Treachery and its Consequences
There are few pleasures in life comparable with the contemplation of
the successful results of a tremendous struggle with overwhelming odds
in company with your fellows, whether you be leader or follower. And
I know of no circumstance where this is more fully exemplified than
in the precious rest-time enjoyed by a boat’s crew immediately after
the death of a whale. No matter how bad the treatment of the men on
board the ship may have been, how utterly weary of the life everybody
may feel, or how brutal officer and harponeer, the sense of having
successfully finished the combat draws them all together for a time,
and the smoke which is then permitted is essentially in the nature of a
pipe of peace.
In the present case everybody was full of satisfaction. For in the
first place the new harponeer had acquitted himself in the best and
most approved fashion, the highest expectations of him had been fully
justified. Next, the whole operation had proceeded on the most orthodox
lines, both on the part of the whale and his destroyers. And lastly,
the weather had been fine, the time not too long, and crowning joy of
all, the prize was of the largest and therefore the most payable size.
Even Mr. Merritt’s curious yellow face wore a less ghastly expression
than usual, which in his case meant immense satisfaction.
Their rest was of very brief duration, for when the whale died the
ship was barely three miles away to windward, and she had immediately
filled away for them. When she reached within a quarter of a mile she
was brought smartly up into the wind with her mainyard aback and laid
still. Immediately Mr. Merritt gave the order to slack away the line
and pull for the ship, which they reached in five minutes, noting
as they did so that all the other boats were in their place, at the
davits, and that the faces of the crew wore a preternatural air of
gloom. The bight of the line was passed on board and all hands tailed
on to it, walking the whale up to the ship in rapid fashion. And as the
great mass came alongside the skipper’s face lightened, for he mentally
assessed its stupendous proportions as able to yield about fourteen
tons, or a hundred and forty barrels of oil. In splendid seamanlike
fashion the fluke chain was passed round the tail and hauled through
the mooring pipe in the bow, where it was secured to the massive fluke
chain bitt, an oaken post built into the ship and bolted to the heel of
the bowsprit.
Without a moment’s interval the work of cutting in was begun, but the
newly arrived boat’s crew were given time to get into another rig.
And C. B. received a fresh surprise when, with a pleased look on his
face, he went up to Pepe, the chief harponeer, and asked him what had
happened to the other boats that they had missed their chance. It was
a simple question, which, had C. B. known anything of the world, he
would never have asked, for he would then have known that it would be
taken as a bitter insult. Indeed it nearly led to tragedy, for Pepe’s
face went reddish black with rage, the veins in his neck stood out like
cords of the thickness of a little finger, and he snarled out something
in his own language, looking like a starving wolf as he did so. Then in
a calmer tone he said--
“Don’ you begin poke no fun at me, Mr. Greenie, or I settle de account
mighty quick. You talk somebody else.” And turned away, leaving the
bewildered C. B. staring wonderingly at him.
But not for long, for Captain Taber came up, saying pleasantly as he
did so--
“Look a here, young man, you’re most too good for this wicked world,
you air, an’ I’m afraid I’m goin’ t’ have big trouble about ye.
Whatever possessed ye to go and ask Pepe what ye did? I heard ye.”
“Only because I wanted to know, sir,” replied the young man; “I
supposed that they had all had some trouble, as will often happen in
whaling, and I thought I’d like to know the reason.”
“And it never occurred to you that every one of those harponeers is
just full of mad against ye for havin’ disappointed ’em. They’ve ben
hopin’ for ye t’ break up fust time ye went on a whale; they hate ye
because ye be good an’ quiet an’ simple, an’ if ye was a clumsy galoot
they’d soon let up on ye and only play a few fool games on ye. But now
ye’re comin’ out smarter than any of ’em, for I can’t deny that this
mornin’s work was a bad piece of bunglin’ as ever I seen in the ship;
there isn’t one of ’em that wouldn’t enjoy stickin’ an iron through ye
right up t’ the hitches. But there, get along t’ the work,’n keep close
to me; I don’t want a blubber spade slipped into ye by accident.”
That afternoon the deck of the _Eliza Adams_ presented a curious scene,
a scene of wonderful activity, of massy pieces of blubber swinging
inboard and decks streaming with oil. Much of the bad feeling among the
other three harponeers and officers had evaporated or was in abeyance,
though none of them could forget the blistering words spoken to them by
the skipper that morning. The present may be a fitting time to allude
to the circumstances briefly. The mate, with Pepe his harponeer, had
singled out the biggest whale he could see and laid Pepe on to it.
