A Gam and a Revenge
There was ample time after this severe ordeal to restore the _Eliza
Adams_ to her pristine cleanliness, for as the captain caustically
remarked, the whales seemed to have all concentrated in that spot and
subsequently to have all left for parts unknown. And really it did
seem like it, for no solitary spout was seen for nearly three weeks.
Then came a pleasant diversion; how pleasant only those can know
who for many months have been denied all the intercourse with their
kind outside of the little population of the ship. Pepe being at the
masthead from 4 to 6 p.m. yelled “Sail ho.” This was the first cry of
that kind that the crew had heard since leaving Norfolk Island, and be
sure they were proportionately excited.
Many eager speculations were made during the next two hours, for the
wind was but light and she was fully ten miles away, as to whether the
stranger was a “spouter” or a merchantman. And a great relief was felt
when just at sunset she was made out to be one of their own fraternity,
and joyful greeting signals were exchanged. It was quite dark before
the two ships came near enough to each other to “gam” as we call it,
but what of that? What of the fact that a stiff breeze had got up,
and that boats passing between the ships in the dark must necessarily
have a rough time. In the Navy and among the whalers such things are
most lightly esteemed. I have seen a group of Naval officers brave
a most tempestuous passage of half an hour’s duration, the picquet
boat taking green water over as she plunged through the seas, merely
to have an hour’s lawn tennis or golf and come off again, and I have
known repeatedly whalemen brave the terrors of the great Southern ocean
rollers in half a gale of wind at night merely in order to have a chat
with some fresh fellows, exchange a few ideas that to strangers might
have the merit of novelty.
So at eight bells, 8 p.m., as her lights were seen stationary abeam
about a mile away, a boat was lowered from the _Eliza Adams_ into which
the captain and C. B. with the boat’s crew descended, and pulled away
into the darkness until the dim black hull of the vessel they are bound
to suddenly loomed huge and threatening from the darkness.
“Ship ahoy!” roared the skipper. “Here’s Captain Taber of the _Eliza
Adams_ come a gamming.”
“Welcome, Captain Taber, I knew it was you as soon as I heard ye hail.
This is the _Matilda Sayer_ of Dartmouth, Captain Rotch.”
“Good lad,” yelled Captain Taber delightedly. “Pull two, stern three,
ah! unrow there;”--and as the boat ranged alongside he gripped the
man ropes and ascended the side ladder of rope like a goat climbing a
precipice.
While the two old friends greeted each other there was a whirring of
sheaves and down came the mate’s boat into the water. Dark forms leapt
into her and she pushed off, immemorial custom having decided that in
gamming when the captain visits a ship the mate of that ship goes a
visiting his fellow on board the other vessel. As they pushed off into
the darkness a voice was heard above, “Haul up and hook on, chums,”
and they did so, their boat being cheerily hoisted into the position
the other had left. For this was also a pleasant sea-custom among
whalers, being eminently practicable because of the almost standard
size of all whale boats.
Arriving on deck the four hands were immediately haled forrard, and
C. B. was welcomed in the half deck by the harponeers, where such
hospitality as they possessed was offered him and all hands crowded
around him eager to talk to him, and listen to what he had to say.
First of all with native courtesy they inquired what sort of a season
the _Eliza Adams_ was having and other matters of that kind, but he
could not help noticing that they all looked curiously at him, as if
they could not quite make him out. At last the old carpenter, a fine
venerable Yankee, said--
“Whar d’ye hail from, mister?”
“I come from Norfolk Island,” replied C. B. pleasantly.
“Well, do tell,” ejaculated the cooper, “I didn’t know they was ever
any natives on Norfolk ’cept convicks from England, and I heerd that
they was done away with long ago. An’ yew don’ look like a Kanaka
neither.”
“Neither am I,” explained C. B. with gentle dignity. “Surely you must
have heard of the Pitcairn Islanders finding Pitcairn too small for
them, and a number of them being sent by the British Government to
Norfolk Island, which was given them to live in.”
A chorus of remembrance arose in a babel of voices until the old
carpenter, getting up, came close to C. B. and peered in his face
intently, at last remarking quietly, “Did your father ever go to sea in
a spouter, young feller?”
“Oh yes,” answered C. B.; “he was in the _Rainbow_ and the _Canton_,
both New England whaleships, for a considerable time.”
