The Great Catch
So sudden, dramatic and complete had been the justice dealt out to Pepe
that it made quite an imperceptible ripple in the steady current of the
ship’s routine. In the mind of the beaten man there was, of course,
a deep and deadly hatred for his chastiser as well as for C. B., and
schemes of revenge chased one another through his brain continually.
But he came of a race that understands and appreciates a good thrashing
and has no respect for gentle humanitarian methods, and so Pepe’s
respect for Mr. Merritt’s prowess was very real and sincere. Also his
compatriots in the half-deck were perceptibly less sympathetic than
they had been. In fact, they were quite ready to throw him over and
openly condemn him for doing that which any one of them would have done
given a favourable opportunity.
In only one thing did they now agree with him, and that was in their
hatred of C. B. It is a melancholy fact that in an assemblage of bad
men anything will be condoned but goodness, and the perfectly blameless
life led by C. B. was a constant offence to men whose only virtues
were high courage in the performance of their dangerous duties, and
endurance in the most tremendous labours that can be imagined when the
circumstances called for them. But C. B. was now far happier than he
had been since he first came on board. He had almost unconsciously
been craving for some human sympathy and fellowship, and now he was in
a fair way to get both. He felt himself drawn to his saturnine chief in
a most intimate and affectionate way, while he could not but respect
and admire him for his effectual punishment of the dastardly offence
committed by Pepe. For C. B. had nothing in common with those curious
Christians among us whose sympathies are entirely with the criminal and
never with the victim, who shudder at pain being inflicted upon the
guilty but are quite callous to the agonies of the innocent. To his
simple ideas these folk would have seemed to be madmen.
Various quiet warnings were conveyed to him to keep a wary eye upon
Pepe, who would be certain to do him a shrewd turn at the earliest
opportunity, but he only laughed cheerily and said--
“I’m not losing any sleep over this matter. If he kills me I am ready
to die, and shall not be worse off, but better. If he attacks me
openly, he will, I think, get some more sore bones. And that’s all I
care about it.”
And then he would change the subject, for he was gradually becoming
able to talk about the pure and noble life of his island home to the
captain and officers and sometimes to the men, who listened fascinated:
as they would, for although most of them had at one time or another
heard the Gospel preached in some fashion, they had always looked upon
the preacher as one who was paid to say certain things which he did not
believe, but which were designed to keep the poor man quiet while the
rich man preyed upon him.
Some of them had dim recollections of holy lives lived by their
parents, of prayers repeated in lisping tones at a mother’s knee and
recalled occasionally in moments of solitude, but none of them had ever
met before a man in the spring of life, strong, eager, and able to do
all that might become a man, who spoke of God and Christ and love that
rules the whole creation as if they were matters of intimate knowledge
and infinite importance to him. And while they wondered they admired,
and speculated among themselves in blind fashion as to what this
portent could mean.
Then suddenly an incident occurred that raised C. B. in the estimation
of all hands more than anything else could have done. It was when
the ship was on the southern edge of the off-shore ground and slowly
working north. The weather was what we call dirty; low ragged clouds
shedding rain at frequent intervals, with strong winds and irregular
lumpy sea. C. B. and one of the Portuguese harponeers were working
together, when C. B. accidentally dropped a serving mallet upon the
other man’s bare foot. With a horrible exclamation in his own language
Louis spat in C. B.’s face, and at the same time struck him a violent
blow in the jaw. Not content with that the maddened man drew his knife
and was in the act of driving it into C. B.’s chest when the latter
seized the upraised wrist in his left hand, caught at the broad leather
belt worn by the Portuguese with his right, and with a movement deft
as that of an acrobat twirled him into the air and out over the side
into the tormented sea. All hands who witnessed the slight scuffle
stood aghast, helpless for the moment, as C. B., calmly springing on to
the rail, gave a searching glance at the spot where the harponeer was
struggling in the foam, and then shouting “Lower away a boat,” sprang
after his late enemy.
A few vigorous fish-like strokes brought him to the side of the
Portuguese, who was evidently in great pain and only feebly
endeavouring to keep himself afloat, although these men are all
splendid swimmers. Throwing himself upon his back, C. B. seized the man
by the collar of his strong serge shirt and held him easily head to
sea, rising and falling on the waves like a piece of drift-wood. There
was no delay in picking the pair up; indeed, in ten minutes from the
time that Louis went flying overboard they were on board again, and C.
