At Batavia I stayed on board of the Virginia as long as I could. I
had not a cent of money in my pockets, and I did not like to ask
help of any kind, even of the American consul. The Virginia had some
freight to be unloaded, and I watched the men breaking out that
part of the cargo while Captain Marshall went ashore. The captain
apparently did not see me that morning, which I suppose was his way
of being indulgent. There was a good deal of freight to be taken off,
and when it was out of the way there was as much more to be taken
in and stowed: great quantities of sugar and coffee and spices for
England, and some things for Hongkong and Canton, I could not tell
what. I wondered idly why they took aboard the cargo for England on
the way east, but I never found out. The officers of the Virginia
were not the kind of men one asked idle questions.
The cargo was not all stowed before noon of the next day, and there
was no sign of the Clearchus. I was getting very uneasy, and had
actually made a move to speak to the captain, when he turned to me.
“Here ’s your ship,” he said.
I looked down the bay, and saw her upper masts and dirty, slovenly
looking sails, appearing indistinctly above the islands. It was a
great contrast to the white canvas and shining spars of the Virginia,
and I felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment.
We had to wait for the Clearchus, for the wind was light, and I
thought that she never would get in. Captain Marshall did not wait
for her to put her anchor over, but was pulled out and met her,
leaving the Virginia with her anchor hove short, her sails loosed
and hanging in the {293} clewlines, and the crew standing by to
make sail. He went over the side of the Clearchus much more easily
and gracefully than I did, and immediately went below with Captain
Nelson. To my astonishment, I was hailed as one raised from the dead.
It seems that nobody had seen me at the moment of my departure, and
I had not been missed until some hours after the collision. Then the
man who had been at the wheel recalled my yells, and they concluded
that I had been knocked overboard. Of course it was then too late to
look for me, as nobody could swim for four or five hours at the rate
the Clearchus was going, small as that rate was. I laughed when I
heard this explanation, but I made no comment. If they did not know,
or had forgotten, that I could not swim at all, I would not bring
up a painful subject. Peter and the Prince said nothing, but I was
afraid that Peter’s smile would crack his leather cheeks.
I was relieved from this embarrassing situation by the return to
the deck of Captain Marshall, accompanied by Captain Nelson. Both
captains looked pleased, especially Captain Nelson. They stopped for
a moment to glance at the damage done, which was trifling, except
for the loss of the boat. As this thought crossed my mind I looked
up at the roof of the after house. There was no boat missing. They
must have picked it up. I asked Peter, and he nodded, saying that
it was unhurt. At that moment Peter and the Prince were called to
their duty, and our anchor was let go. I sidled aft, to be within
plain sight of Captain Marshall when he left. That was all I could
do. He took no notice of me, but disappeared over the side. I was
disappointed, and felt a sinking of the heart; but I had no reason
to expect anything better. To him I was but one of the crew of the
Clearchus, and a whaleman. Smart masters of smart ships have a
profound contempt for whalemen as a class, because of their general
slackness, I suppose, although those of them who really know feel
{294} an equally profound respect for their venturesome spirit.
Captain Marshall was the master of the smartest ship I have ever
come across, and the condition of his vessel reflected the character
of the master, as it always does. The impression I got of Captain
Marshall, and the one I always retained, was that of a kind man—if
you once got under his stiff crust of reserve and custom. I think
that, at heart, he was sentimental, and was afraid that the crust
might break and show his real nature. So he never forgot, but took
every opportunity to harden and stiffen the crust; and he lavished a
wealth of sentiment on his ship in secret.
I found Captain Coffin standing just forward of the house, nursing
his bandaged ankle and gazing at the Virginia. I took my stand beside
him, and we watched while the Virginia got her anchor up smartly, and
got under way smartly, without the smallest mistake or mishap. Her
canvas fell into place swiftly and with the precision of a machine,
and she was soon well on her way to sea under a veritable cloud of
snowy canvas, and going like a race-horse. There was no sound from
Captain Coffin until the Virginia was almost out of sight. Then he
heaved a long sigh, and turned to me, almost with tears in his eyes.