“And what might his name be, if he’s still alive, as I hope?”
“Thank you, he’s still alive, or was three months ago, when I left
home, God bless him, and his name is Philip Adams!”
The effect upon the carpenter was electrical. He smote his thigh with
great violence and shouted--“Boys, thishyer fine specimen of a boy is
the son of the finest specimen of a man that ever trod God Almighty’s
earth. Nine months I was shipmates with him in the ole _Canton_, and if
ever a man was tried by a lot of ornery scalawags, he was. He could a
broke any one of ’em in pieces with his fingers; he was as much above
’em at any kind o’ work as he was in strength an’ good looks, yet that
mis’ble gang used to chip him, poke fun at him, play tricks on him,
until I used to feel as if I could a killed ’em myself, and I warn’t
much better than they was. But never once did anybody hear an angry
word or a bad word of any kind outer his mouth, never once did he miss
a chance of doin’ even the worst of his tormentors a good turn, and
never once did anybody have real cause of complaint about his work or
anything that he did. And when he left the ship to go home because his
agreed time was up, I never see such a carryin’ on, you’d a thought
everybody on board had lost father and mother and all their other
relations. Young man”--solemnly--“if you’re only one quarter as good
a man as your father was, the ship is entirely blessed by having ye
aboard, and I’m honoured at bein’ able to shake ye by the hand.”
There was a momentary pause as “Chips” sank down on his chest again,
and C. B.’s eyes glistened with heavenly pride at the honour paid to
that dear father whom he so fondly loved. Then he said--
“My dear dad is all you say of him, and all I am or ever likely to be
that’s any good I owe to him and mother. But he is a very quiet man,
especially about himself, and so we knew little of what he had gone
through. I understand it better now since I have been whaling myself.
I thank you with all my heart for what you have said about him, it has
done me more good than you can possibly imagine.”
There was rather an awkward pause after this, as if the other members
of the half deck hardly knew what to do with such a prodigy as they now
believed they had got in their midst. But the carpenter came to the
rescue by saying--
“Looky here, youngster, your father had a very tuneful voice of his
own, and although he didn’t talk much he would sing by the hour, all
about God and heaven and the like, and my! but it made me feel right
good. D’ye happen to take after him in that?”
C. B. flushed a little and replied--
“Since I’ve been to sea I’ve never sung a note except humming to
myself. But I used to sing at home a good deal, and I’ll be very glad
to try if you like. I only sing hymns, though.”
“That’s quite good,” hastily answered the carpenter, “your father
didn’t sing anything else either, an’ I don’t suppose any of us will
know the difference. We’re all more or less heathen, you know.”
So without further pressing C. B. lifted up his sweet tenor and sang
“O God of Bethel,” amid a silence that was positively painful in
its intensity of attention. And as soon as he had finished he was
disconcerted by a very tempest of applause and vociferous shouts of
“Same man sing agen. Bully for you, old hoss,” etc., etc. And nothing
loth C. B. sang again and again, his repertoire being tolerably
extensive and his memory as good as his bringing up would naturally
make it, until tired out he had to cry off. Then, and not till then, it
was found that all hands in the ship, forgetting the gam, had crowded
as near to the half deck as possible, charmed by the sweet strains.
The whole incident brings forcibly to my memory an experiment of my
own once when gamming a ship called the _Cornelius Howland_ off the
Three Kings, New Zealand. I was one of the visiting boat’s crew, and
after the usual topics of conversation flagged a song was called for.
I explained that I had some pretensions to a voice, but could only
sing hymns, for in the sect among whom I was converted it was esteemed
wrong to sing anything secular, and mortal sin to go to any place of
amusement whatever. It was immediately explained to me that so long as
I sang, the words did not matter in the least, especially as scarcely
anybody would understand me. So I piped up instantly with a favourite
of mine from Sankey’s book, “Through the Valley of the Shadow I must
go.” It was received with shouts of joy, one man who was especially
delighted saying, “Well, ---- my eyes, that’s what I call a ---- good
song, d’ye know. I could sit and listen to that kind o’ singin’ all
night.”