B. sprang lightly on deck and assisted his aggressor down.
“What does this mean, Christmas?” sternly demanded the captain, who
had seen the whole affair. In brief, unimpassioned words C. B. told
what had happened, and then turning to Louis the skipper demanded his
version. Foolishly but naturally the Portuguese lied, making C. B. out
the aggressor, at which the skipper smiled sardonically, saying--
“Ah, I thought so. You Portagees are as bad as they make ’em. But
what’s wrong with yer hand?” seeing that he held it tenderly and was
evidently in pain.
“I doan know, sir, feels all broke.” An examination proved that the
wrist was dislocated, and the skipper’s rough-and-ready surgery was
immediately put in force, after which the groaning and completely
discomfited man retired below, too miserable to curse his bad luck as
he called it.
“Now, Christmas,” said the skipper severely when they were alone,
“I don’t know what t’ say t’ ye. You really mustn’t go heaving my
harponeers overboard like rubbidge, nor yet get t’ breaking ’em all up.
Nor yet you mustn’t let ’em go sticking knives in you. Confound you,
why are you always in the right and yet getting into some scrape or
another? I shipped a handful of hot stuff when I took you aboard, I can
see, and I wish I hadn’t, yet I’m beginning to feel that I’d rather
lose anybody than you, you ’mazing muscular Christian.”
“I’m sorry I hurt the man, sir,” modestly replied C. B., “and I didn’t
intend to do so. But if I hadn’t been quicker than he was, he would
have probably put me out of action for longer than he’ll be now, while
I only thought of defending myself, and a dip overboard can’t possibly
do anybody any harm.”
With a cross between a grunt and a laugh the skipper turned away,
leaving C. B. standing quietly to receive the curt congratulations of
Mr. Merritt, and be the centre of admiring glances from all the crew
that were on deck. The matter formed the principal, in fact almost the
only topic of conversation on board for the next three days, during
which C. B. went on his simple accustomed way, except that he was
assiduous in his attention to the suffering man, who, in addition to
the pain of his wrist, had sustained a severe rick to his spine, making
it very painful for him to get in and out of his bunk. And as none of
his compatriots thought of doing anything for him, he would have fared
very badly but for the man he intended to kill.
By the time that Louis was able to resume work they had been nearly
three weeks on the ground and no spout of sperm or right whales had
been seen. It was just the fortune of the fishery, but as usual it bred
a good deal of peevishness among the crew, whose monotonous life grew
very irksome. I know of few conditions more trying to the active mind
than to be on board of a clumsy old whaleship always on a wind tacking
from side to side of a great lonely expanse of sea, shortening sail
every night to a close-reefed main topsail and fore topmast staysail
and making sail again at daylight. No books to read, no new topics to
talk about, nothing to do but the same things over and over again, week
in week out, with never another sail in sight. It is a life that unless
a man has mental resources of no common kind tends to stultification
of the intellect, and especially makes him peevish, irritable and
intolerant even of himself.
The usual bounty had been doubled, and the men were so keen that they
hardly cared to go below when their turn came to do so. The only men
on board who seemed unmoved by the long spell of inaction were Captain
Taber and C. B. The first was that fine type of man, as I hope I have
suggested, that is even now, thank God, to be found in many New England
towns, who, though not making any special profession of religion, are
in a very real sense not far from the Kingdom of God. Honest, brave and
honourable; combining in a curious way the astuteness of the man of the
world with the sweet simplicity of a little child, they are the salt
of the United States, and their lives and work stand out in brilliant
contrast to those of the money-grubbers and professional politicians
who are making the noble name of the Great Republic a byword and a
hissing among the nations.
As Captain Taber used to say so frequently, “This thing” (the scarcity
of whales within an area where they should be found) “runs in streaks;
we’ll get all we want and more also dreckly.” He was a highly educated
man but loved the vernacular, and occasionally lapsed into it from his
grave Elizabethan English. And so it proved, for one morning before it
was light he came on deck, and sauntering up to C. B., who was enjoying
a pannikin of coffee and biscuit, he said casually--
“Now you fellers ’at don’t smoke are supposed to have the sense of
smell more highly developed than us misbul degenerates who do, don’t
yer nose tell yer nothin’ now?”
