AMONG THE WHALERS.
One interesting point which we visited on our way westward was the
Island of Juan Fernandez, which has been made so famous by the fabulous
adventures of Robinson Crusoe.
The island is quite small and girt with a thin line of reefs through
whose intricacies it is almost impossible for a vessel larger than a
long-boat to make a channel. The island itself is surpassingly
beautiful. It is one of these little heavens of the summer sea which
forcibly recalls the beautiful description of Tennyson:--
"Oh to burst all links of habit, and to wander far away,
On from island unto island, at the gateways of the day.
Larger constellations burning, mellow moons and happy skies,
Breadths of tropic shade, and palms in cluster, knots of Paradise.
Never comes the trader, never floats an European flag.
Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, swings the trailer from
the crag;
Droops the heavy-blossomed bower, hangs the heavy fruited tree--
Summer isles of Eden lying in the dark-purple spheres of sea.
There, methinks, would be enjoyment more than in this march of
mind.
In the steamship, in the railway, in the thoughts that shake
mankind.
There the passions, cramped no longer, shall have scope and
breathing space:
I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.
Iron-jointed, supple-sinewed, they shall dive and they shall run.
Catch the wild goat by the hair, and hurl their lances in the sun;
Whistle back the parrot's call, and leap the rainbows of the brooks.
Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable books."
We left this delightful isle astern and drove to the westward, capturing
many whalers by the way. We had succeeded in filling up our ship's
company to more than repletion at Valparaiso, and now had prize-crews in
abundance. When we had been short of men Captain Joker, in as many as
three cases, had allowed valuable vessels of the enemy to go on their
course on account of not having sufficient men to put prize-crews
aboard.
It had been frequently urged by the first mate to destroy such vessels
(after the manner of Captain Semmes) but Captain Joker invariably
refused to do anything of the kind, swearing, in his rough, manly
fashion, that he would sooner let the vessels go free than give them to
the flames.
There was not much adventure in the capture of these vessels. It was
merely a firing of a few shots across the bows of the blunt-bowed,
heavily-laden craft, which seldom failed to bring her to, and then a
peaceable taking possession of her. There was one instance in which
there was a difference.
We one day (in the latter part of October, I think,) brought a vessel to
somewhere within two degrees southward of the Sandwich Islands. She was
a whaler from Hull, England, and as we came up to capture her was
engaged in the capture of a whale. All her boats were out in pursuit.
When we boarded her (her name was the Jenny Hollins) and the captain
learned our true character, he immediately signaled his boats to
return--or was about to do so, when Captain Joker stopped him with:
"Let them alone, my dear captain, they're very creditably engaged."
"But, sir," exclaimed the English skipper, "I have surrendered to you. I
do not care to have my men employed to enrich your Government."
"My dear captain, pray let them alone. Boatswain," (turning to Tony
Trybrace) "just take the long-boat with a complement of men, follow the
boats of the Jenny Hollins and see that they do their work well, and
then order them to the ship. We cannot afford to lose a good whale in
these times."
So, in spite of the mortified pride of the skipper of the Jenny Hollins,
Tony set out in the long-boat, wherein myself and most of my chums were
rowers. The whale-boats were busily engaged in tackling a huge whale,
probably thinking our craft to be nothing more than a brother whaler,
stopped to take pot-luck.
They had harpooned their prey several times, and he had come up to
breathe for the last time, and to die, when we rowed up. Now, a sperm
whale in his death-flurry, as it is called, is not to be approached
incautiously, without danger. But we were by no means experienced
whalers, and rowed in, regardless of expense or peril, when, suddenly,
we caught his tail squarely under our keel, and were lifted up skyward
about forty feet, the boat capsizing in the air and tumbling everybody
and everything out in the shake of a sheep's tail. Well, we all came
down with a rush, as you may be sure. I am sorry to state that I,
instead of coming down in the water, alit, head-first, on the back of
the Leviathan, stunning me, and leaving me floating around in the water
like a dead man. But, fortunately, our boat had fallen bottom downward,
old Bluefish had regained her, and we were all picked up, one after
another, more dripping than hurt. I remember coming to slowly, and
hearing old Bluefish murmuring in my ears, with as much of tenderness as
could inform his rude voice:
"Wake up! wake up! There's a dear fellow! I know'd as how a son of a
sea-cook was never born to be drownded in salt water!"