I humbly apologize for the blanks, but the reader will, I hope, feel
as I did, that the forcible expletives they represent meant nothing to
the speaker, who was only using his ordinary language. I only know
that I went on singing to the exclusion of everybody else, and was
quite hoarse the next day from the unaccustomed vocal exercise, for
we didn’t sing very much in my ship. After all, it was not much to be
wondered at, for the polyglot crowd met with in the forecastle and half
decks of a whaler has usually one gift in common--an intensely musical
ear, although the execution of pleasing music is denied them in nearly
every instance. And for instrumental music they usually have that truly
infernal instrument, the accordion, from which the most ingenious
musician that ever lived can draw nothing but noise. So that a little
real music is received with great joy.
At midnight the cry was heard, “_Eliza Adams’_ boat’s crew away,” and
C. B. sprang to his post, but not before his new-found friend “Chips”
had handed over to him his choicest treasure, a small parcel of
well-thumbed books, ragged copies of Dickens and Charles Reade, with
one or two others by less known authors, but all to C. B. a storehouse
of wonders, a treasure unlocked. Then with a warm handshake they
parted, C. B. feeling happier than he had done since leaving home.
Never before had he realized how much he had craved for sympathy and
the opportunity to express himself in terms of love and admiration for
his Father in heaven. And when they presently reached the ship Captain
Taber said to him--
“You seem to have had a pretty good time, Christmas. I heard you
singing away and remembered how your folks used to sing. It must have
been quite a treat to you to let loose again.”
C. B. said nothing, for he did not feel that any answer was required
of him, but he longed with greater desire than ever to be able to talk
about the matter that lay nearest his heart. No one who has not been
in a similar position can begin to realize what it means to be dumb
upon the one topic that interests you. To feel that if you mention it
to anybody you will not only not be understood, but your words will be
construed as an insult. But he gave a great sigh and took the matter
quietly to the Lord as was his wont, feeling much comforted thereby,
strengthened to wait and endure as long as he should be called upon to
do so. And all unknown to him relief was at hand.
Two days after meeting with the _Matilda Sayer_ the crow’s-nest
reported whale in the usual manner. But this time it was a lone whale
of very large size steadily making a passage across the ground at a
leisurely pace. Now a lone whale is always potentially very dangerous,
because his loneliness is due to the fact that he has been cast out of
the society of his kind. A big bull whale only maintains his position
as leader of the school as long as he is able to beat all aspirants
to the dignity. And as the young bulls growing up are continually
striving to attain that position, it will easily be seen that to keep
it the holder must be of exceptional strength and vigour, while the day
will surely come when in the natural order of events he will have to
abdicate, which does not mean that he may take an inferior position in
the school, but that he must leave it altogether and from henceforth
until the end, which may be many years distant, he must roam solitary.
But this condition of existence for the whale naturally means that he
becomes morose, savage and wary. And if he should in addition have
been the object of attack by whalemen and have got away from them,
he becomes doubly dangerous because of the never-to-be-forgotten
lessons he has learned as to how to act, and also because it usually
happens that he carries with him, imbedded in his flesh, some rankling
fragments of bombs and certainly a galling harpoon.
Now in consequence of these well-known facts concerning the lone whale,
it is usual to approach him with considerable caution. But there are
many whalemen to whom caution in dealing with their gigantic quarry
is a word of no meaning, they are reckless in the extreme, and no
amount of disaster ever seems sufficient to teach them. Of such was Mr.
Merritt: that strange composed man took fire within when approaching a
whale. He “saw red” as the saying is, and although handling his boat
and using his weapons with consummate skill, he had not one iota of
prudence in his whole make up.
Now on this momentous occasion, because it was a lone whale, Captain
Taber ordered the chief and fourth officers away, keeping the other
boats in readiness to lower of course should there be any necessity,
but not anticipating that more would be needed. It was a fine day, but
the wind was high and the sea was correspondingly heavy. According to
etiquette Mr. Winsloe was first on the whale, into which Pepe with his
usual skill planted both irons right up to the hitches. Mr. Merritt
lay off a little with his boat, noting with some surprise that no
frantic wallowings and struggling followed the dart. Assuming, as was
most natural, that Pepe had failed to strike the whale, he pulled up
rapidly, having dowsed his own sail, to where Mr. Winsloe’s men were
busy getting their mast down.