“Yes, sir,” brightly replied C. B., “it’s been telling me ever since
I came on deck at eight bells that we’re in the thick of either a big
shoal of fish or a school of whales of some sort. The air’s quite heavy
with fish smell.”
“Ah! an’ I suppose you couldn’t indicate the kind o’ whale that’s
possibly around, could ye?” inquired the skipper drily.
“Hardly, sir, although I’ve heard of it being done,” replied C. B. “But
I’ve never believed it. I feel sure, though, that the fellows who are
stealing up to the crow’s-nest now, sir--look at ’em--will start their
music at the first streak of dawn.”
“So long as they see sperm whales I’m willing, or even right whale,”
murmured the skipper, “for this thing’s growing quite monotonous to me.
I want the boys to get some amusement too. Oh well, I must go below and
fill my pipe again. However a grown man like you can get along without
tobacco I don’t know.” And he glanced quizzically at C. B., who only
smiled and resumed his eager watch to windward.
There was not a cloud in the sky from horizon to horizon, nor as far
as could be seen was there a trace of haze. So that when the first
tremulous throbbings of dawn made themselves felt it was as if an
indefinite weight had been lifted, the displacement of shadow by
light. And then the whole dome above began to glow in sombre tones,
at first duplicated below a shade or two deeper. It was like the birth
of colour, and even the eager watchers poised in mid air forgot their
desire for a moment at the amazing sight. Then, as at a celestial
signal, the sea-rim in the east brimmed with liquid gold, a blazing
disc appeared, and it was day.
Simultaneously with the upward leap of the sun four voices rang out in
the thrilling cry of “Blo-o-o-o-w.” Indeed it was a stirring sight.
Far as the eye could reach from horizon to horizon there appeared to
be bursting from the sea an endless succession of jets of smoke, each
one denoting the presence of a monster sperm whale. Only twice in my
life have I ever seen such a sight, once off the Solander Rock, Foveaux
Straits, New Zealand, and there the horizon was restricted by land on
two sides, and once when on a passage to Gibraltar from London in the
P. & O. ss. _Arabia_, Captain Parfitt, who, if he sees these lines,
will doubtless remember that the previous day at dinner we had had a
slight controversy about the quantity of whales now to be seen at sea.
I held that whales were more plentiful than ever, he asserted that they
were nearly extinct, and the next morning the splendid ship steamed for
an hour at sixteen knots through one immense school of sperm whales
which must have numbered many thousands.
The captain only took one glance round at the mighty concourse, then
shouted, “’Way down from aloft. Mr. Winsloe, we’ll lower all five boats
to-day, and each one act independently of the rest. These whales are
all feeding and I don’t anticipate any trouble, but the first boat that
kills, stick a wheft in the whale and get back to the ship. She’ll
want handling and that smartly too. Shipkeepers keep her to windward,
that’s all you’ve got to do, and look out for boats coming back. Now
then, away for good greasy money.”
Whirr, whirr, splash went the five boats, and as soon as they struck
the water each boat pushed out from the ship using paddles only,
for the whales were quite near, and each singling out a whale for
themselves. Within fifteen minutes every boat was fast, that is, the
barbed harpoon had established a connexion between boat and whale that
would only cease by accident or design when the whale was dead. And
then that placid sea became the scene of a Titanic conflict, wherein
the puny men in their frail craft joined battle with the mightiest of
God’s creatures on most unequal terms. To and fro they flew, those
pigmy boats amidst the crowding hundreds of leviathans, who, filled
with wild dismay at this sudden calamity, knew not whither to flee
and moved aimlessly and harmlessly. And owing to the immense spaces
in which they wallowed they were not now even as dangerous as a herd
of bullocks would be in a field, for there a man might get crushed
to death by accident; here, although to a novice the scene appeared
dangerous, the older hands knew that an accident was now far less
likely than when whales were few and far between.
To add to the confusion and apparent danger existing, the sea appeared
to be alive with immense sharks, who in some mysterious way had
gathered to that stupendous feast. In fact, the enormous amount of
marine life peopling that remote ocean breeds a feeling of dismay in
some minds, a sense of being out of place, weaklings in the midst of
unimaginable forces of destruction. Not, of course, that this thought
occurred to the old whalemen. They revelled in the gigantic slaughter,
and incurred unnecessary danger by being unable to resist the
temptation to lance loose whales passing by. The frenzy of killing was
upon them, and they lunged right and left indiscriminately, heedless of
consequences.