Well, the whale breathed his last soon after our mishap, and we helped
the men tow her to the ship; though they were, of course, somewhat
crestfallen to learn that they had been in the employ of Uncle Sam for
the last hour or two.
Nevertheless, we had a gay time in trying out and cutting up the
monster. There was a singular mishap occurred at about the close of this
operation.
It is the custom to have the carcass of the whale lashed to the side of
the ship while the work of cutting up is going on. I may as well
mention, by way of parenthesis, that this operation of cutting up
allures a great number of sharks to the side of the ship, for the sake
of the worthless blubber and other _débris_. And, at this time, any man
may venture among the black-fins with perfect impunity--so much more is
whale-meat esteemed above human flesh by epicurean sharks. As soon as
the flesh that is triable is taken from the whale, the carcass becomes a
dead weight in the water, descending through the waves with a rush as
soon as the stays are cut.
It happened that, in the case of our whale, when all but the last
lashing were cut, one of the crew of the whaler, who was standing on the
carcass, got his feet entangled in some of the cordage remaining on it.
Just as the last stay was severed, he was discovered, and was rapidly
being drawn to the bottom of the sea, when Old Nick threw a rope about
his shoulders, and this served to hold him up. But, in the interim, the
entire weight of the enormous skeleton was sustained by the body of the
unfortunate seaman, who thereupon began to shriek out in mortal agony.
The poor fellow would very probably have been dismembered, had not our
heroic and shark-defying Snollygoster jumped overboard, with a knife,
and severed the lashings by which he was held to the carcass. The latter
immediately disappeared, followed by a great whirlpool of brine. Had the
man not been caught, he would have been dragged down many fathoms below
the sea; had his feet not been released from the weight of the carcass
in time, he would very probably have been disjointed and slain with
horrible agonies. As it was, he was more scared than hurt, and
Snollygoster added another plume to his cap.
Before I quit our whaling experience, I must recur to another striking
event of a more truly tragic character than the one just described.
We had captured a whaler from Southampton under very similar
circumstances with the foregoing. Her boats were out--all but one--and I
got permission from the captain to accompany this one, as I was anxious
to see a whale capture through, from its inception to its close.
There were six boats in all, and ours the hindmost, but the whale--a
very large one--dove and came up nearest us, so that we got in the first
harpoon. Our harpooner, an athletic Yorkshireman, stood up in the bow of
the boat, and struck home in the broad back of the whale as it rose
above the water. The whale went down like lightning at the first prick
of the harpoon. The lines connected with the harpoon are carefully
coiled around in the middle of large tubs, with grooves at the bow for
them to slip over. When a whale dives, these lines run out with
indescribable swiftness. The groove fairly smokes, and several buckets
of water are always dashed upon it to prevent the boat from taking fire.
At the same time, a leg or an arm, caught in one of the coils, would be
almost certain death to the owner.
On the occasion of which I speak, one of the oarsmen, with his back to
the bow of the boat, had carelessly stepped into one of these tubs when
the whale was struck. Down went the whale with a flash and a whirlpool.
The man saw his danger, but too late, and just had time to sing out,
"Clear away the line!" when he was whipped overboard and was never seen
again.
We played havoc among the whalers for a long time, capturing as many as
thirty valuable vessels, and sending them home.
We met with a terrible squall when a few leagues north of Otaheite, and
weathered it with much difficulty. As it was, we sustained such damages
that it was imperative to make for some port for repairs. It wouldn't do
to enter Otaheite (Tahiti, it is sometimes called--probably the most
beautiful spot in the world in all respects) on account of British
influence prevailing there, so we set sail for the Sandwich
Islands--intending, if unable to procure the necessary repairs there, to
proceed to some port on the coast of California.