When within a couple of boat’s lengths of them all were horrified to
see the huge black head of the whale suddenly rise ghost-wise on the
port bow of the boat, while the gleaming pointed lower jaw emerged
from the water on the starboard side. The view was only momentary, for
as they gazed horror-stricken they saw the great jaws close, crashing
through the flimsy sides of the boat as if she were of so much paper,
and with a yell that rang high above the roar of wind and sea the
crew sprang clear of the wreck for their lives. But C. B.’s eagle
eye noticed on the instant that the harponeer had disappeared, and
in a second he had leapt from the boat into the vortex caused by the
wallowing of the whale, dived and caught at a black mass far beneath
the surface, the body of Pepe entangled by the whale line. Fortunately
at that moment the whale, disdaining to seek safety in flight, returned
to the surface, and consequently there was little difficulty for such
a powerful expert as C. B. to bring his prize to the surface, free
him from the line, and assist him back to the boat. I say assist, for
Pepe, though grievously injured, had never lost consciousness, and in
consequence was able to make some feeble attempts to help himself.
By the time he had been hauled inboard the rest of the crew had been
rescued and the bight of the line, which C. B. had dropped as soon as
he had cleared it from Pepe’s limbs, was picked up and taken through
the notch in the bows, displacing their own line. Now Mr. Merritt was
in his element, danger and difficulty of any kind seemed to give the
needed stimulus to his otherwise sluggish nature. Charging the rescued
crew to double bank the oars, and placing the injured man in the bottom
of the boat, he changed ends with C. B. and awaited the onslaught of
the whale.
That monster played the usual waiting game, just appearing for an
instant to spout, and then only exposing the point of the snout where
the spiracle or blow-hole is situated. He was waiting his opportunity
to perform the same operation on the second boat as he had done on
the first. But Merritt seemed to have placed himself in absolute
correspondence with the whale’s mind, for each time that either the
great flukes or the ponderous jaws appeared above water the boat by a
quiet order had been driven to a safe distance, and the threatened blow
or bite did not take effect. In fact the queer yellow man was playing
the waiting game also, knowing that the whale’s exertions were rapidly
tiring him out.
For, strange to say, vast as is the strength possessed by these
monsters, they tire very soon when they have to exert themselves
much. And it is only when they are allowed to take things easily, as
sometimes happens through cowardice or unskilfulness on the part of
the whalemen, that they are able to weary out their aggressors and
finally emerge the victors in the long fight. At last Merritt saw with
a chuckle of delight that the whale was going to rush him head and head
as we call it. He had his bomb gun ready to hand, and laying down his
hand lance he put it to his shoulder, crying--
“Now, stern all hard and keep her just as she heads, Christmas.”
With so much power at the oars the boat rushed swiftly astern as the
whale came rushing on, the great head rearing high out of water and
exposing the gleaming white cavern of the throat.
Coolly, as if ashore at some practising ground, Merritt took aim and
pulled the trigger. There was a splash, a report, and an appalling
commotion in the sea ahead of the boat, in the midst of which another
report was heard, the explosion of the bomb within the whale’s body.
“Way ’nough,” shouted Merritt, and the boat stopped a cable’s length
away from the place where the mighty mammal was tearing up the deep in
his Titanic death throes. For a few moments the scene was appalling,
almost akin to a submarine volcanic eruption, then the uproar suddenly
ceased and the magnificent beast lay dead, listlessly tossing upon the
waves which the exuding oil from his wounds turned into smooth hummocks
of water quietly rising and falling around.
The tumult had hardly subsided when the second boat ranged alongside
with orders to Mr. Merritt to return at once with his overmanned boat.
And he obeyed cheerfully, because nothing is more annoying than to try
and work in a boat where the hands, by reason of their being too many,
get in one another’s way, this being especially so when, as was now the
case, one man grievously hurt was lying in the bottom of the boat. They
soon reached the ship and climbed on board, Mr. Winsloe hastening to
the skipper and reporting the catastrophe, while all hands rallied on
to the falls and ran the boat up with Pepe’s unconscious body in it.
He was tenderly lifted out and carried aft on to a mattress, where his
clothes were removed, disclosing the severe nature of his injuries. The
whale had evidently nipped him sideways, for the great teeth of the
lower jaw had made eleven ghastly bruises, each four or five inches
across, and in three places the clothing was driven deep into the
blackened flesh. Three of the largest ribs were broken, and the right
arm was horribly lacerated by the whale line being twisted round it
under a great strain.