But for some strange reason, when Pepe raised his iron to dart, he
did not notice that the whale, evidently an old stager, had at that
moment hollowed his back, leaving the blubber all slack. Now an iron
cannot penetrate a whale’s body when this is the case. And at the
moment the point struck the whale arched his back with such suddenness
and violence that the iron was flung right back into the boat by the
tightening of the blubber, knocking the bow oarsman senseless. In the
momentary confusion induced by this, and while the mate was angrily
inquiring why Pepe had missed, the second mate, Mr. Spurrell, came
charging along fast to a whale which dived beneath the mate’s boat,
and in order to keep from cutting her in half the line was let go. It
kinked or caught in the groove or chock, and but for Mr. Spurrell’s
promptitude, two more seconds would have seen both boats a mass of
wreckage. He, however, chopped the line, losing the whale.
Neither of them could get near a whale again, and as for the third
mate, nobody seemed to know what had happened to him, except that he
did not appear to have even located a whale, but ambled about like
a man in a dream. Take it all round, the morning’s work, as far as
the old hands were concerned, was a matter to be forgotten as soon
as possible. But that the despised Kanaka, as those fancy-coloured
Portuguese called him, the soft greenie, the everything of contumely
their narrow coarse minds could suggest, should succeed where they had
failed was enough to goad them to madness.
But now a strange new factor intruded itself into the situation.
The thirty hands of the crew were, as usual, of several different
nationalities. There were several Kanakas from various islands, eight
native-born Down Easters who had been lured by spacious promises and a
spirit of adventure into this roving unprofitable life, four Europeans
of sorts, whom I cannot specify, and the rest Portuguese. Now their
discordant elements agreed very well under the stern discipline always
enforced on board those ships, but all of them felt warmly towards the
big handsome Bounty boy who always spoke so kindly, never used an oath,
and greatest quality of all in their eyes, was fully up to his work.
And with that extraordinary instinct for what is going on which is
always so surprising on board ship they all realized the antagonism
felt towards him by the other harponeers, and though they dared not
show any partiality, they felt it, and whenever they could discuss
the situation among themselves without the Portuguese listening, they
always spoke in the most enthusiastic terms of the new recruit. It must
not be supposed that in saying what I have about the Portuguese I am
actuated by any hostility towards them. I know what fine men they are
for their work, but they are capable of the blackest treachery, regard
it as perfectly legitimate to get the better of a man you dislike by
any means however base, and to further their own ends will betray their
closest friend. Of course I know little of the pure-bred Portuguese, I
speak throughout of the breed I am acquainted with, the many-coloured
natives of the North Atlantic Isles; brave, fierce, and entirely
unscrupulous.
Much of the work being done that afternoon was entirely new to C.
B., often as he had helped to cut up a whale, for it must be pointed
out that cutting a whale in on board ship at sea is an essentially
different process from the slipshod business of doing the same thing
on shore, especially where all are friends, all desire to get the job
done as quickly as possible, for all are co-equal partners in the
venture. So naturally he made many blunders, immediately pointed out
by the skipper, who worked as hard as any of them, and none missed by
the sardonic harponeers and officers toiling on the cutting stage. With
one exception, Merritt. Once when C. B. did something foolish, and in
consequence came a cropper in the midst of a pool of oil, Pepe, who was
toiling on the cutting stage by Merritt’s side hacking off the gigantic
head, snarled to Merritt.
“Look a dat galoot! Bouts handy as a ba’r, don’t it?”
Merritt turned upon the speaker with a green light in his curious
shaped eyes and snarled--
“Wen you k’n best ’im at ’is work you call ’im bad names t’ me, not
before. I got no use fer talk like dat. He’s a man, dat’s what he is,
an doan call nobody out deir names needer. Git along wid de work.”
Oh yes, very pretty trouble was brewing all round, as the skipper said,
and not the less troublesome because the storm centre was perfectly
innocuous. Fortunately for himself he had early come to the conclusion
that to worry about what he knew to be the prevalent feeling concerning
him in the half deck, as the petty officers den was termed, would be
wrong. Again and again in the midst of his work, when tempted to long
for the kindly hearty fellowship he had enjoyed all his previous life,
he was cheered by the thought of the lonely One and uplifted by the
sense that he was privileged to be a fellow in those dark places of
the perfect Man. And went on, if not cheerfully, at least contentedly,
finding in his work a great solace.
