THE _GOOD_ SHIP ‘XIPHIAS’
Of definite purpose I have italicised the adjective in the heading of
this chapter because I have often feared that readers of ‘The Cruise
of the _Cachalot_’ may have been led to believe that there could not
be such a thing as a good whaleship. And yet even there I did try to
show how vast a difference a change of captains made. The _Xiphias_,
however, was good from the beginning. A certain amount of unavoidable
suffering was endured by the new hands at the beginning of the cruise,
consequent entirely upon the sudden violent change in their lives. And
perhaps the officers were just a trifle exuberant in their attentions
to the helpless, clumsy men they were endeavouring to lick into
shape. But there never was any actual cruelty. Discipline once firmly
established, and rudimentary ideas of the work they must do instilled
into the men’s minds, their lives became as comfortable as a sailor’s
life can ever be at sea. They worked hard, but only at necessary
duties, and they were never wantonly deprived of needed rest. Their
food was none too good, but it was certainly better than usual and
always plentiful. Even here the genial spirit of the skipper was able
to exercise itself beneficially for the comfort of his men. He and his
officers were always on the keenest look-out for fish of any sort, and
no effort was spared to catch them, all sorts of fishing tackle being
carried for the purpose. He knew, too, many little dodges by means of
which sea-fowl could be rendered palatable, and was a past master in
the art of devising changes of dietary for his crew.
But more than all this, the man himself was one of those glorious old
Yankees who combine with a supreme ability to command their fellows--a
power of enforcing discipline among the roughest with splendid,
never-failing courage--the simple, fun-loving, joyous instincts of a
child: terrible in their just anger to meet as a tiger in the jungle,
but happy and light-hearted as any child when their men behave like
men. So that Captain Hampden was not merely obeyed, he was loved both
by officers and men, and all the more because not one of them would
have dared to impose upon him in any way. I speak feelingly, for I
know the man, who now, midway between eighty and ninety years of age,
is not in his second childhood, but his first, his broad back unbent,
his hawk-like eye undimmed, his huge limbs as steady as they were half
a century ago. To him the children flock as to one who understands
them. They talk to him as to one of themselves, and parents laughingly
upbraid him with being foremost among the mischief-loving urchins of
the sweet little New England town in which he lives. And I am sure that
when the call comes for him to close his long and useful schooling
here, he will lie down to sleep with the perfect confidence of a little
child. It would be an impertinence to say ‘God bless him,’ for God has
blessed him exceedingly abundantly, and made him also a blessing to
many thousands who are the happier for his having lived.
But I must get back apologetically to the _Xiphias_, with her crew
girding their loins to the great task in front of them. The cutting-in
of the first whale of a voyage is always a serious matter, since the
crew, however willing, must needs be educated in the performance of
an entirely novel task. I am anxious not to repeat myself, but the
work of collecting the spoil from a dead whale is of so wonderful a
character--is, in spite of the greasy nature of the surroundings, so
truly romantic--that the temptation to dwell upon its description is
ever present. To the casual unthinking observer there may seem nothing
very wonderful in the operation of cutting-in, except the astounding
magnitude of the masses raised from the body and disposed of in the
blubber-room and on deck. But really it is a piece of work requiring
not merely the utmost skill and care on the part of its directors,
but a certain natural aptitude as well, for want of this latter
characteristic always entails an enormous amount of extra labour upon
the crew. Take, for instance, the preliminary operation of cutting off
the huge head. Even with the utmost skill this task demands an amazing
amount of muscular force, but if that be wrongly applied it is indeed
a heart-breaking job. There is practically nothing to guide the eye
in the selection of a line upon which to start cutting down into the
body and finding the junction of the neck. And there is in a whale of
the size captured by the _Xiphias_ fully six feet of muscular tissue
to be severed by the spades before the central bone is reached. In
other words, the diameter of the body there is about fourteen feet.
A few inches to one side or the other, and the work may take double
the number of hours it should do, while the able whaleman will plunge
unerringly down through the mass blow after blow of his razor-edged
spade until he feels--he cannot see--his blade strike the exact spot
in the centre of the joint, a ball-and-socket about fourteen inches in
diameter.
