AT SEA
When we were well out at sea the vessel began to pitch and roll so
that I found it difficult to keep on my feet. I would find myself in
the lee scuppers only to be thrown back again like a piece of
rubber. I noticed how the old sailors tipped their bodies to avoid
disaster, and I tried to get my sea legs on and partially succeeded.
Even then I slid at times, and at last I got hold of a pin and held
on. The man who had come to my help in the boat, when the sailors
were making fun of me, came up and said:
“You greenies are not much use until you have learned the ropes. We
don’t look to you at all the first day out. Now, boy, let me tell
you that the chances are you are going to get sick before long, and,
if you go down into the close, stuffy forecastle, you’ll be a great
deal worse. I’m the first mate, and there’s no objection to your
sleeping on deck the first night out. If you do, you may sleep off
the sickness and be all right in the morning.”
So he pointed out a place, and I knew then that my friend was Coster
Lakeum. Pretty soon I began to feel a little sick. It was a
don’t-care feeling, and it made the other sickness—the longing for
home—all the more intense. Why did I ever leave my father’s house?
Why did I abandon my mother’s love and care? I kept back the tears
and I kept out of the way. When night came I stretched out in the
place which had been pointed out and began to feel a little better.
The air was bracing and the thought of home did quite as much to
keep me from sleeping as the tossing of the ship. There was no one
now to see the tears which ran down my cheeks. Sleep stole on, and,
when morning came, I felt somewhat restored. I looked about for a
place to wash in, and for a basin, but saw none. I came to the
conclusion that sailors didn’t wash unless they let themselves down
into the sea. It was not long before I found out that water at sea
was a luxury. It was kept in a scuttle butt by the cabin door, where
a drink might be taken, but there was none for washing. The sailors
had to depend on rain and the sea. The cook, who was at the galley,
called to me, “Come here, Sonny.”
I started, but the ship gave a lurch and down I went. He gave a loud
laugh, but there was something in the tone which showed that he
wasn’t making fun of me. I picked myself up, steadied my body, and
at the right moment covered the distance without further mishap.
“Look here, boy,” he said, “you’re startin’ out rather young, but
you must be twenty.”
This touched my pride.
“Why, I am only fifteen.”
“Only fifteen? Well, I suppose you didn’t have a very good home, so
you were glad to go to sea.”
“Yes, I had a good home.”
I felt uncomfortable. The cook continued pleasantly, “The sailor’s
life is a hard one, but there are bright spots. Let me tell you to
do as you are told to do and do your best. Feel a little squeamish,
eh?”
“Not very much now, but I did, yesterday.”
“And you will again, if you go down this mornin’ into that old
forecastle, so I’ll give you a little breakfast here, if you can
hold on with one hand while you use the other. Eat little to begin
with.”
He gave me some coffee and a couple of pieces of bread soaked in
something. I held the cup containing the coffee in one hand and the
hard bread in the other, and, although more than once I thought they
would slip from my hands, I managed to make my repast without
accident. It wasn’t long before all hands were ordered aft. I was
now feeling pretty good, but I pitied the greenies who had passed
the night in the forecastle—they looked so forlorn. They had
evidently been sick and gave little appearance of being able to
work.
We all huddled together and Captain Gamans, who was to be our master
for nearly three years, proceeded to address us. The captain was a
young man, not over thirty years old, of good size but not of very
attractive appearance. He seemed inclined to be somewhat savage. The
following remarks he delivered in a sharp, nasal tone:
“See here, you fellows, I’m boss on this ship. I want you to
understand you’ll have to work and work hard. There’s no hanging
round on a whaler, as some folks think. Whalemen work a great deal
harder than merchantmen. Now don’t let me see any wasting of grub.
I’ll put the man who does it in irons for a week. The sooner you
greenies learn the ropes and to box the compass, the better. If you
don’t, no watch below until you do. Competition between the boats is
all right, but there must be fair play. Now for the boats’ crews and
the watches; and look out for yourselves.”
Lakeum called out sharply, “Fall in line—old hands at one end,
greenies at the other.”