“Well, Tim,” he said, with a smile, “she ’s a great vessel—a great
ship, and as sweet a sailer as I ever saw.”
I grinned in return, from ear to ear. “That ’s what Captain Marshall
says, sir, and he ’s just right. I spent one whole day just watching
her sail.”
“I ’d give a leg,” he said, “to command a vessel like that. But
there ’s the Annie Battles sailing these seas somewhere. She ’s
almost as good, and she ’s mine. Help me below, Tim.”
So I lent him my shoulder until he was deposited on the cabin sofa. A
glance showed me the same blue-white pitcher on the cabin table, with
three empty glasses, and three empty chairs. The pitcher was empty
too, and cold, but it had been neither empty nor cold. I knew. {295}
At Batavia we left poor Mr. Snow in hospital, under the charge of the
American consul. Although we were sorry for him, there was no one
in the ship who was not glad to have him out of it. Soon after we
left, a homeward-bound whaler called whose master was willing to take
him. He was already better, and recovered pretty well before they
reached New Bedford, but he never went to sea again. I remember that
I saw him, more than ten years later. I said a few words to him, but
found that he did not know me, and I had no wish to recall myself to
him. He was night watchman for one or two of the banks then on Water
Street, and was a little “queer,” but not queer enough to prevent his
being a good enough night watchman.
We were in Batavia about a week, although I could see no reason for
our staying more than a couple of days. The two men that we had
picked up at Amsterdam Island with Captain Coffin left us there, and
none were shipped in their places, as the old man did not like the
looks of any of the candidates. This rejoiced me in particular, for
I was practically put back in my boat. It was no cause of rejoicing
to the sailmaker, however, for it put him back in his boat too; but
Captain Nelson, I believe, expected to pick up a man or two later on.
We sailed at last, expecting to look around the Java Sea a bit, and
if there were no whales there, which Captain Nelson hardly expected,
we would stand up the China Sea, past the Philippines, to the Japan
grounds. The captain hoped to do well on the Japan grounds.
In Java Sea we did better than was expected. We saw several small
schools, got fast four times, and saved two whales, one of them a
big bull. This bull was the cause of an adventure which might have
resulted seriously for me. We had got fast to him, and he had run for
a while. Then he sounded. He had taken out quite a little line, when
the strain on the line eased, although the line did {296} not slack
entirely. That was an indication that he had doubled on his course
under water, and Mr. Brown kept a sharp lookout for him over the bow,
for he might be coming to attack the boat. I could not help giving
an occasional glance over the side. I confess that I was nervous.
Mr. Brown did not see me, having his back toward me, but the Prince
did, and held up his hand in warning, although he said nothing. That
was not enough to stop me, and I glanced over again. One glance was
enough. There was the whale coming up like a rocket, belly up and
jaws open. I dropped my oar, and reached past Kane for the boat
spade. As I reached, Mr. Brown gave a yell to stern all. Of course I
could not, having no hold on my oar, but it was too late, anyway.
At that instant the lower jaw shot into the air past my head. I had
never thought the teeth of a sperm whale looked very dangerous until
I saw those teeth, looking like a row of gravestones, flashing by
my eyes to twice my height. I did not stop to philosophize on the
matter of whales’ teeth, however, but I jammed the boat spade down
instantly, with all my strength and all my weight behind it. By pure
good luck I hit the jaw muscles on one side, and cut them nearly
through. Probably I saved the life of the tub-oarsman, who would have
been caught between the jaws; or quite possibly I saved my own life,
for I might have been the one to be caught by those jaws. It seemed,
at the time, to be an opening for two young men.
The jaws closed partially, but there was no strength in the bite,
and, although the planks on one side were stove in, between me
and the tub oar, the boat was not bitten in two, which would have
happened if the whale had had the full use of his jaw muscles. He
made no further attack, but sank again into the sea, leaving us with
the water pouring in through the broken planks. In a few minutes we
were completely waterlogged, and the men sat in their places with
the water up to their waists, and the seas {297} breaking into the
boat. Mr. Tilton pulled up and took our line, and killed the whale.