In half an hour from the time of leaving the ship Captain Taber had
his whale dead, and sticking a wheft (a small flag with a pointed end
to its staff) in the carcass he bade his crew give way for the ship
with all speed. Arriving on board he took charge, and as there was a
good working breeze he was able so to handle his ship as to keep well
to windward of the whole flotilla of boats, which soon began to hoist
their whefts in token of having killed each one his whale. There was
no need to discriminate, for all had done well, five big whales had
been killed in less than two hours; and now came the hardest part
of the great day’s work, and one calling for the greatest amount of
seamanship. For when once the first whale had been secured to the
ship, she became sluggish in her movements, as indeed she well might
with a floating mass of some eighty tons attached to her. Those boats
that were farthest away, realizing the difficulty, attempted to tow
their prizes, an immense task in itself, but now, hampered as they
were on every side by the bewildered monsters, who wallowed aimlessly,
as having lost all sense of direction or power of flight, wellnigh
impossible.
Yet in some strange and apparent come-by-chance fashion the whole five
whales were secured to the ship, all five boats were hoisted into their
places, and the utterly exhausted men went to their food, full of
satisfaction with their morning’s work. And while they fed and rested
the ship was left in charge of the cook and steward, who gazed over
the side at the strange scene with mingled feelings, in which real
alarm predominated. Indeed, it was a sight calculated to terrify. The
huge carcasses attached to the ship by hawsers floated around her like
a concourse of submerged wrecks bottom up. Around and between them
blundered bewildered whales lost to all their usual instincts, and all
the spaces in between the living and the dead monsters were thronged
with hordes of sharks countless in number.
To complete the amazing scene there had drifted out of the void great
flocks of sea-birds, albatrosses, mallemauks, Cape hens, Cape pigeons,
fulmars and others, which kept up an incessant screaming, fluttering,
rising and falling, all ravenous and impatient for the cutting in to
begin. It was indeed a wonderful revelation of the abundance of life in
mid-ocean, such as is only vouchsafed to these deep-sea wanderers, the
whalemen.
Two hours’ rest was allowed, and then Captain Taber, sauntering towards
his mate, said--
“Mr. Winsloe, we’ve got a big thing in hand, but the best of weather
for it. We’ll take each whale alongside and get the heads off first,
lettin’ them all tow astern as we cut them off. Then we’ll put all our
vim into gettin’ the carcasses skinned, and if the boys only work as
they ought, I think we might get the back of the work broken by eight
bells to-night.”
Winsloe only grunted, for he was a man of few words, and, slouching
forrard, roared, “Turn to!”
Now it would be quite easy for me to take an entire chapter in the
attempt to explain the nature and progress of the gigantic task that
was accomplished by those forty men, toiling almost incessantly from
noon until daylight the next morning; but as the great business has
nothing adventurous or thrilling about it, I fear I could not make it
interesting. Only I feel that I would like you to realize the scene.
The immense masses of blubber being hove inboard by the full power
of the crew at the windlass, the great tackles groaning and the ship
canting over under the load, the unwearying thrust and recover of the
long-handled spades as the toiling officers and harponeers laboured to
disjoint the huge heads or scarph the blubber so that it would strip
easily from the carcasses, the fitful weird glare of the cressets of
blazing “scrap” (pieces of blubber from which the oil has been boiled
disposed about the ship to give light to the toilers), and just outside
that tiny circle of human labour the solemn vastness of the darkling
ocean, the loneliness of that untraversed sea.
But I should do scant justice to the picture if I failed to note how,
within that apparently charmed circle which had the ship for its
centre, the deep was alive, luminous and vivid. The ceaseless come and
go of the ravenous sea-scavengers, striving with all their wonderful
energy to get a share of the great feast that was spread, was in
itself a sight to linger in the memory as long as life should last,
had the workers but time to look at it. And to complete the uncanny
interest of the whole strange scene, there was the uneasy passings and
melancholy voices of the sea-birds, flitting whitely through the gloom,
impatiently waiting for the day.
