clear to me, as it has done to all intelligent seamen that I have
ever met, that very little legislation is needed to make the British
Mercantile Marine popular again among our own countrymen. Legislation
has hitherto done little for the sailor, while it has exasperated
the shipowner, already handicapped as none of his foreign rivals
have ever been. The Mercantile Marine should more nearly approximate
to the Navy in many of its details, which need not entail extra
expense or annoyance to the shipowner. It should be made possible
for a shipmaster to ensure better discipline, but he should be able
to give his men better food and better housing. The Board of Trade
scale of provisions is a hateful abomination; it ought to be blotted
out and a sensible dietary substituted, which need not exceed it in
cost, while it would act like a charm upon seamen, for whom it has an
importance undreamed of by those ashore, who even on the slenderest
incomes can fare every day in a manner luxurious by comparison with
our sailors. More attention should be paid to the men’s quarters.
Here, again, expenses need not be raised; a little attention to detail
in drawing up specifications would make a vast difference. _And
none but a naturalised British subject should be permitted to sign
articles in a British ship._ This plan is pursued with advantage in
American vessels, which, like our own, carry an enormous percentage of
foreigners of all nations. Of undermanning I need say nothing more,
because the question is being dealt with, and will, I earnestly hope,
be settled with as much satisfaction to everybody concerned as the
splendid “Midge” scheme, the only piece of marine legislation that I
can remember that has been completely successful. Unfortunately, under
present conditions it is responsible for the still further depletion
of our Mercantile Marine of British seamen, since numbers of them by
its beneficent operations reach their homes with their hard-earned pay
intact. This enables them to look about for a job ashore where they are
known, whereas under the bad old conditions they would have been in a
few days again “outward bound with a stocking round their necks,” as
Jack tersely sums up the situation of a man who has squandered all his
money, been robbed of, or has sold, all his clothes, and is off to sea
again in the first craft that he can get, going he neither knows nor
cares whither.
XXIV
CANCER CAY
There is a tiny islet on the outskirts of the Solomon Archipelago that
to all such casual wanderers as stray so far presents not a single
feature of interest. Like scores of others in those latitudes, it has
not yet attained to the dignity of a single coco-nut tree, although
many derelict nuts have found a lodgment upon it, and begun to grow,
only to be wiped out of existence at the next spring-tide. Viewed from
a balloon it would look like a silly-season mushroom, but with a fringe
of snowy foam around it marking the protecting barrier to which it owes
its existence, to say nothing of its growth. Yet of all places in the
world which I have been privileged to visit, this barren little mound
of sand clings most tenaciously to my memory, for reasons which will
presently appear.
One of those devastating cyclones that at long intervals sweep across
the Pacific, leaving a long swath of destruction in their wake, had
overtaken the pearling schooner of which I was mate. For twenty-four
hours we fled before it, we knew not whither, not daring to heave-to.
The only compass we possessed had been destroyed by the first sea
that broke on board. Whether it was night or day we had no notion,
except by watch, and even then we were doubtful, so appalling was the
darkness. Hope was beginning to revive that, as the _Papalangi_ had
proved herself so staunch, she might yet “run it out,” unless she
hit something. But the tiny rag rigged forrard to keep her before it
suddenly flew into threads; the curl of the sea caught her under the
counter and spun her up into the wind like a teetotum. The next vast
comber took her broadside-on, rolled her over, and swallowed her up. We
went “down quick into the pit.”
Although always reckoned a powerful swimmer, even among such amphibia
as the Kanakas, I don’t remember making a stroke. But after a
horrible, choking struggle in the black uproar I got my breath again,
finding myself clinging, as a drowning man will, to something big and
seaworthy. It was an ordinary ship’s hencoop that the skipper had
bought cheap from a passenger vessel in Auckland. As good a raft as
one could wish, it bore me on over the mad sea, half dead as I was,
until I felt it rise high as if climbing a cataract and descend amidst
a furious boiling of surf into calm, smooth water. A few minutes later
I touched a sandy beach. Utterly done up, I slept where I lay, at the
water’s edge, though the shrieking hurricane raged overhead as if it
would tear the land up by the roots.