All the fight seemed to have been taken out of him. He cut in over
eighty-five barrels.
By the time we had that whale and our other one—a thirty-barrel cow,
which made no fight—we were about off Macassar, and we held northward
through the Strait of Macassar instead of going back and through the
China Sea. We had head winds until we had got to the east of the
Philippines, but we were in no hurry, and the head winds did not
bother us. It was here that we saw a strange and interesting sight.
We had raised a small school of whales and had lowered four boats.
The whales proved to be cows, most of them with calves accompanying
them closely. I knew too little about whales then—I know no more
now—to be able to tell the age of a whale calf by its appearance;
these calves were not newly born, but yet they were so young that
they had to come up to blow every three or four minutes. Mr. Baker
struck a calf, probably thinking by that manœuvre he would find the
capture of the mother easier.
I know that I was rather shocked at his doing so at the time. There
was nothing sporting about it. It was like murdering a baby. But
there was nothing sporting about whaling—none of the sporting spirit,
and my feeling was only momentary. It did seem short-sighted, at the
least, to destroy an animal that could be of no possible use to us,
and one which might grow up to be of considerable value to somebody.
There should be some sort of international agreement not to kill
calves or any cow under forty barrels or so. It would be in the
interest of the whale fishery as an industry, and would very likely
result, eventually, in making it easier to fill up a ship; like the
restrictions on the seal fishery, or good game laws on land. Nobody
supposes that the game laws exist from sympathy with the game; but
where there is a good buck law, deer are abundant enough. {298}
To come back to Mr. Baker; he knew whales very well, and ought to
have known what would happen. The whole school of a dozen or fifteen
cows brought to at once, and gathered around the wounded calf and Mr.
Baker’s boat. They crowded so closely about the boat that Mr. Baker
did not dare to use his lance, and had all he could do to keep his
boat from being stove by the loose cows. The three other boats were
at some distance when he struck. We pulled up as fast as we could,
but could do nothing to help him. On the way over I heard Mr. Macy
call to Mr. Tilton to look. I could see nothing, of course, having my
back to whatever it was that he was calling attention to, but on our
arrival on the outskirts of the school I saw what it was.
There were a great many more than fifteen whales there, and more
were arriving every minute. In self-defense, Mr. Baker had lanced
two of the nearest, and he could have reached two or three more from
the boat. The whales seemed to have lost their wits, but were none
the less dangerous on that account, they were so tightly packed.
The small school which we had attacked had been, apparently, but an
offshoot of a much larger school, all cows and calves. Their spouts
covered the sea for some distance. No doubt they seemed more numerous
than they were; but we found our boat gradually getting enclosed, and
we backed out, after lancing two without putting an iron into either.
So did Mr. Tilton and Mr. Macy, leaving Mr. Baker closely surrounded
by crazy whales; probably only gallied and not knowing what to do.
There was nothing for Mr. Baker to do but to do nothing, and he
did it. His men took in their oars, and there they sat waiting for
something to turn up, their boat not so very unlike one of the bodies
that surrounded it.
Presently Mr. Baker’s patience was rewarded. The poor little calf
which he had struck turned on its side, fin out, and the whales
scattered very soon, the whole school gradually resuming its orderly
progress. {299}
Just before we backed out of the mess, the whales of the main school
had come so close to our boat that I had only to look over the side
to see the small calves swimming close alongside their mothers,
almost concealed from view. One of the calves I saw must have
been born a very little time before, for its flukes were scarcely
unfolded. I have no means of knowing how long it takes for that
process, but the calf could not have been more than a few days old.
The mother seemed very anxious and solicitous for its safety. I saw
her turn partly on her side, and put her side fin over it, holding it
close against her, as you would take a small child under your arm.
She had it so when we backed away, and lost sight of the pair.
The school left us in such semblance of order that we could not have
struck again without risking a repetition of Mr. Baker’s experience;
and we had about as many whales as we could take care of at one time.
Each boat had got one or two. They were all small, none over thirty
barrels, and some much smaller.