The order was obeyed, but the vessel rolled so that the greenies
wobbled about considerably. The mates examined our ribs and arms in
order to size up our probable strength and endurance, while the
boat-steerers or harpooners stood by and offered suggestions. Then
came the selection for the places in the boats, and to my great joy
I learned that I was to be stroke oar in the first mate’s boat. I
felt grateful to Lakeum and the shipkeeper as well. The few who were
not chosen were to remain on the ship when the boats were down for
whales. Long afterwards Lakeum told me that selecting a greenie as
stroke oar was something of an experiment, but my size, the
recommendation of the shipkeeper and the fact that I was brought up
in a seaport town and knew something of salt water determined him.
Now came what they called “the picking of the watches.” This was the
duty of the first and second mates. There were three watches on our
vessel. While those who made up a watch were on deck, the others
were at rest or off duty. Between four and eight p.m. there were two
short periods called dogwatches. That very day the crows’ nests were
built at the mastheads. In each case a pair of crosstrees was fitted
to the masthead, upon each side of which was constructed a small
platform. This provided a foothold. A couple of padded hoops were
secured above at a point a little higher than a man’s waist. With
his feet on the platform, his body through the hoops and his arms
resting thereon, one could look over the entire ocean, as far as the
horizon, in search of whales.
In the late afternoon word came to shorten sail, and several of us
greenies were ordered aloft together with the old hands. This was my
first taste of the real work of a sailor. When my feet touched the
foot-ropes, young and agile as I was, I had considerable doubt about
keeping my place. “Tip forward, as the ship goes down and hold on as
she comes back, and be quick in knottin’ your reef points,” said an
old tar beside me. I managed to hold on, but I was slow and clumsy
in reefing. “Green at it, ain’t you? Watch me,” he declared. I was
glad when I found myself descending the ratlines and was on deck
once more.
That night I slept in my bunk in the forecastle. I recall how close
and stuffy it was, how the waves pounded against the ship, how some
of the men, presumably the greenies, groaned as if in agony, how I
longed for a kiss from my mother and for the little bedroom at home,
and how glad I was when at four in the morning our watch was called
and I went on deck.
Of all things on the ship the whaleboat was the most important, and
few mechanics were more skilful than its builder. This craft was
sharp at both ends and was something like the model of an Indian
birch-bark canoe. The bow and stern were high out of water. The bow
rose above the rail in a Y-shape, and in this was a brass roller for
the whale line to pass over. The boat was about thirty feet long,
six feet in beam and a little over two feet deep. It was so solidly
built that it could ride on a sea which would smash the ordinary
boat of a merchantman to bits.
The whale line was about twelve hundred feet in length and was
coiled in a large tub. One end of it was taken aft to a post in the
stern of the boat called a loggerhead, around which two or three
turns were taken in order to bring a strain on the line when a
struck whale was going down or, to use the common expression, was
“sounding.” The friction caused by the line flying round the
loggerhead often set it on fire, and it was necessary to throw water
over it. The line was carried forward to the bow, and to it was
attached a harpoon. To this line, at some distance from the harpoon,
another short warp was attached, with a harpoon secured to the end.
The purpose was for the boat-steerer or harpooner to throw the
second iron after he had thrown the first or, if this were
impossible, to toss the second iron overboard, as otherwise it might
catch in a man’s clothing or endanger the other occupants of the
boat.
The third day the work on the whaleboats was pushed vigorously. The
oars were examined to see if there were flaws, and were then laid in
the boats; the whale line was coiled down into tubs, new harpoons
were fitted to poles, and these and the lances were placed in the
boats. The whaleboat carried a sail, which was set when the wind was
favorable, and was then steered by a rudder. At other times it was
propelled by five great oars.
The boat also carried a hatchet, a water keg, a keg containing a few
biscuits, candles, lanterns, glasses, matches, a compass, two
knives, two small axes, a boat hook, waif flags, fluke spades,
canvas buckets, a “piggin” for bailing, and paddles. A rudder hung
outside by the stern.
The ordinary whaler carried four boats on the davits—three on the
port side and one aft on the starboard side. Some whalers carried a
fifth boat forward on the starboard side.