When I awoke it was fine weather, though to leeward the infernal
reek of the departing meteor still disfigured a huge segment of the
sky. I looked around, and my jaw dropped. Often I had wondered what
a poor devil _would_ do who happened to be cast away on such a spot
as this. Apparently I was about to learn. A painful pinch at my bare
foot startled me, and I saw an ugly beast of a crab going for me. He
was nearly a foot across, his blue back covered with long spikes, and
his wicked little eyes seemed to have an expression of diabolical
malignity. I snatched at a handful of his legs and swung him round my
head, dashing him against the side of my coop with such vigour that his
armour flew to flinders around me. I never have liked crab, even when
dressed, but I found the raw flesh of that one tasty enough--it quite
smartened me up. Having eaten heartily, I took a saunter up the smooth
knoll of sand, aimlessly, I suppose, for it was as bare as a plate,
without a stone or a shell. From its highest point, about ten feet
above high-water mark, I looked around, but my horizon was completely
bounded by the ring of breakers aforesaid. I felt like the scorpion
within the fiery circle, and almost as disposed to sting myself to
death had I possessed the proper weapon. As I stood gazing vacantly at
the foaming barrier and solemn enclosing dome of fleckless blue, I was
again surprised by a vicious nip at my foot. There was another huge
crab boldly attacking me--me, a vigorous man, and not a sodden corpse,
as yet. I felt a grue of horror run all down my back, but I grabbed at
the vile thing and hurled it from me half across the island. Then I
became aware of others arriving, converging upon me from all around,
and I was panic-stricken. For one mad moment I thought of plunging
into the sea again; but reason reasserted itself in time, reminding me
that, while I had certain advantages on my side where I was, in the
water I should fall a helpless victim at once, if, as might naturally
be expected, these ghouls were swarming there. Not a weapon of any kind
could I see, neither stick nor stone. My feelings of disgust deepened
into despair. But I got little time for thought. Such a multitude of
the eerie things were about me that I was kept most actively employed
seizing them and flinging them from me. They got bolder, feinting and
dodging around me, but happily without any definite plan of campaign
among them. Once I staggered forward, having trodden unaware upon a
spiky back as I sprung aside, wounding my foot badly. I fell into a
group of at least twenty, crushing some of them, but after a painful
struggle among those needle-like spines regained my feet with several
clinging to my body. A kind of frenzy seized me, and, regardless of
pain, I clutched at them right and left, dashing them to fragments one
against the other, until quite a pile of writhing, dismembered enemies
lay around me, while my hands and arms were streaming from numberless
wounds. Very soon I became exhausted by my violent exertions and the
intense heat, but, to my unfathomable thankfulness, the heap of broken
crabs afforded me a long respite, the sound ones finding congenial
occupation in devouring them. While I watched the busy cannibals
swarming over the yet writhing heap, I became violently ill, for
imagination vividly depicted them rioting in my viscera. Vertigo seized
me, I reeled and fell prone, oblivious to all things for a time.
When sense returned it was night. The broad moon was commencing her
triumphal march among the stars, which glowed in the blue-black concave
like globules of incandescent steel. My body was drenched with dew,
a blessed relief, for my tongue was leathery and my lips were split
with drouth. I tore off my shirt and sucked it eagerly, the moisture
it held, though brackish, mitigating my tortures of thirst. Suddenly I
bethought me of my foes, and looked fearfully around. There was not one
to be seen, nothing near but the heap of clean-picked shells of those
devoured. As the moon rose higher, I saw a cluster of white objects
at a little distance, soon recognisable as boobies. They permitted me
to snatch a couple of them easily, and wringing off their heads I got
such a draught as put new life into me. Hope returned, even quelling
the cruel thought of daylight bringing again those ravening hordes of
crawling crustacea. Yet my position was almost as hopeless as one could
imagine. Unless, as I much doubted, this was a known spot for _bêche de
mer_ or pearl-shell fishers, there was but the remotest chance of my
rescue, while, without anything floatable but my poor little hencoop,
passing that barrier of breakers was impossible. Fortunately I have
always tried to avoid meeting trouble half-way, and with a thankful
feeling of present wants supplied, I actually went to sleep again,
though stiff and sore from head to heel.