The intricate and disagreeable work of boiling down the oil and stowing
it away proceeded apace until all was washed away and the ship resumed
her spotless appearance. Then day succeeded day in the peaceful passage
across that placid mighty ocean, when there was nothing but ordinary
ship’s routine to be carried on, and very often C. B. felt sorely the
need of something to occupy his mind. True he could meditate and did
upon the home he had left, and the strange happenings he had witnessed
here; but he did long with an ache at his heart for the sweet communion
with his fellow-men that he had so long enjoyed and had thought so
little of. He had never imagined a little world like this with _nobody_
to talk to who had a single thought in common with him.
But this enforced solitude in the midst of his fellows was all
unconsciously on his part deepening and widening his character. In
throwing him upon his own resources, the fellowship with the unseen
realities of true life made him, without his being in any sense akin to
the useless self-centred recluse in his narrow cell wholly intent upon
the salvation of his own petty soul, realize in a very special sense
the perfect beauty of spiritual communion as he had never done before.
Also, because he was debarred from reading anything except his Bible,
there being no other literature available, turn all his physical and
mental powers during his hours of work to becoming perfect in his new
calling.
And then he suddenly made a discovery which pleased him immensely, made
his heart leap for joy. It was that his queer boat-header, Mr. Merritt,
had conceived a great liking for him. He was struggling one afternoon
with the intricacies of a piece of sailor work, endeavouring to strop
a block with three-inch rope, and having made a mess of it, he looked
up despairingly to find the inscrutable yellow face of Merritt looking
down upon him with a twinkle in the oblique eyes.
“Got kind o’ snarled up, I see,” said the fourth mate. “Comes a-tryin’
to do sailor work ’thout bein’ properly showed how. Here, lemme show
ye.” And sitting down by his side Merritt explained patiently and
clearly every detail of the work, nor desisted, never losing patience,
until C. B. had fairly mastered it.
“Now anything else in that way you hanker after knowin’ you come to me
an’ I’ll show ye, see. But don’t go askin’ anybody else, ’cause when
I take a job on like this I like it all to myself. I’m a jealous man
I am, and I’ve took a strong shine to ye, an’ as long as you stick
t’me I’ll show ye what my idea of bein’ a chum is.” Then settling down
comfortably by C. B.’s side he lit his pipe and went on, “Guess you’ve
often wondered what sort of a queer fellow I was, didn’t ye? Now don’t
say ye didn’t, kase ye couldn’t help it. Everybody does, an’ I don’t
blame ’em as long as they don’t throw it up to me; if they do, well,
I’m a pretty poisonous handful when I get a-goin’. But we won’t talk
about that. I’m talkin’ to you now as I ain’t talked to any man since I
lost my only chum, ten years ago. Some day I’ll tell you all about him,
but not now. Now I want t’say that I’ve been a-watchin’ this crowd
pretty cluse, an’ there’s two or three of ’em a-lookin’ for a chance to
spoil ye fer keeps. An’ I’ve a-made up my mind that I ain’t goin’ t’let
’em do it. I want ye, fer I believe yer a no end good man any way yer
took, an’ if ye are misshnary it’s the right kind. Put it thar,” and
he held out his yellow sinewy hand, which C. B. took warmly, and was
amazed at the force of the grip he received.
Now this colloquy had certainly not passed unnoticed by the harponeers,
and something like dismay ran through the camp. For Merritt, although
they had been shipmates with him for eighteen months, was an enigma
to them, a riddle they had never thought it worth while trying to
solve. They knew him for a splendid whaleman and a thorough seaman, who
scarcely ever spoke except when it was absolutely necessary for the
purposes of the business. His colour and the strange mixture of races
obvious in his face made no difference in a community where a man is
judged only by his deeds and not in the least by his origin. And now
this mysterious mate had taken up their pet aversion, and who knew what
such a combination might produce?
The first result of the association, however, was a decided easing off
in the villainous remarks made purposely in C. B.’s hearing whenever
he went below, and a certain indefinite shade of respect being shown
him. He noticed the change, wondered mildly at it, and then dismissing
it from his mind, went quietly on his way as before, until one evening
the skipper, coming up to him as he stood gazing over the rail at the
placid bosom of the ocean, said in a cheery voice--
“Well, Mr. Christmas, you seem to be getting along a little better
with ye’re berth-mates now, an’ I’m right down glad to see it. But what
ye ben doin’ t’bring it about? I thought nothin’ ’d do it but a big row
and mebbe a fight in which I was prepared to back ye up. An’ I’m ever
so pleased to see that ther don’t seem to be any prospect of the kind
now. Tell me what ye done to ’em?”