But owing to the bluntness of the teeth there had been no loss of
blood, except in so far as it had blackened and spread under the
skin, which of course was highly dangerous from the possibility of
mortification and the absence of any but the rudest surgery. However,
all that could be done for the poor wretch by way of cooling lotions
and bandages was done, and he regained consciousness to fall into a
refreshing sleep.
Meanwhile the crew had toiled fiercely under the direction of the mate
to get their prize alongside, finding as it was hauled near that its
dimensions were more imposing than they had imagined. Measured along
the rail it was roughly seventy feet in length, which is as far as is
accurately known about the limit of size for a cachalot, while as it
lay on its side, its jaw parallel to the ship, it looked as imposing
in size as a vessel of two or three hundred tons bottom up. The fluke
chain was passed without difficulty, and all the available force of
harponeers and officers that could get at it attacked it at once with
almost desperate energy, for it was getting late in the day, the night
promised to be very dark, and none relished the prospect of pursuing
that gigantic task without other light save that afforded by the
feeble cressets. To Mr. Merritt and C. B. fell the task of severing
the monstrous head, a labour which it is most difficult to realize.
There is but a slight crease in the place where a neck ought to be,
and here the carcass is nearly twenty feet through--a mass of muscle
and sinew with scarcely any soft parts, and right in the centre of it
the huge ball and socket joint of the vertebrae which is composed of
bones nearly two feet thick. And if those spades plunging down into the
depths of that mass darkly (for it is impossible to keep the scarph
open) should miss the joint, as it is exceedingly likely they may, the
additional work is tremendous. I have seen this task occupy the labours
of the whole of the officers and harponeers of a ship, relieving one
another at frequent intervals, for a whole day.
But this huge toil is but little greater than that which is being
prosecuted at the same time by the others, all of whom are balanced
upon the precarious plank of the cutting in stage, suspended far out
over the side and springing to every roll of the ship. There is the
junk to be divided from the head, a mass weighing eight to ten tons cut
diagonally from the lower point of the upper jaw, and there is also
the huge oblong mass of the case, or really half the remainder of the
head, to be cut through, where a careless lunge of the spade may cause
the leakage of all the valuable spermaceti which it holds in a liquid
state. In this immense task strength avails little unless allied to
skill, and skill is of small use without strength and endurance to keep
driving the spade in the right place.
In a small whale, as I have hinted before, these operations are much
simplified, because the head can be cut off and hoisted on deck, where
the work of severing junk and case is quite easy. But as now the whale
was of the largest size and most of the work had to be done upon the
huge masses rolling and tumbling in the unquiet sea beneath, all the
strength, patience, and endurance possessed by the workers were needed
to the very limit. At last the head came off, and a great groan of
relief went up from Merritt and C. B., whose arms felt as if they would
drop off through sheer weariness. But there was no prospect of rest,
the only relief they could hope for was a change in their movements
bringing a different set of muscles into play. The blubber hook had
long been in position affixed to the eyepiece, and no sooner did the
huge mass of the head surge astern than the high clear voice of the
captain rose--
“Heave away there cheerily now, I want to see how quick ye can skin
this whale.”
He was answered by an incessant clattering of the pawls as the windlass
brakes flew up and down, and the first blanket piece of blubber, a foot
thick and nine feet wide, rose majestically into the air.
As soon as the blocks of the tackle came together the windlass stopped,
while the captain, armed with a formidable boarding-knife like a
cutlass blade stuck in a long wooden handle, cut a big circular hole in
the centre of the blanket piece, thrust the strap of the waiting tackle
through it and secured it by a large wooden toggle, shouting as he
slipped it into its place, “Heave on yer whale, my hearties, heave on
yer whale: surge on yer piece!”
“Oh what a jargon,” I think I hear some reader say wearily. I’m sorry,
but it can’t be helped. It only means that the men at the windlass
heave on the second tackle and let the fall of the first slip round the
windlass barrel. Then as soon as the second tackle has taken the strain
“Vast heaving” is called, while the captain with his boarding-knife
cuts through the blanket piece high above the hole he made for the
securing of the second tackle and the mass, now disengaged, is lowered
into the blubber room.
It sounds like a lengthy process but really is not, for in the present
instance the captain’s appeal was answered so well that in twenty-five
minutes the whole of that vast carcass was denuded of its blubber and
had floated away, the centre of a ravening horde of sharks.