So well had Captain Hampden and his officers performed their task that
when the crew rushed on deck eager for work the joint had been severed,
a hole had been bored through the snout, and the end of a snout-chain
was already passed through this hole and dangling down under water,
awaiting the turning over of the carcass to be got hold of. This was
for the purpose of dropping the head astern when it was cut off, for it
is always the last to be dealt with.
Swiftly the chain-sling was passed round the base of the lower jaw,
hooked to one of the big tackles, with a cheery shout the windlass
levers were manned, and presently, upward pointing, arose the shaft of
bone, studded with foot-long teeth, while the officers cut vigorously
away at the throat, and started the unwinding of that thick overcoating
of rich fat their prize had worn so long. And all the while the busy
spades of the skipper and mate went plunging almost with the regularity
of a pair of pistons down into the scarph dividing the head from the
body, until as the first blanket piece rose alongside the head slipped
easily aft and floated, an almost cylindrical mass of some thirty-five
tons in weight, at the end of a hawser passed over the taffrail.
All plain sailing now for a time. Merrily clattered the pawls,
accentuated by the occasional cries of ‘Heave on yer whale!’ ‘Surge
on yer piece!’ ‘’Vast heaving!’ ‘Lower away!’ ‘Walk back!’ and the
like, all so definite in their application with seamen, and so utterly
unintelligible ashore. So briskly, indeed, did the work go on that
in less than an hour from the time that the first blanket piece was
lowered into the blubber-room, all hands were gratified to see the
great flukes dangling at the end of a tackle, the last joint of the
backbone having been cut through and the mountainous mass of black
flesh allowed to drift slowly away, torn at by innumerable sharks on
all sides, and the centre of a perfect cloud of screaming sea-birds.
Now for the head. Smart as the work had been, there was no time to be
lost. Although the whale had been struck at 8 A.M., it was now nearly
3 P.M. Barely three hours of daylight remained; and, besides, on the
south-eastern horizon there was rising a mass of cloud, with outlines
as sharp and clearly defined as those of a mountain. It loomed ever
higher, vast, menacing, and deepening into blackness. But although
the skipper could not help casting an anxious glance to windward
occasionally, his manner was cheery as ever, and he and his officers
toiled as if fatigue was to them a word without meaning. Certainly,
whatever other virtues be denied them, the Yankee whaling officers
could never be accused of laziness. If they worked their men almost to
death they never spared themselves: they always led the way, and showed
by their example what a man could do if he tried.
The task of dividing the ‘case’ and ‘junk’ from the head, which was now
taken in hand, is the heaviest of all, not excepting cutting off the
head. For the case is a huge oblong tank, full of pure spermaceti, and
extending almost the whole length of the head, of which, indeed, it
forms nearly half the bulk. It must be cut out, for in a whale of this
size it contains nearly three tons of spermaceti as fluid as oil, and
there is no way of getting at this precious substance without lifting
the whole case. Lifting the head entirely is sometimes effected, but
only when the whale is small. In so large a one as this the lifting
of the case alone when detached is a task demanding the utmost energy
of all hands, and often, when a heavy sea is running, straining the
ship dangerously. Even then it cannot be taken on board, but must be
suspended alongside, and the spermaceti baled out of it with a bucket
in a most cumbrous and unsatisfactory way. The junk, being one solid
mass cut off the point of the snout, and weighing about four or five
tons, is easier dealt with, since a slip of the spade in cutting it off
does not mean a possible leakage of all its valuable contents, for in
it the spermaceti is contained in cells as water is held in a sponge,
and is, moreover, almost congealed.
