Nothing can be more romantic than to be attending a clam-bake on
Mishaum Point or Barney’s Joy and to see a whaleship, or “blubber
hunter” as she is often termed, round the point and start to sea. It is
with quite different feelings that one peers down into her forecastle,
which is often referred to as the Black Hole of Calcutta. This room,
which is the home of thirty to forty men for three or four years, is
reached by a perpendicular ladder through a small hatchway, which is
the only means of ventilation. The bunks are in tiers and are about the
size of a coffin, so narrow that it has often been said that one has to
get out of them in order to turn over. A small table in the centre of
this “hole” and the seamen’s chests lashed to the floor comprise all
the furnishings, except possibly a few bottles of rum, which were often
labelled “camphor.” In fact, one might speak of the dis-accommodations
of the forecastle, and it is no wonder that a cruise in a whaler is
often spoken of as a “sailor’s horror.” The odor of grease, dirt, oil,
and lack of air are unbearable except to one thoroughly accustomed to a
whaling trip, and sailors often say that this attractive place should
not be approached without a clothespin on one’s nose. The utensils
comprised a few tin plates and a bucket of water, with one cup for the
use of every one. The food consisted of “longlick” and “scouse,” the
former made of tea, coffee, and molasses, and the latter of hardtack,
beans, and meat. It is not difficult to see, therefore, why most of the
captains anchored their ships well out beyond the harbour, so as to
prevent desertions after the novice seaman had glanced at his sleeping
quarters. There have been cases of sailors jumping overboard on the
chance of reaching land, and it is on record that the greater part of a
whaleship’s crew once floated to shore on the cover of the try-works. A
captain was very careful where he allowed his men to land, and, in case
he was afraid of desertions, took care to allow them shore leave only
at places where the natives were troublesome, or where for a ten-dollar
bill he knew he could get the whole crew returned to him.
The whaleship looked very clumsy and was built for strength rather
than for speed, the bow and stern looking as if they were made by the
mile and chopped off in lengths to suit. It is a curious fact that the
“Rousseau,” belonging to the Howlands, when caught in a storm off the
Cape of Good Hope sailed astern for seven days faster than she had ever
sailed ahead, and successfully weathered the point.
There is an amusing anecdote that has gone the whaling rounds, of a
greenhorn, called Hezekiah Ellsprett, who arrived on board the night
before sailing. One of the men told him that the first ones on board
had the right to pick out their berths and suggested that he paint his
name on the berth he should select. Hezekiah looked round, found the
best-looking cabin, painted his name in big letters on the outside of
the door, and made himself comfortable for the night. He had chosen
the captain’s room, and in the morning the captain came on board, and
in very violent terms informed him that he was in the wrong end of the
ship.
The whaleman’s life was indeed a hard one, and his share of the profit,
or “lay” as it was called, was so small that at the end of a moderately
successful voyage if his share amounted to several hundred dollars
he was doing well. His earnings were depleted by the captain’s “slop
chest,” where the sailors had to purchase their tobacco and clothes at
high prices, and if there were any kicks the answer was that he could
“get skinned or go naked.” The most necessary part of the sailor’s
equipment was the sheath knife which was used about the ship and to
repair his clothes, and it was this same implement that he used to cut
his food!
Regular deck watches were kept, and in good weather the officers often
winked their eyes if some of the men slept. Among sailors this was
called a “caulk,” and often some kind of a joke was played on the
sleeper. In one case they tied a live pig to the slumberer’s feet and
watched the fun from behind the try-works.
Whalers would rarely cruise past the Azores without stopping at Fayal,
where they were most hospitably received by the American Consul, who
for centuries was one of the Dabney family. In fact, the island is
often referred to among whalemen as the “Isle de Dabney.”
“Gamming” or exchanging visits between two whalers at sea was
thoroughly enjoyed and gave a chance to the sailors to swap
experiences, and many a weird, sorrowful, or wonderful story must have
been related. An incident is recorded of a meeting between two brothers
who had lived in Nantucket, and who had not met for twenty-three years.
There is an old adage among whalers that when a year from home, on
“gamming” with a ship that has sailed subsequent to your own departure,
you have the privilege of begging; when two years out, of stealing; and
when three years away from home, of both stealing and begging.
A New London ship was once holding a reception on board for some
natives, and each of the crew was endeavoring in some way to amuse
the guests. One seaman took out his set of false teeth, thinking
he would provide entertainment; but instead the natives became so
alarmed that they tumbled over the side into their canoes and made
their retreat as quickly as possible. The crew was asked on shore for
a return visit; but an invitation to the exhibitor of the teeth was
not forthcoming, and he was obliged to remain alone on the ship, much
to his disappointment. Captain Gardner of Nantucket stated that in
thirty-seven years he spent only four years and eight months at home,
and Captain North, also of Nantucket, figured that he had sailed one
million one hundred and ninety-one thousand miles.
Nothing could have equalled the joy of returning home after a long
voyage, and the anxiety to reach port was almost unbearable. Often a
vessel ran into bad winds and had to anchor for days a few miles off
shore, and there is one case known of a ship being blown to sea and
lost after having actually come within sight of New Bedford Harbour.
Many a whaleman has laughed at this story. It was customary for the
first mate to keep the log book. One day he was intoxicated, so the
captain entered the day’s events, noting that “the mate was drunk all
day.” The next day the mate protested, but the captain said that it was
true and must remain on the records. The mate resumed his charge of the
diary, and got more than even with his superior officer by recording on
the following day that “the Captain was sober all day.”