A STORM, A MAN OVERBOARD, AND A RESCUE
The scenes in a whaleman's life are varied and very stirring.
Sometimes he is floating on the calm ocean, idling about the deck and
whistling for a breeze, when all of a sudden the loud cry is heard,
"There she blows!" and in a moment the boats are in the water, and he
is engaged in all the toils of an exciting chase. Then comes the
battle with the great leviathan of the deep, with all its risks and
dangers. Sometimes he is unfortunate, the decks are clean, he has
nothing to do. At other times he is lucky, "cutting in" and "trying
out" engage all his energies and attention. Frequently storms toss him
on the angry deep, and show him, if he will but learn the lesson, how
helpless a creature he is, and how thoroughly dependent at all times
for life, safety, and success, upon the arm of God.
"Trying out" the oil, although not so thrilling a scene as many a one
in his career, is, nevertheless, extremely interesting, especially at
night, when the glare of the fires in the try-works casts a deep-red
glow on the faces of the men, on the masts and sails, and even out upon
the sea.
The try-works consisted of two huge melting-pots fixed upon brick-work
fireplaces between the fore and main masts. While some of the men were
down in the blubber-room cutting the "blanket-pieces", as the largest
masses are called, others were pitching the smaller pieces on deck,
where they were seized by two men who stood near a block of wood,
called a "horse", with a mincing knife, to slash the junks so as to
make them melt easily. These were then thrown into the melting-pots by
one of the mates, who kept feeding the fires with such "scraps" of
blubber as remain after the oil is taken out. Once the fires were
fairly set agoing no other kind of fuel was required than "scraps" of
blubber. As the boiling oil rose it was baled into copper
cooling-tanks. It was the duty of two other men to dip it out of these
tanks into casks, which were then headed up by our cooper, and stowed
away in the hold.
As the night advanced the fires became redder and brighter by contrast,
the light shone and glittered on the bloody decks, and, as we plied our
dirty work, I could not help thinking, "what would my mother say, if
she could get a peep at me now?"
The ship's crew worked and slept by watches, for the fires were not
allowed to go out all night. About midnight I sat down on the windlass
to take a short rest, and began talking to one of the men, Fred Borders
by name. He was one of the quietest and most active men in the ship,
and, being quite a young man, not more than nineteen, he and I drew to
one another, and became very intimate.
"I think we're goin' to have a breeze, Bob," said he, as a sharp puff
of wind crossed the deck, driving the black smoke to leeward, and
making the fire flare up in the try-works.
"I hope it won't be a storm, then," said I, "for it will oblige us to
put out the fires."
Just then Tom Lokins came up, ordered Fred to go and attend to the
fires, sat down opposite to me on the windlass, and began to "lay down
the law" in regard to storms.
"You see, Bob Ledbury," said he, beginning to fill his pipe, "young
fellers like you don't know nothin' about the weather--'cause why?
you've got no experience. Now, I'll put you up to a dodge consarning
this very thing."
I never found out what was the dodge that Tom, in his wisdom, was to
have put me up to, for at that moment the captain came on deck, and
gave orders to furl the top-gallant sails.
Three or four of us ran up the rigging like monkeys, and in a few
minutes the sails were lashed to the yards.
The wind now began to blow steadily from the nor'-west; but not so hard
as to stop our tryworks for more than an hour. After that it blew
stiff enough to raise a heavy sea, and we were compelled to slack the
fires. This was all the harm it did to us, however, for although the
breeze was stiffish, it was nothing like a gale.
As the captain and the first mate walked the quarter-deck together, I
heard the former say to the latter, "I think we had as well take in a
reef in the topsails. All hereabouts the fishing-ground is good, we
don't need to carry on."
The order was given to reduce sail, and the men lay out on the topsail
yards. I noticed that my friend Fred Borders was the first man to
spring up the shrouds and lay out on the main-topsail yard. It was so
dark that I could scarcely see the masts. While I was gazing up, I
thought I observed a dark object drop from the yard; at the same moment
there was a loud shriek, followed by a plunge in the sea. This was
succeeded by the sudden cry, "man overboard!" and instantly the whole
ship was in an uproar.
