my head at some time during the night, and that afterward I heard
a noise in the cabin, but I did not rouse enough to wonder at it.
It was only in the morning that it seemed to have any significance,
and as soon as I was really awake I got into my clothes hurriedly
and went on deck. There was Mr. Baker’s boat on the davits, where
she belonged, and there was Peter Bottom smiling at me, and there,
alongside to starboard, was our first whale, floating on his side,
with his flukes toward the bow, the water about him filled with
sharks.
{71}