C. B. turned on him one of his beautiful smiles and replied--
“I haven’t done a thing to them, sir; I don’t know what I could do
except try and go on as I began, doing my work as well as I can. They
wouldn’t talk to me, nor let me talk to them, and so I’ve just had to
let them go their own way while I have gone mine.”
“Yes, yes, that’s all very well,” hastily rejoined the skipper, “but
how have you managed to make chums with Merritt? I never thought he
would associate with any one.”
“I haven’t the least idea, sir,” replied the young man. “He says he
likes me, and I’m very glad, but I don’t know why he should have
suddenly found out that he did.”
“Ah well,” sighed the captain, “it is as I’ve often said, you’re too
good for this wicked world and you’re bound to have trouble, but I’m
mighty glad I don’t see trouble stickin’ out so far as I did. An’ now
as we’re just comin’ on to the whaling ground, I hope you’ll bring us
luck and do as well as you did first time lowerin’.”
“I hope so too, sir,” answered C. B., “and that the other fellows
’ll get a look in too. I can’t bear to see men so disappointed.” The
captain gave him a critical look and walked away, shaking his head
gravely as though to hint that really his new harponeer was a problem
too difficult for him to solve.
Now by what process of reasoning or instinct Mr. Merritt arrived at
the conclusion that there was some mischief quietly hatching, directed
against his harponeer in connexion with his work, there are no means
of knowing; it was one of those impulses that are not to be reasoned
out, only felt and obeyed. At any rate, so strong was his feeling that
something was afoot, that he sacrificed watch after watch of his sleep
at night lying rolled up in a blanket on top of the after house where
he could keep an eye on his boat. This of course in his watch below,
when he was supposed to be in his cabin, and he took the greatest pains
to keep his movements secret. After nearly a week’s watching, he was
rewarded by seeing a dark figure, which his keen sight determined to
be the mate’s harponeer, Pepe, creep noiselessly up into the boat and
settle down into her so that his movements should not be seen, the mate
having gone below to fill his pipe, and the third mate lolling half
asleep abaft the wheel.
Merritt slipped down from his place like an eel, slid along the deck to
the side of his boat, then sprang up on the rail and peered in to her,
saying sharply--
“What ye doin’ in my boat, Pepe?”
The big harponeer stood up and stammered--
“I--I thought I heard a fly’n’ fish drop in thar, an’ was a-lookin’ for
it.”
“Oh thet’s it, is it?” growled Merritt. “Well, come out of her right
now ’thout lookin’ any more. I sorter mistrust ye;” and as he spoke he
clambered into the boat and glanced keenly around while Pepe got out
reluctantly.
It was then just upon the stroke of eight bells, 4 a.m., and Merritt
stayed where he was until the bell was struck and the watch mustered.
Then calling C. B. to him, he told him to watch the boat and make
sure that no one entered her. Having done this he returned on deck
and waited for daylight. As soon as it came he mounted into the boat
again and pointed out to C. B. that the line in the big tub had been
disturbed about ten fakes down. Then lifting fake after fake out he
carefully ran along the line as he did so, until a sharp “Ah” came from
his lips, followed by “Just look here, my son.” C. B. did look, and
there was a clean cut in the line severing two strands nearly through.
C. B. looked up at the fourth mate’s face, and was horror-struck, for
it wore the aspect of a fiend. Not knowing what to say, though burning
with righteous anger at the shameful treachery, he looked irresolutely
back and forth, first at the line and then at his leader, when suddenly
he heard the captain’s voice on deck. Merritt immediately slipped over
the rail and strode to the captain, saying as he came before him--
“Captain Taber, what’s to be done to a man that creeps into a boat at
night and cuts a tow-line through, an’, when he’s caught at it, says
he’s lookin’ for fly’n’ fish?”
For a moment the captain was speechless with astonishment and rage,
then he burst into incoherent speech of a kind that cannot be reported.
Merritt stood looking coolly at him until he had finished, and then
resumed with--
“Guess I’d like you just to hev a peek at this thing,” and led the
way to the boat, the captain swiftly following. There sat C. B. still
almost helpless with wonderment at the devilish treachery of the thing
while Merritt showed the line and explained how he came to detect the
deed.