At daybreak I awoke again to a repetition of the agonies of the
previous day, which, although I was better fortified to meet them, were
greater than before. The numbers of my hideous assailants were more
than doubled as far I could judge. The whole patch of sand seemed alive
with the voracious vermin. So much so that when I saw the approach of
those horrible hosts my heart sank, my flesh shrank on my bones, and
I clutched at my throat. But I could not strangle myself, though had
I possessed a knife I should certainly have chosen a swift exit from
the unutterable horror of my position, fiercely as I clung to life. To
be devoured piecemeal, retaining every faculty till the last--I could
not bear the thought. There was no time for reflection, however; the
struggle began at once and continued with a pertinacity on the part of
the crabs that promised a speedy end to it for me. How long it lasted
I have no idea--to my tortured mind it was an eternity. At last,
overborne, exhausted, surrounded by mounds of those I had destroyed,
over which fresh legions poured in ever-increasing numbers, earth and
sky whirled around me, and I fell backward. As I went, with many of
the vile things already clinging to me, I heard a yell--a human voice
that revived my dulling senses like a galvanic shock. With one last
flash of vigour I sprang to my feet, seeing as I did so a canoe with
four Kanakas in it, not fifty yards away, in the smooth water between
the beach and the barrier. Bounding like a buck, heedless of the pain
as my wounded feet clashed among the innumerable spiky carapaces of my
enemies, I reached the water, and hurled myself headlong towards that
ark of safety. How I reached it I do not know, nor anything further
until I returned to life again on board the _Warrigal_ of Sydney, as
weak as a babe and feeling a century older.
XXV
A NINETEENTH-CENTURY JONAH
We were gathered together in a compact group under the weather
bulwarks of the old _Rainbow_, South Sea-man, presently cruising on
the Line grounds; officers and harpooners of three ships engaged in
the pleasant occupation of “gamming,” as ship-visiting is termed among
Southern-going whalemen. Song and dance were finished, and with pipes
aglow, stretched at our ease, the time-honoured “cuffer” or yarn was
going its soothing round.
The fourth officer of the _Rainbow_, a taciturn Englishman, whose
speech and manner excited wonder as to how he came in that galley,
was called upon in his turn to contribute. Without hesitation, as if
professional story-telling was his _métier_, he began:
“‘’Ere she white water-r-rs! Ah blo-o-ow!’ came ringing down from
the main crow’s nest of the _Megantic_, South Sea whaler of Martha’s
Vineyard, as she heeled solemnly to the steady trade on the
‘off-shore’ ground one lovely morning.
“‘Where away? Haow fer off?’ roared the skipper, while, slinging his
glasses, he prepared to elevate his sixteen stone painfully to the
giddy height above him.
“‘Two p’ints on the starb’rd baouw, sir, ’baout five mile off. Looks
like sparm whale, sir,’ was the prompt reply.
“‘All right, keep her az she goes, Mr. Slocum, ’n’ clar away boats,’
said the ‘old man,’ as with many a grunt he began his pilgrimage of
pain.
“There was no need to call all hands. The first cry had startled them
into sudden activity. Before its echoes died away, they were on deck,
with no trace of drowsiness among them. Being in a high state of
discipline, each man went straight to his boat, standing ready, at the
word, to lower and be off after the gambolling leviathan ahead. Silence
reigned profound, except for the soothing murmur of the displaced sea
as the lumbering old barky forged slowly ahead, or the soft flap of
a hardly-drawing staysail as she rolled to windward. Seated upon the
upper topsail yard, the ‘old man’ soliloquised grumblingly, ‘What in
the ’tarnal blazes ’s he doin’ of? Gaul bust my gol-dern skin ef ever
_I_ see sech a ninseck ’n _my_ life. I be everlastin’ly frazzled ef
’taint mos’ ’s bad ez snakes in yer boots. Mr. Slocum, jes’ shin up
hyar a minit, won’t ye?’
“As if unable to trust his own senses any longer, he thus called upon
the mate to help him out. More agile than the skipper in his movements,
it was but a few seconds before Mr. Slocum was by his chief’s side,
peering with growing bewilderment through the binoculars at the strange
object ahead. What had at first sight seemed an ordinary full-sized
bull cachalot leisurely playing upon the surface of the sea, had now
resolved itself into an indescribable, ever-shifting mass of matter,
from the dark centre of which writhing arms continually protruded and
retreated. The golden glare lavished along the glittering sea by the
ascending sun added to the mystery surrounding the moving monster or
monsters, for it or they lay right in the centre of that dazzling path.
“‘Wall--whatjer mek ov it, Mr. Slocum?’ queried the skipper
sarcastically.
“Slowly, as if spelling his words, the mate replied, ‘Thutty-nine year
hev I ben a-fishin’, but ef ever I see ennythin’ like _that_ befo’, may
I never pump sparm whale ag’in. Kaint fine no sorter name fer it, sir.’
“‘Lemme see them glasses agen,’ said the ‘old man’ wearily. ‘’Pears
like ’s if she’s a-risin’ it, whatever ’tes, consider’ble sudden;’ and,
readjusting the focus, he glued his eyes to the tubes again for another
long searching look at the uncanny sight. His scrutiny was evidently
more satisfying than at first, for without removing the glasses from
his eyes, he yapped, ‘’Way down frum aloft! Heave to, ’n low’r away,
Mr. Slocum. Guess yew’ll fine a “fish” thar, er tharabout.’