When the trying-out was over we made for the Japan grounds as
straight as we could with the northeast trades directly ahead. Peter
was still engaged in repairing the boat stove in the Java Sea. It was
stove rather badly, every plank on the port side from the gunwale
nearly to the garboard strake having to be replaced, and two broken
ribs. Although Peter’s workmanship left a repaired boat almost as
good as new—it would be better in some cases, but our boats had been
made by Beetle, and were good boats—in spite of Peter’s workmanship,
we had a good many cripples. If the rate of damage to boats
increased, it seemed to me that we might find ourselves short. One
fighting whale will sometimes reduce two or three boats to matchwood,
quite beyond Peter’s skill. We were going where there was no source
of supply, for what whale boats were scattered among the islands of
the Pacific were mostly old boats, patched and painted over to hide
the {300} patches; boats that the whalemen, who traded them to the
natives, had no further use for. Still, I do not remember that I
worried about it at the time. It is only since I got home—since I
became middle-aged and timid, I suppose whalemen would say—that it
has seemed to me short-sighted.
We stood in fairly close to Formosa, and in that neighborhood we got
one whale, a lone bull, which made no fight to speak of, although it
was not like slaughtering a steer at Green’s or Pike’s. A pot of hot
oil from him may have saved us; or, at any rate, it may have saved us
a nasty fight. While we were trying-out, a small junk appeared from
the direction of Formosa or the Chinese coast beyond. Nobody gave it
a thought until it was close aboard, when it suddenly occurred to
Captain Nelson, who happened to be on deck, that its actions were
suspicious. I saw nothing suspicious about it except that it was
almost near enough to throw a biscuit aboard—if anybody had wanted
to waste a biscuit. The old junk was going along after the manner of
junks, with six or seven men loafing on deck. We were hove to, and a
great volume of black smoke was pouring from our try-works. As far as
working the ship was concerned, we were helpless. If they wanted to
board us, they could do it a dozen times over before we could get the
Clearchus going.
Captain Nelson watched the junk for a minute, then he spoke to Mr.
Baker, who went at once among the men. The men left their work, and
armed themselves with lances, harpoons, spades, and boarding-knives,
but did not range themselves along the rail, for the captain was not
sure, and he did not want to make himself a laughing-stock among
other captains. I was watching the men, feeling little pricklings all
over and my hair rising. Captain Nelson turned to me.
“What ’you grinning about, Tim?” I had not been aware that I was
grinning, but I was, from ear to ear. “Get the guns and revolvers
from the cabin.” {301}
“All of them, sir?” I asked, my voice shaking with excitement.
“All you can carry.”
I jumped for the cabin stairs, and clanked up again, making a noise
like an arsenal. The captain could not help laughing to see me. I had
the Spencers, of course, three of the heavy bomb guns, two revolvers,
and some ammunition. I distributed my arsenal among the officers.
“Here she comes,” said Mr. Baker—with satisfaction, I thought.
The junk had gone by us, until she was almost directly to windward,
had turned, and was coming down before the wind, her men, who had
been hidden below, swarming out upon deck. They were armed mostly
with long knives.
I looked at our own men. They were taking their places at the rail
according to their nature; some slowly, some quickly. I saw Peter go
with business-like rapidity, and take his place by the fore rigging.
He had a boarding-knife. The Prince, with a harpoon in his hand, and
two more leaning against the rail at his side, leaped upon the rail
beside Peter. I ran to Peter’s other side, seizing a boarding-knife
as I ran, and there we were, the three of us together, the Prince,
Peter, and I. Peter took it all quietly, as if it were a regular part
of his duty to meet a junk-load of Chinese pirates; I was a little
afraid, I think, but at the same time I was pleased, and I was wildly
excited; and the Prince stood on the rail, looking down with the
utmost contempt upon the Chinese. He was stripped to the waist—most
of our men were half-stripped—and looked like an ebony statue, the
gold hoops in his ears shining out against his shining black skin.