No one who has not heard that cry can understand the dreadful feelings
that are raised in the human breast by it. My heart at first seemed to
leap into my mouth and almost choke me. Then a terrible fear, which I
cannot describe, shot through me, when I thought it might be my comrade
Fred Borders. But these thoughts and feelings passed like
lightning--in a far shorter time than it takes to write them down. The
shriek was still ringing in my ears when the captain roared--
"Down your helm! stand by to lower away the boats."
At the same moment he seized a light hen-coop and tossed it overboard,
and the mate did the same with an oar in the twinkling of an eye.
Almost without knowing what I did, or why I did it, I seized a great
mass of oakum and rubbish that lay on the deck saturated with oil, I
thrust it into the embers of the fire in the try-works, and hurled it
blazing into the sea.
[Illustration: "HURLED IT BLAZING INTO THE SEA"]
The ship's head was thrown into the wind, and we were brought to as
quickly as possible. A gleam of hope arose within me on observing that
the mass I had thrown overboard continued still to burn; but when I saw
how quickly it went astern, notwithstanding our vigorous efforts to
stop the ship, my heart began to sink, and when, a few moments after,
the light suddenly disappeared, despair seized upon me, and I gave my
friend up for lost.
At that moment, strange to say, thoughts of my mother came into my
mind, I remembered her words, "Call upon the Lord, my dear boy, when
you are in trouble." Although I had given but little heed to prayer,
or to my Maker, up to that time, I did pray, then and there, most
earnestly that my messmate might be saved. I cannot say that I had
much hope that my prayer would be answered--indeed I think I had
none,--still, the mere act of crying in my distress to the Almighty
afforded me a little relief, and it was with a good deal of energy that
I threw myself into the first boat that was lowered, and pulled at the
oar as if my own life depended on it.
A lantern had been fastened to the end of an oar and set up in the
boat, and by its faint light I could see that the men looked very
grave. Tom Lokins was steering, and I sat near him, pulling the aft
oar.
"Do you think we've any chance, Tom?" said I.
A shake of the head was his only reply.
"It must have been here away," said the mate, who stood up in the bow
with a coil of rope at his feet, and a boat-hook in his hand. "Hold
on, lads, did anyone hear a cry?"
No one answered. We all ceased pulling, and listened intently; but the
noise of the waves and the whistling of the winds were all the sounds
we heard.
"What's that floating on the water?" said one of the men, suddenly.
"Where away?" cried everyone eagerly.
"Right off the lee-bow--there, don't you see it?"
At that moment a faint cry came floating over the black water, and died
away in the breeze.
The single word "Hurrah!" burst from our throats with all the power of
our lungs, and we bent to our oars till we wellnigh tore the rollicks
out of the boat.
"Hold hard! stern all!" roared the mate, as we went flying down to
leeward, and almost ran over the hen-coop, to which a human form was
seen to be clinging with the tenacity of a drowning man. We had swept
down so quickly, that we shot past it. In an agony of fear lest my
friend should be again lost in the darkness, I leaped up and sprang
into the sea. Tom Lokins, however, had noticed what I was about; he
seized me by the collar of my jacket just as I reached the water, and
held me with a grip like a vice till one of the men came to his
assistance, and dragged me back into the boat. In a few moments more
we reached the hen-coop, and Fred was saved!
He was half dead with cold and exhaustion, poor fellow, but in a few
minutes he began to recover, and before we reached the ship he could
speak. His first words were to thank God for his deliverance. Then he
added:
"And, thanks to the man that flung that light overboard. I should have
gone down but for that. It showed me where the hen-coop was."
I cannot describe the feeling of joy that filled my heart when he said
this.
"Aye, who wos it that throw'd that fire overboard?" enquired one of the
men.
"Don't know," replied another, "I think it wos the cap'n."
"You'll find that out when we get aboard," cried the mate; "pull away,
lads."
In five minutes Fred Borders was passed up the side and taken down
below. In two minutes more we had him stripped naked, rubbed dry,
wrapped in hot blankets, and set down on one of the lockers, with a hot
brick at his feet, and a stiff can of hot rum and water in his hand.