“‘Ay, ay, sir,’ promptly returned the mate, departing with great
alacrity, issuing orders the while, so that by the time he reached the
deck there was a whirring rattle of patent sheaves, and a succession
of subdued splashes, as boat after boat took the water. In almost as
short a time as it takes to say it, the boats’ masts were stepped, the
big sails bellied out, and away sped the handsome craft, in striking
contrast to the unlovely old hulk that had borne them.
“We were no ‘greenies’; long practice had so familiarised us with the
wiles and ferocity of the cachalot, that we had none of the tremors at
approaching one that so sorely afflict beginners. Nevertheless there
was an air of mystery about the present proceedings which affected all
of us more or less, though no one knew precisely why. Absolute silence
is the invariable rule, as you know, in boats going on a ‘fish,’
because of that exquisite sense of sound possessed by the sperm whale,
which is something more than hearing; so we were slightly startled
to hear our harpooner say in a clear undertone, ‘Dern funny-lookin’
fish that, Mr. Slocum, don’t ye think?’ But for all answer our chief
growled, ‘Stand up, José!’
“Instantly the big fellow sprang to his feet in attitude to strike,
balancing his weapon, a heroic figure sharply outlined against the
clear blue.
“Good Lord! what was that? A horrible medley of blue-black and
livid white, an inextricable tangle of writhing, clutching, tearing,
serpent-like arms, that lashed the sea into a curious dusky foam,
evil-smelling and greasy. Out of its midst rose an immense globular
mass, bearing two eyes larger than barrel-heads, dead black, yet with a
Satanic expression that confused one’s heart-beats.
“‘Giv’t to him! giv’t to him!’ roared the mate, and instantly the iron
flew into the midst of the wallowing entanglement, followed immediately
by another from José’s eager, nervous arms. Willing hands clutched
the flapping sail to roll it up, but a shriek of agony paralysed them
all. A long livid thing rose on the off side of the boat, and twining
itself around the wretched harpooner’s tall figure, tore him from our
midst, his heartbroken death-yell curdling our blood. Quick as thought,
another of those awful arms came gliding over us, this time encircling
the boat amidships. Though tapering to the slenderest of points, it was
of the circumference of a man’s body at its thickest, and armed with
saucer-like mouths all along its inferior surface. One of these clung
to my bare breast as the slimy horror tightened round us, a ring of
great curved claws which protruded from it tearing at my flesh as if to
strip it from the bones. But we had hardly realised what was happening,
when she was going over, parbuckled as you might turn a hand-bowl. In a
moment all was darkness and struggle for breath amidst a very maelström
of slime and stench, in the depths of which I felt myself freed from
that frightful grip. It seemed like hours before, with a bound, I
reached the surface again, clutching at something hard and floating
as I rose. In spite of the excruciating agony of my wounds, and the
rushing of the air into my collapsed lungs, there was a sense of relief
beyond expression, as of resurrection from the dead.
“Although counted a good swimmer even among such amphibia as our crew,
I lay there supine, stretched at length upon the sea--a still, white
figure grasping numbly at the fragment of bottom-board. Suddenly I
became aware of a whirling in the water again, but I was in a sort of
stupor of the physical faculties, though mentally alert enough.
“Then up reared above my head an object I recognised with a long wail
of terror; the tremendous lower jaw of the sperm whale, bristling with
its double row of gleaming teeth. Before I could gasp a prayer, or
even think what was happening, I was gliding down the vast grey cavern
of his throat, with but one thought left--‘the descent into Hell is
easy.’ Down, down I went into utter darkness, among a squirming, fetid
heap of snaky coils, that enveloped me, and seemed to gnaw and tear
at my shuddering body as if devouring me at second hand. Then came an
explosion--a dull, rending report that sent an earthquake shock through
me and my unutterable surroundings. Immediately following this there
was a convulsive upheaval, in which all the contents of that awful
place took a rising motion, growing faster and faster, until, with a
roaring rush, came the dear daylight again.