By dint of the most strenuous toil, the junk and case were separated,
and the former hove on deck and secured, half an hour before dark. Then
the mighty case was hooked on and held up alongside. As the ship was
beginning to roll uneasily in the new cross swell coming up from the
south-east, precursor of the impending storm, it was necessary to pass
a heavy chain around it to bind it in to the side. Then a light spar
was rigged across the two tackles, high above the case, and a single
whip or pulley, with a rope running through it, to one end of which was
attached a long bucket. Then a man--he happened to be a merry little
Irish teamster, named MacManus--mounted nimbly aloft, and sat upon the
spar grasping a spade pole, with which to push the bucket down into
the case after he had slit open the top of it. Then, at his word, the
waiting men on deck hauled the bucket out and lowered it to the tank
awaiting its contents on deck.
Meanwhile all on deck were as busy as ants. Inspired by the skipper,
they toiled to get the decks clear, and certain of them, at the word,
rushed aloft to furl the few remaining sails that were set, except the
close-reefed main topsail. Rube, being on the leeside, did not trouble
to cross the deck and go up in orthodox fashion, but as he climbed
somewhat wearily he saw MacManus take a header from his precarious
seat into the yawning cavity of the case. A scream of horror burst
from his lips, but overcoming the paralysis that momentarily affected
his bodily powers, he leaped like a cat from the main shrouds to the
cutting falls, and, grabbing the bucket in one hand, slid down into
the yawning chasm beneath. As he went he felt the slimy walls of the
great case embracing him all round, and thought with agony of the
depth beneath him--fourteen feet at least of oil--then soundlessly the
bland greasiness closed over his head, and all was darkness. But his
mind was clear, and his hope was high that those who saw him go would
spring to the whip and haul up ere it was too late. And while he thus
thought he groped with one arm through the bucket loop, and, feeling
something hard, seized it with a drowning man’s grip just as he felt
himself ascending. Reluctantly those sucking walls yielded up their
prey; his arms felt as if they were being torn from their sockets;
but although there was a roaring as of loudest thunder in his ears,
he held on. And presently he hung limply in mid-air, one arm still
through the bucket loop, the other around the body of MacManus. Four
eager and willing men slid down the falls and seized the pair. Securing
them with ropes passed to them from the main-top, they lowered them as
rapidly as possible on deck. Even then there was no time to be lost,
for both were apparently dead--ears, nostrils, and mouths being clogged
with the rapidly coagulating spermaceti. But after the application of
some highly original methods of clearing it away, and most patient
artificial respiration following it, the pair gradually returned from
their visit to the shades, and sat up wonderingly.
It was not for several hours that either of them could recall what had
befallen them, and when they did both fell a-trembling violently as
they again realised the sensation of sliding down into that darksome
well of grease. But Rube recovered first, having, as he said, the need
laid upon him to offer up thanks to God for permitting him to save his
shipmate’s life. He remembered how, as he slid out of the fast-fading
daylight, his heart said, ‘O God, make me save him,’ and he felt that
by nothing short of a miracle he had been able to do so. Poor MacManus
could not speak of it, so broken up was he, but for hours, emitting
every now and then a rending sob, he lay holding Rube’s hand in his as
if only by so doing could he be prevented from gliding back again into
that pit of death.
This accident had, of course, caused much delay, but still, through
the now almost pitchy blackness of the night, by the aid of cressets
of blazing fuel suspended from the boat-davits, the work had gone on,
until at four bells (10 P.M.) a few strokes of a spade released the
ponderous mass from its slings, and with a sullen, thunderous boom it
fell back into the sea. Immediately upon its disappearance the skipper
ordered half the crew below for a couple of hours’ rest, and himself
hastened to visit the victims of the late mishap. He found MacManus
asleep, nervously twitching all over, but Rube lying with hands folded
on his breast, his lips moving slowly as he murmured praises for his
deliverance.
‘Well, Rube, ’n’ haow d’ye seem t’ be hittin’ it b’ now, hey?’ said the
old man cheerily.
Rube turned on him a dazzling smile, and answered in a quiet tone: ‘Jes
’s grand ’s grand kin be, Cap’n. I don’t know as I was ever so happy in
all m’ life. Only one thing I’m sorry fur, ’at I kain’t be up ’n’ doin’
my share o’ th’ work thet’s goin’ on. But as yew’re all so kind, I
don’t feel able t’ worry nearly ’s much ’bout thet ’s I feel I oughter.’