“But who, who’s the man?” gasped the skipper. “Tell me who the man is
till I make him wish he’d never been born.”
“Now, sir,” replied Merritt, “I ain’t ever asked you a favour since I
ben in your ship, an’ I know I’ve gi’n you satisfaction. Please let me
deal with this man in my own way. I won’t kill him, I promise ye that,
sir, an’ it’ll be less trouble for all of us.” By this time Captain
Taber had cooled down a bit, and he looked dubiously at the ugly face
before him. At last he said, “I don’t want murder done here, Mr.
Merritt, neither do I want a man laid up so’s he won’t be any use for
the work, otherwise I think I could leave it to you to give him he’s
lesson. Yes, I’ll do it, if you’ll tell me who it is.”
“That’s good, sir,” rejoined Merritt, “your word’s always good
enough for me. Well, it’s Pepe, an’ I propose getting him here on
the quarter-deck with all hands to see and no weapons but our hands,
an’ if I don’t teach him suthin that’ll do him good you can heave me
overboard. But I own I’d just like to kill him.”
“All right,” said the skipper, “I won’t go back on my word, keep you
yours. But only to think of it! my boss harponeer to serve me a dog’s
trick like that! And I thought he was getting so quiet and amiable too.
Ah,” shaking his head sadly at C. B., “I was a bit too sudden in what I
said to ye the other afternoon. This is on your account. Well, I wish
I’d never seen ye, but I’ll own that it ain’t any of your fault, an’
I’m not goin’ t’ be cur enough t’ blame ye.”
The air was surcharged with electricity until eight bells, for in that
mysterious manner before alluded to all hands knew that stirring
events were about to transpire. C. B. was very uneasy, for even without
the captain’s words he would have felt that he was in some measure
responsible for the trouble, though in no way to blame. The only man
who seemed perfectly unconcerned was Merritt, who just before eight
bells slipped below and presently returned clad only in a canvas
jumper, pants and boots. He wore a belt and no cap. The other officers
all whispered one to another anxiously, the mate looking specially
concerned, for, of course, he knew that it was his harponeer who had
done this thing.
Eight bells! and in the orthodox fashion the watch below immediately
appeared on deck. “Lay aft all hands!” thundered the skipper, and
swiftly the whole crew appeared on the quarter-deck, foremast hands
forward, harponeers to starboard and officers to port. “Stand out here,
Pepe,” said the skipper, and Pepe stepped forward looking a greenish
grey. “Mr. Merritt reports to me that he found you in his boat in the
middle watch, and looking to see what you were doing, found that you’d
cut his line. What have you got to say?”
He might have had something to say, but he could not say it, he was
fascinated at the sight of Merritt, who had glided nearer to him.
After waiting a full minute the skipper went on. “You’ve got nothing
to say, now come here.” Pepe came close up to the skipper, who flung
his hands round the harponeer’s waist and plucked from inside his shirt
a long keen knife, which he threw aft. “Now stand back, harponeers,”
the skipper cried; “Mr. Merritt is going to teach Pepe a lesson man
fashion.” The ring widened instantly, and like a leopard Merritt sprang
at the harponeer. For a few moments so rapid and furious were the
movements of the two men that it was impossible to tell which of them
was the better, and all eyes were strained upon them, lips parted and
breath came short.
Then it was seen that Merritt had got the big Portuguese completely
at his mercy, holding him with one arm round his neck in a bear-like
grip. And with the disengaged hand Merritt beat him as if he were a
refractory child, beating him to bruise and hurt as much as possible
without disabling; and oh the humiliation of it! In that hour men saw
how tremendous was the strength that none had suspected Merritt of
before. At last the beaten man lost all sense of manhood and begged
for mercy, the big tears rolling down his dark cheeks. Immediately the
captain stepped forward and held up his hand, saying, “That will do,
Merritt.” And the fourth mate sprang to his feet.
Pepe staggered up and would have crawled away, but the captain caught
him by the arm. “Wait!” he cried. “Now, men, Pepe has been punished
for shamefully cutting a line in order to make the new harponeer lose
a whale. If any more of this kind of thing is done and I find the man
out, I’ll tie him up and flog the flesh off his ribs. That’ll do. Carry
on with the work. Go below the watch.” And immediately the tide of ship
life flowed back into its usual channel, the wretched Pepe slinking
about like a beaten dog.