“What ensued then for some time I do not know. A sensation of
heavenly peace and calm possessed me, when, as if released from some
unimaginable nightmare, I found myself floating placidly as a Medusa
upon a calm sea. There I felt content to lie, without effort, conscious
only of life--life so sweet that I wondered dreamily whether I was
still in the body, or had passed into that blissful state imagined by
speculative psychologists as awaiting man after death. Gradually my
mind became clearer, my limbs felt willing to obey the impulse of my
brain. I began to swim, feebly at first, almost automatically, but with
increasing vigour as the significance of my position became clearer to
me.
“I had swum but a short distance when the blessed sound of my
shipmates’ voices greeted my ears, but from my lowly position I was
unable to see them, until one of them gripped me by the arms, dragging
me into the boat among them.
“Then I learned without surprise that I was the only survivor of
my boat’s crew. Every one of my fellows had disappeared before the
horror-stricken gaze of the men in the other boats, who, being but
a short distance astern of us, had witnessed the whole tragedy. It
appeared that we had attacked a cachalot in the act of devouring one
of the gigantic cuttle-fish, or ‘squid,’ upon which these cetaceans
feed, and of which it is most probable no mortal eye has yet beheld
a full-sized specimen. For they inhabit the middle depths of oceans,
never coming to the surface voluntarily.
“This monster’s arms, or tentacles, enlaced the whole colossal body
of the whale, so that they must have been fully 60 feet or 70 feet
in length. At their junction with the head they were about 5 feet in
girth, as a huge fragment lying at the bottom of the boat conclusively
proved. At the time we so rashly attacked the whale the mighty mollusc
must have been in his death-throes, for immediately after our boat’s
disappearance the whale ‘sounded.’ When, a minute or two later, he rose
again to the surface, the other boats’ crews saw him busily turning
over and over, as if collecting the scattered fragments of his late
victim. At that time they had not noticed me among the various flotsam,
but it must have been then that I vanished down the capacious gullet
of the voracious cetacean. Fortunately for me they were furiously bent
upon attacking the whale, and so in some degree avenging their slain
shipmates.
“The second mate had loaded his bomb-gun with an extra heavy charge,
and at the same moment that the harpooner darted his weapon the bomb
was discharged also. It penetrated the cachalot’s lungs, inflicting a
mortal wound by its explosion therein, the noise of which was the shock
that I felt while in that horrible tomb. As is usual, in his dying
agony the whale ejected the whole contents of his stomach, by means
of which cataclysm I was expelled therefrom and restored to the upper
world once more. But had it not been for long and severe practice in
diving, taken while pearl-fishing in Polynesia, enabling me to compete
successfully with Kanakas, who almost live in the water, and even to
outdo them at times, I must have been suffocated. The only time I was
ever before so distressed for breath was in Levuka, when mate of a
schooner. Our anchor fouled a rock in eight fathoms of water, and we
could by no means persuade any of our natives to attempt its release.
Rather than lose the fair chance of sailing that day I tried the
dangerous task, succeeding after a desperate struggle, but regaining
the surface with blood streaming from mouth, nose, and ears.
“I lay back in the stern-sheets of the boat feeling cruelly exhausted,
the pain of my ghastly wound becoming continually more severe. But,
even pre-occupied as I was, I could hardly fail to notice a want of
cordiality towards me among my shipmates. An uncomfortable silence
prevailed, depressing and unusual. It was not due to the natural
solemnity following upon the sudden loss of five of our number, cut off
in the prime of their health and strength, for, until I had told the
wonderful story of my going down into Sheol, their demeanour had been
very different. I looked appealingly and wonderingly from one to the
other, but could not meet any eye. They were all furtively averted with
intent to avoid my gaze.
“To my relief we reached the ship speedily. I was assisted on board
gently enough, and led aft to where the skipper was roaming restlessly
athwart the quarter-deck, like a caged animal. I was allowed to
sit down while he examined me keenly as to the occurrences of the
day. The gloom deepened on his face as I recounted all that I could
remember of the fate of my unfortunate shipmates, until, my tale being
told, he began, in curt, half-angry fashion, to question me about my
antecedents. Not liking his manner, besides feeling faint and ill, I
gave him but little information on that head.
“Then he burst out into petulant disconnected sentences, in bitter
regrets for the lost men, blame of everybody generally, and at last, as
if his predominant thought could no longer be restrained, shouted, ‘I
wish ter God A’mighty I’d never seen y’r face aboard my ship. Man an’
boy I b’en spoutin’ fer over forty year, an’ never see, no, ner hearn
tell ov, sech a hell-fire turn out. Yew’r a Jonah, thet’s wut yew air,
an’ the sooner we get shet ov ye the better it’ll be fer all han’s, an’
the more likely we sh’l be to hev _some_ luck.’