‘Jes’ yew stop right thar,’ said the skipper. ‘Don’t wanter hyar ‘et
yew’re worryin’ any ‘t all. Why, blame my cats, I want ye well, ’n’
haow in thunder air ye goin’ t’ git well ef you lays thar a-worryin’?
Guess me an’ th’ rest ov yew’re shipmates ’ll dew all th’ worryin’
thet’s called fur till yew’re round again. We kain’t git ’long ’thout
yew a bit, ’n’ thet’s a fact.’
‘Ah, Cap’n,’ murmured Rube, ‘it does sound good ov ye to say so, and
say it so kinder tender like. Fact is, yew’re all of ye so kind ’at
I’m’s happy as a man k’n be. Nothin’ don’t seem able t’ hurt me. Naow
and then thar’s a set o’ blurred pictures comes up in my mind of a long
time ago, when I was very unhappy an’ looked ahead to see nawthin’
but trouble an’ misery waitin’ fur me all my days. But it never gits
quite clear. I never remember anything fur certain, and I don’t seem
ter--I kain’t seem ter--feel ’at I keer a row o’ pins what’s goin’ t’
happen ter-morrer. I seem ter ben here all my life, ’n’ don’t want a
little bit t’ be anywhere else. I ain’t gut a care ner a fret ner a
want in the world.’ Then, as the Captain turned as if about to leave
abruptly--for the need upon him to do so was great--Rube gently laid
a detaining hand upon his arm, saying: ‘Cap’n, I believe it’s all the
goodness of God. Some of us don’t think as much of Him as we might. I
know I don’t, but I b’lieve ther’ ain’t one of _us_ but what thinks
more about God’s love to ’em than they do ’bout anythin’ else in this
world.’ ‘Stop,’ almost shouted the skipper, ‘yew’re hurtin’ me wuss ’n
ye know. I dassent say a word ’at w’d hurt yer faith in us, but fur
God’s sake don’t make us out like that. I kain’t tell ye haow mean an’
low down an’ ord’nary yew make me feel when yew talk like that. Naow I
must git, fur yew’re mighty low, ’n’ I got work wants doin’. Try an’
git t’ sleep an’ be about among us as quickly as ever yew can.’ And the
skipper hurriedly departed.
In truth he was glad to get away from what was rapidly becoming an
intolerable situation. Back to his mind had been brought with startling
clearness the old Quaker home, the sweet placid face of his mother, as
with a cooing gentleness she taught him to utter his earliest prayers
to the All-Father with whom she was on such beautifully intimate terms.
He remembered how the light upon his mother’s face always seemed to him
to be reflected from the sky, and how he used to shut his eyes tight
and wish that he might have a vision of that dear Friend whom he felt
sure that mother could see and hear so clearly. Also the grave face of
his father came up before him, never, as far as he could remember, lit
by a smile, always looking as if the tremendous realities of life had
left their indelible impress there. He knew that while he had loved
his mother he had reverenced his father, but never seemed able to get
beyond that feeling of awe-stricken admiration. Then came the death
of both those holy ones, the breaking up of the old home, and the
gradual loss through the struggling years that followed of personal
communion with his mother’s Friend, while still retaining through all
the hardnesses of a whaler’s life a blend of her sweet temper and his
father’s exalted rectitude. And now he was set a-wondering in the
presence of this gentle ‘greenie’ how much he had lost through his
gradually letting slip his acquaintance with his mother’s God. But
like most men of Anglo-Saxon race, he felt a strange fear lest he
should betray to anyone around him these ennobling, uplifting thoughts
that welled up from his heart. His face burned and his voice trembled
curiously as he walked among his toiling men, glancing furtively at
each familiar face as if wondering whether any of them could detect
any difference in him--for difference he knew there was--from what he
had been yesterday.