The first mate’s boat was the one aft on the port side. This was the
one to which I was assigned. It was called the “larboard” boat. And
now it is to be noted that no whaleboat ever had a name. It even did
not have painted on it the name of the ship to which it belonged.
On the fourth day the weather was mild and the sea calm. In the
morning the order came to lower the boats. The lookouts were in the
hoops at the mastheads, but there were no whales in sight. The truth
is, the greenies needed practice and training to prepare them for
the encounter with whales. Lakeum said to me:
“Did you ever handle an oar?”
“Oh, yes,” I said. “I can not only handle an oar but I can do two
things which my father told me most merchantmen can’t do. I can swim
and sail a boat.”
“You may have to do both before this voyage is over,” was the reply
in rather a stern tone.
Each boat carried six men. If, when in pursuit of whales, the wind
were favorable, the sail was set; if light, oars were used together
with the sail; if not favorable, the oars alone were used.
And now we were not to seek whales, but have our first practice in
the imaginary pursuit. I had the stroke oar, which was nearly
fourteen feet long. If this were regarded as heavy and clumsy, what
would one say of the steering oar held by Lakeum, which was twenty
feet long? When the boat was lowered, we scrambled into her and took
our places. Another man and I were the only greenies in the mate’s
boat, and it turned out that he had never handled an oar before; as
for myself, I was only used to light oars of moderate length. The
sea looked very calm from the ship’s deck, but when we had pushed
off, we found that our great whaleboat was tossed about
considerably, and this made rowing more difficult. I was anxious to
do my best and I think Lakeum was aware of it, but he gave
suggestions and orders in a tone which made me realize that he was
my master.
The mate always helps the stroke oarsman. As Lakeum steered with his
left hand, he pushed with his right hand on the handle of my oar.
The other greenie blundered more than I did and in such a way as to
interfere with the others. The men made him the object of their
ridicule, but Lakeum told them to be quiet. Take it all in all, some
progress was made that morning, and we returned to the vessel with
an appetite for dinner.
This suggests the food that was served to us. There were three
messes,—cabin, steerage and forecastle. Meals were served at
seven-thirty A.M., at noon, and at five P.M. As to the forecastle,
the food was dumped in bulk into large pans and carried from the
galley to the forecastle, where the men ate it from small pans. For
drink we had tea and coffee sweetened with a kind of molasses. We
had salt junk and also hard bread which was improved by soaking it
to flabbiness, frying it in pork fat and deluging it in black
molasses. Lobscouse, a favorite dish, was a mixture of hard-tack,
meat and potatoes. Duff was made of flour, lard and dried apples. It
was boiled in a bag and served with molasses.
We ate our food in the forecastle while sitting on benches in front
of our bunks. Sometimes the meat was divided into as many parts as
there were men. Then, as the carver asked, “Who’s this for?” a man
who had turned his back called another man’s name and the portion
was given to him. This was repeated until all the men were served.
Now let me say that during the voyage I never saw among the men a
single act of selfishness or greediness. Often those who are
uneducated and have had no social advantages are, in their relations
with others, the most considerate and gentlemanly.
That afternoon the first vessel was sighted since leaving port. The
captain was out with his glasses, and I heard him say, “It’s a
whaler, and I know the managing owner’s streamer at the mainmast.
The vessel’s the _Rhoda_, for she’s due about now and has made a
splendid voyage according to the last report.” I asked one of the
old hands how you could tell a whaler in the distance, irrespective
of the owner’s flag, and he said, “Always by the boats. Can’t you
see with your naked eye the three boats hangin’ at the davits on the
port side?” This held good the world over. A whaler was always known
by her boats.
While the whaler was a small vessel, she carried three or four times
as many men as a merchantman of the same size, because a large
number of men was necessary when whales were pursued and captured.
Besides the captain there were generally three or four mates or
officers, four boat-steerers or harpooners, a cooper, carpenter,
blacksmith, steward, cook, cabin boy, four shipkeepers or spare men,
and sixteen to twenty seamen. Sometimes the same person was
carpenter and cooper and often there was no blacksmith, the work of
sharpening irons and so forth being done by others. On many whalers
there was no cabin boy. On the _Seabird_ there was neither
blacksmith nor cabin boy, and a man named Jonas was both carpenter
and cooper.
