Jarl’s Misgivings
About this time an event took place. My good Viking opened his mouth,
and spoke. The prodigy occurred, as, jacknife in hand, he was bending
over the midship oar; on the loom, or handle, of which he kept our
almanac; making a notch for every set sun. For some forty-eight hours
past, the wind had been light and variable. It was more than suspected
that a current was sweeping us northward.
Now, marking these things, Jarl threw out the thought, that the more
wind, and the less current, the better; and if a long calm came on, of
which there was some prospect, we had better take to our oars.
Take to our oars! as if we were crossing a ferry, and no ocean leagues
to traverse. The idea indirectly suggested all possible horrors. To be
rid of them forthwith, I proceeded to dole out our morning meal. For to
make away with such things, there is nothing better than bolting
something down on top of them; albeit, oft repeated, the plan is very
apt to beget dyspepsia; and the dyspepsia the blues.
But what of our store of provisions? So far as enough to eat was
concerned, we felt not the slightest apprehension; our supplies proving
more abundant than we had anticipated. But, curious to tell, we felt
but little inclination for food. It was water, bright water, cool,
sparkling water, alone, that we craved. And of this, also, our store at
first seemed ample. But as our voyage lengthened, and breezes blew
faint, and calms fell fast, the idea of being deprived of the precious
fluid grew into something little short of a mono- mania; especially
with Jarl.
Every hour or two with the hammer and chisel belonging to the tinder
box keg, he tinkered away at the invaluable breaker; driving down the
hoops, till in his over solicitude, I thought he would burst them
outright.
Now the breaker lay on its bilge, in the middle of the boat, where more
or less sea-water always collected. And ever and anon, dipping his
finger therein, my Viking was troubled with the thought, that this
sea-water tasted less brackish than that alongside. Of course the
breaker must be leaking. So, he would turn it over, till its wet side
came uppermost; when it would quickly become dry as a bone. But now,
with his knife, he would gently probe the joints of the staves; shake
his head; look up; look down; taste of the water in the bottom of the
boat; then that of the sea; then lift one end of the breaker; going
through with every test of leakage he could dream of. Nor was he ever
fully satisfied, that the breaker was in all respects sound. But in
reality it was tight as the drum-heads that beat at Cerro- Gordo. Oh!
Jarl, Jarl: to me in the boat’s quiet stern, steering and
philosophizing at one time and the same, thou and thy breaker were a
study.
Besides the breaker, we had, full of water, the two boat-kegs,
previously alluded to. These were first used. We drank from them by
their leaden spouts; so many swallows three times in the day; having no
other means of measuring an allowance. But when we came to the breaker,
which had only a bung-hole, though a very large one, dog- like, it was
so many laps apiece; jealously counted by the observer. This plan,
however, was only good for a single day; the water then getting beyond
the reach of the tongue. We therefore daily poured from the breaker
into one of the kegs; and drank from its spout. But to obviate the
absorption inseparable from decanting, we at last hit upon something
better,—my comrade’s shoe, which, deprived of its quarters, narrowed at
the heel, and diligently rinsed out in the sea, was converted into a
handy but rather limber ladle. This we kept suspended in the bung-hole
of the breaker, that it might never twice absorb the water.
Now pewter imparts flavor to ale; a Meerschaum bowl, the same to the
tobacco of Smyrna; and goggle green glasses are deemed indispensable to
the bibbing of Hock. What then shall be said of a leathern goblet for
water? Try it, ye mariners who list.
One morning, taking his wonted draught, Jarl fished up in his ladle a
deceased insect; something like a Daddy-long-legs, only more corpulent.
Its fate? A sea-toss? Believe it not; with all those precious drops
clinging to its lengthy legs. It was held over the ladle till the last
globule dribbled; and even then, being moist, honest Jarl was but loth
to drop it overboard.
For our larder, we could not endure the salt beef; it was raw as a live
Abyssinian steak, and salt as Cracow. Besides, the Feegee simile would
not have held good with respect to it. It was far from being “tender as
a dead man.” The biscuit only could we eat; not to be wondered at; for
even on shipboard, seamen in the tropics are but sparing feeders.
And here let not, a suggestion be omitted, most valuable to any future
castaway or sailaway as the case may be. Eat not your biscuit dry; but
dip it in the sea: which makes it more bulky and palatable. During meal
times it was soak and sip with Jarl and me: one on each side of the
Chamois dipping our biscuit in the brine. This plan obviated
finger-glasses at the conclusion of our repast. Upon the whole,
dwelling upon the water is not so bad after all. The Chinese are no
fools. In the operation of making your toilet, how handy to float in
your ewer!