Daylight saw the huge task completed, and the ship’s deck from one
end to the other blocked with the mighty masses of case and junk and
blanket pieces. The blubber-room, as the square of the main-hatch
down to the ’tween decks and for about ten feet on either side of it
is called, was choked full of blubber, not another slice could be got
down, and in consequence all the rest had to be piled on deck. Old
whalemen will doubt the possibility of such a feat as the cutting in
of five sperm whales in twenty hours until I explain that none of the
whales were too large to have the case lifted inboard, and that, of
course, makes all the difference; for I have been twenty-four hours
engaged in cutting in _one_ whale, and with a smart man in charge too.
But then that whale was so huge that many time-wasting things had to be
done that were unnecessary in the case I am relating.
As the last case was hove on board and secured, the skipper gave a long
sigh of relief and cried--
“Spell ho! all hands. Mr. Winsloe, give the boys three hours’ rest,
good, and then we’ll start blubber watches (six hours on and six hours
off); and say, you cook-man, just you see to it that the men get the
best breakfast that can be scared up in the ship.” And as he turned
away towards the stern the oil dripped from his hair, his clothing, and
squished out of his sea-boots, for the captains of those ships, if they
drove their crews, drove themselves hardest of all, and no man could
say that his skipper could only drive, not lead.
Now, impossible as it may seem to us, there was no attempt made to
change clothing. Just a perfunctory wipe of hands and face with
oakum wads preliminary to a wolfish devouring of food, for all were
outrageously hungry. That everything eaten and even the tobacco smoked
afterwards was reeking with oil nobody minded, for in truth the product
of the sperm whale when absolutely fresh as this was is as bland and
pleasant as the purest olive oil: it is only when it gets stale and
rancid that its unpleasant taste and odour become manifest.
The short respite worked wonders for the toilers, although those of
them who had to resume work at 10 a.m., four bells, thought longingly
of the greasy bunks in which the fortunate members of the watch below
were recuperating from their heavy labours. But a spirit of emulation
was aboard, and there was no cursing or driving; every man therefore
did his best to reduce the chaos on deck to something like order. The
huge cases were split open one after the other, the spermaceti baled
out and passed into tanks below, and as each was scraped dry it was
hauled to the waist and pushed through the open gangway into the sea,
where, in spite of the vast banquet given them in the carcasses of the
whales during the night, there were thousands of gaping candidates for
more.
As the fierce sun came out and beat down upon the piles of blubber the
oil exuded and filled the decks, for all the scuppers and wash-ports
were closed tightly, and there was no time to bale or place to bale
the oil into until the fires in the try-works should be started. But
by dint of the hardest, most unremitting toil, at midday enough of a
clearance had been made to start the fires and the work of boiling down
began. And here I must leave the business for a while because, although
it has not its parallel in any other work ashore, it is dirty, greasy,
smelly; full of sordid discomforts, and difficult indeed to see the
romance of except to the privileged few who have strong imaginations.
Throughout the following week all hands toiled nobly to stow away
their great catch, but the captain and officers had a pretty bad time,
for every day small pods of sperm whales would come nosing around,
quite close to the ship, as if they knew (and perhaps they did) that
her crew was unable to take advantage of this wonderful opportunity
through having their hands so abundantly filled. Then when at last the
whole catch had been reduced into the comparatively small compass of
nearly 600 barrels, or 60 tons of oil, and the lash rails all round the
ship were fully occupied by huge casks full of oil getting cool, the
harponeers of each boat made haste to refit their boats, sharpen their
weapons, and make all ready for the next opportunity, thinking at the
same time how very unlikely it was that those visiting whales would
happen along again now that they might look for a cordial reception.
I have not made any special mention of my hero in connexion with this
great piece of work, because he did only what every one else did, his
best, and at a time like that the slightest softness or slacking-off of
a man in a position of authority is noted at once, not merely by his
compeers but by his subordinates. Through this really severe ordeal
C. B. passed triumphantly in spite of the novelty of much of the work
to him, and by the time it was over there really seemed to be a tacit
agreement on the part of the men who hated him to let him alone,
since he had proved in the most satisfactory way that he was entirely
capable, willing and cheerful, and that the men forward would jump more
eagerly at his slightest pleasantest word than they would at a bitter
curse weighing a threat from one of the truculent Portuguese. In fact,
although no one told him so in so many words, all the circumstances
attending this great catch went to place C. B. in the position in the
esteem of his fellows that he deserved to occupy, and lasting peace
seemed assured.