Of the four boat-steerers, I shall mention only the one on our boat.
He was a Portuguese from St. Michaels, and his name was Manuel—a
broad-shouldered, stalwart fellow, with a long, powerful arm. And he
was also a fine fellow—kind-hearted and good-natured. We had several
other Portuguese in the crew, natives of the Azores, one or two
blacks from the Cape Verdes and also one Kanaka from the Hawaiian
Islands.
One member of the crew deserves especial mention. His name was
Israel Kreelman, a native of Vermont. He was getting along in years
and had followed the sea since his sixteenth year. He had never got
above the berth of seaman, for while he did his work faithfully and
well, he was not qualified for any higher position. Kreelman seemed
to me, at first, rather austere, but in time I found him generally
kind and companionable, and he took a real interest in me. I have
spoken of the hard-looking American seaman who talked to me savagely
and jostled me the first day out. His name was Jake, and in a few
days everybody was afraid of him. He talked little, and when he did
he was profane and abusive. I think it was just a week to a day from
the day of sailing, when an event occurred which nearly ended in a
tragedy.
Jake was ugly as usual and had some words with the fourth mate. He
was cautioned in an emphatic tone. He did not seem inclined to
retort, but directed his abuse against the food served to the men,
which he called slush.
[Illustration: Jake partly lost his balance, and the captain seized
him.]
“There’s the coffee,” he said, “the captain and officers get the
best of it in the cabin. Then they add water to what’s left, and
this is what the boat-steerers and others get in the steerage. Then
they add more water to what’s left and that’s what we get in the
forecastle. It’s nothin’ but the captain’s slops.”
There was some truth in Jake’s remarks, but the language used might
have been more moderate. The captain was standing near by, and his
face flushed rapidly.
“Look here, Jake,” he exclaimed, “let me hear no more language of
that kind. If I do, I’ll put you in irons.”
“You’re a coward. You couldn’t hurt a fly.”
Before the captain could move or reply, Jake whipped out a knife and
made a lunge for him. I thought the knife was going into the
captain’s shoulder, but by a quick movement of the body he escaped.
Jake partly lost his balance, and the captain seized him. The vessel
was pitching and the outcome was uncertain. The captain seized the
wrist of Jake’s right arm, and just then Lakeum grabbed a
marlinespike and knocked the knife out of Jake’s hand. The men
struggled fiercely for a moment, when Jake slipped a little; this
put him at a disadvantage, and down they went, the captain on top.
They say you mustn’t strike a man when he’s down, but it may be that
it depends on the man and the circumstances. At any rate, the
captain gave Jake an awful mauling, and when he let him up and the
mates took him away to put him in irons, his face looked like jelly.
For several days everything went on smoothly and everybody seemed
subdued. The only comment was made to me by Kreelman.
“Boy,” he said, “I’m a common sailor and will never get any higher,
but there are always two sides to a case. I’ve seen captains and
officers do some awful cruel things, and when I was younger, I’ve
suffered myself. But in this matter the captain was right. Jake’s a
bad man. I didn’t like him from the first. What they want to do is
to get rid of him, and they’ll do it, too. Keep your eyes open.”
“How will they do it?” I asked.
“Never mind, keep your eyes open.”
I had heard of hanging men at the yardarm, and I assumed that, when
Kreelman said they would get rid of Jake, he meant they would take
his life in some way. I was uneasy and distressed. However, I had
little time for reflection, as I was constantly kept at work.