The junk was very near now, and one of their men crawled up with a
great bronze hook on the end of a cable. He was going to try to hook
fast to us, but he never did make the trial. He had to rise, for a
moment, and expose himself. That moment was enough for the Prince,
who {302} was directly opposite him, and only a few feet away. The
Prince raised his harpoon, and darted quickly. The sharp weapon
struck the man full in the chest, went clean through him as if his
body had been made of paper, and the barbs stuck a good three inches
behind his back.
The Prince smiled at that. “Ha!” he cried. “You want come aboard?
Come on, then.”
He jerked the body over the rail of the junk, and it fell with a thud
against our side. Then, still standing erect, he hauled it over our
rail, and dumped it on the deck at my very feet. It turned me sick
and faint for an instant.
I was roused out of my faintness by a shout from Kane, who had
been standing not far from me. He threw down his spade, ran to the
try-works, seized one of the long-handled copper dippers, and dipped
it into one of the kettles of oil. The oil was unusually hot, and
the drops that fell from the dipper, as he ran back with it, smoked
fiercely, and threatened to start fires.
“Look out, boys!” he shouted, swinging his dipper of hot oil. “I ’ll
give them a drink.”
We drew away from the swing of the dipper. With a last swing at the
full length of the long handle he let them have it.
“Have a doughnut,” he roared, “you dhirty chinks!”
He had thrown with all his strength, and with considerable skill,
so that the contents of the dipper were dashed upon a good many of
the men, and scattered into drops. The drops fell upon the bare
bodies like a rain of fire, and every drop sizzled where it struck,
literally frying the Chinese in spots. There was a yell from our men
at Kane’s success, and frenzied yells of pain came from the junk.
Kane had turned at once, and ran back to fill his dipper again. Many
men followed him, to grab whatever they could lay hands upon which
would hold oil.
I was among the first to turn and run, thrusting my boarding-knife
into Peter’s hands, and bidding him hold it. {303} The decks, of
course, were almost swimming in oil and greasy dirt, as we had been
in the middle of trying-out. As I ran I heard a shout from Peter to
duck. At the same instant I fell flat upon my face on the deck, and
a long knife whistled over my head, striking against the bricks of
the try-works. It was a piece of good luck, with no effort of mine
contributing. I had merely stepped in a puddle of oil, and my foot
had slipped.
By the time I had got to my feet again, there was nothing left to
dip the oil with, and I went back to my post beside Peter. Kane
had thrown a second dipperful of oil, with as great success as the
first, and there was now a continuous shower of hot oil crossing the
widening gulf between the vessels. The junk had given up the attempt
to board us, and was only anxious to get away, her men pushing with
long poles, while exposing their bodies as little as possible. The
junk slowly dropped astern, helped by much pushing and some drifting.
As she had come down upon us from the windward, she could not get off
directly; but the Clearchus was forging ahead a little.
Hot oil was showered upon the junk while she was within range of the
men, but the officers, their guns held ready, withheld their fire,
and at last she cleared us. As she cleared our stern, and her sails
filled and she stood to leeward, her men were still shouting in
agony, some of the worst burned clawing at their bodies. Presently a
man jumped overboard. He sank from sight, and I did not see him come
up again. Then another jumped, and another; and then two together.
All four came up again, but the junk made no attempt to pick them up,
and the men made no attempt to swim, so far as I could see. They just
lay there, bobbing on the surface or under it, now in plain sight,
now out of sight, until they disappeared.
We had made no move to pick them up, which worried me somewhat, and
finally I spoke to Mr. Baker, who passed near. Two of the Chinese
were still afloat. {304}
“Are n’t we going to pick up those men, Mr. Baker?”
“What men?” he asked. “Any of our men overboard? Don’t seem so. If
any of those yellow pirates are overboard, the junk can pick ’em up
if she wants to. What we do is the Cap’n’s business, not yours or
mine, Tim.”
I looked at Captain Nelson. He was standing under the after house,
gazing forward absently, as if nothing had happened. _He_ did not see
any men overboard, nor did Mr. Baker, nor any other of the officers.
At that moment Captain Nelson called me, and I went to him.
“Take the guns below,” he said.
When I came up there was nothing to be seen except a junk, a quarter
of a mile to leeward, going before the wind.
{305}