We had several days of pleasant weather and each day we took to the
boats, and the greenies began to show great improvement in handling
the oars. The thirteenth day from home was a memorable one. I
supposed that the vessel was well on her way south, but a great
surprise was in store for me. It was a beautiful morning, and it was
not far advanced before a hazy outline appeared in the distance. As
we approached, it grew more distinct, and I was so surprised and
bewildered that I didn’t even think of seeking information. Soon the
object developed into a huge mountain, rising right out of the
sea—in fact from six to seven thousand feet in height. It was
evidently at one end of an island. Before long the vessel was put in
stays. Then came the order to lower the larboard boat. The greenie
who belonged in the boat was told to remain on the ship, and then
Jake appeared in the custody of the mates, and was told to take the
greenie’s place in the boat. Jake’s face was covered with scabs and
scars, and he didn’t appear so bold and defiant as he did before his
encounter with the captain. Lakeum steered for the shore, which
wasn’t over five hundred yards away, and I wondered what it was all
about and particularly where we were going. My curiosity increased
when on our arrival Lakeum shouted, “Twenty minutes shore leave.”
The men scrambled out of the boat—Jake, despite his beating, the
most agile of all. In a minute Lakeum and I were alone.
“Aren’t you going with the boys?” he asked.
“No,” I said, “I’d rather stay here. Will you tell me where we are?”
“Where do you think?”
“I haven’t any idea.”
“Well, young man, this is one of the Azores. They call it Pico, and
that mountain rising right out of the sea is one of the most
wonderful things in the world.”
I wanted to ask why we were there, but I knew that that was none of
my business. Lakeum helped me out.
“There are two reasons why we are here. You’ve noticed that we’ve
had no second mate. We are going to have one in a few minutes. It is
no uncommon thing now for a Portuguese to ship in New Bedford
sometime ahead, and then go over to the Azores in the packet to see
the folks and wait for the ship. This is our case. Mr. Silva’s his
name and he must live pretty near here, for our captain had his
instructions just where to put the ship in stays. Now then, don’t
you see how Mr. Silva’s helped us out?”
Lakeum, usually rather serious, laughed heartily.
“Puzzled again? Well, just hear me. Don’t you see this is the way to
get rid of Jake?”
“He’ll come back, won’t he?”
“Come back? We’ll never see him again, and we never want to. As a
rule we don’t want a man who’s in debt to the ship to desert, but
this man is dangerous, and nobody’s safe when he’s around. We are
only too glad to get rid of him. We’ve given him a chance, and he’s
taken it already.”
“Why didn’t the captain put back to New Bedford when the fracas was
over and have Jake arrested?”
Again Lakeum laughed.
“Why, boy, that would never do. Some of us would be called as
witnesses, and the rest would disappear. The voyage would be broken
up and the owners would be the losers. When the captain gave Jake
his licking he gave him his judge and jury and everything else.”
We were at a little landing, and a road led up from it into the
island. On each side of the road was a wall made of large blocks
that looked like brown stones. Lakeum told me that these blocks were
pieces of lava, that the island was volcanic and that there were on
it many extinct craters. For the first time I saw oranges on the
trees, and it seemed to me as if I had entered into a new world.
Pretty soon down the road came a cart driven by a boy. In it was a
man seated on a chest. The cart was unlike any I had ever seen. It
was a crude affair, and the wheels were of solid wood. Lakeum
greeted the newcomer as follows:
“Well, Mr. Silva, I never saw you before, but there’s no need of an
introduction. I know who you are. I’m Lakeum, the first mate. Let’s
get your chest aboard.”
Silva showed a row of dazzling teeth and Lakeum continued, “I gave
the men leave. There they are up the road, coming this way. They’ll
all be here in a minute, except one.”
Silva showed his teeth again and said, “Hard ticket, eh? Got a good
poundin’, did he? But he’s better off. The ship must stand it. He’s
spent the money the outfitter let him have—spent it before he came
aboard, and he has got on a new suit, such as it is, and it ain’t
cost him nothin’.”
Silva grinned again. Then the smile vanished, and lowering his tone
he said, “I feel almost like desertin’, too. I come back here to get
married, and I’ve just left my little wife. I’ve been married only
two weeks. She wanted to see me off. I couldn’t stand it. It’s a
hard life we whalemen lead.”
Though a boy, I was touched by the brave fellow’s words. All the men
showed up but one, and Silva took his place. As we pulled for the
ship I knew that it would be many months before we should again pull
for the shore.