After a short interval of oversight, a few words with the officers
who were superintending the commencement of the trying-out process,
and an entirely contented look around at the storminess of the night,
he said to the second mate, who was in charge of the watch at the
time: ‘Wall, Mr. Peck, I guess I’ll go and turn in fur a spell. It’s
goin’t’ be a dirty night, an’ ye mout’s well rig up the cover over
th’ try-works, ’case it rains, ’r she ships any water. Don’t want th’
pots bilin’ over ’n catchin’ light, do we? Nawthin’ else yew’d like t’
talk t’ me abaout, is there, ’fore I go below?’ ‘No, sir,’ said the
officer; ‘everythin’ seems to be goin’ in good shape so far, ’n’ as fur
this dirt, wall, I reckon the moon’s ’bout due at seven bells ’n’ I
shouldn’t wonder if she scorfs it all.’ ‘Ha, ha,’ laughed the old man;
‘it’s mighty certain she wunt scorf the fly jib anyhaow. It’s too well
fast fur thet. Good-night.’ He alluded to the old, old yarn at sea of
the careful mate who, because the night was threatening in appearance,
asked the skipper whether he shouldn’t ‘take some of the kites off
her.’ ‘Oh, no,’ said the skipper, ‘the moon’ll scorf (eat) all that’
(alluding to the ugly appearance of the clouds). But when aroused by
the tumult on deck an hour or two latter the skipper came rushing on
deck and anxiously inquired what had become of the flying jib, the mate
replied nonchalantly, ‘Oh, the moon’s scorfed that, sir.’
Diving below, the old man took a searching look at his barometer,
noted the direction of the ship’s head, and then passed on to his own
tiny state-room, slipped off his boots and sat down. Alone with his
thoughts, they flew back again to that far-off time to which they had
been directed by his contemplation of Rube. Slowly his head dropped
upon his hands, lower and lower he bowed himself, until, utterly
oblivious of all the sea-noises around him, of the uneasy motion of his
ship as she headed the rising sea, or of his responsibility for the
welfare of every soul on board, he slipped down upon his knees, and
as simply as ever he did when a child, but with an added fervour, he
lifted up his heart to God.
It was at least half an hour before he rose from his knees, but in the
space of that brief period he had learned more than most men learn
during the whole of their lives. Confessing his sins he asked for
pardon, admitting his blindness he asked for sight, acknowledging his
ignorance he asked for teaching; and he obtained all his desires. Then
with a sense of lightness and freedom from care never before felt he
lay down on his little settee to be ready for a call, and in about the
space of one minute was fast asleep.
On deck, the scene to an uninitiate would have been appalling. With a
monotonous, never-ceasing, and ever-increasing wail the wild wind bore
down out of the windward blackness upon the brave old ship. A peep
over the weather bulwarks revealed the long, long ranges of gleaming
wave-crests rolling down upon her, their uncanny greenish light
flickering against the black background and showing by the distances
they were apart longitudinally how mightily the waves had grown. There
was a fascination about them, too, which held the observer gazing until
like a splash of small shot a spray of spindrift struck him in the face
and sent him smarting to shelter. But as if it had been the finest of
summer evenings the steady stress of labour continued. Up from the
blubber-room were hurled the massive horse-pieces of blubber, carved
with so much labour from the great blanket pieces by the slipping,
struggling labourers below. Of all the strange places I have ever seen
I think the blubber-room of a whaleship at night in a gale of wind is
beyond comparison the strangest. It is a square space of about thirty
feet each way and between six and seven feet high. Into it are piled
the blanket pieces, those immense widths of blubber, each weighing
a ton or so, which have been ripped from the carcass of the whale.
In uncouth masses they lie one upon another, piled often almost to
touching the beams overhead. As the ship rolls they glide and heave
upon one another as if still actuated by the breath of the monster
they so lately covered. From a beam, generally in a corner, swings a
primitive lamp, little more than accentuating the darkness. And at the
beginning of operations two dim forms crawl precariously about among
those greasy masses, occasionally slipping a leg down into a temporary
crevice and having it squeezed into numbness before being able to
withdraw it. They wield short-handled spades like Dutch hoes, and with
infinite labour hew off blocks from the masses of blubber of a fit
size to pass through the mincer. When they have a dozen or so of these
blocks ready they must needs in some unexplainable fashion balance
themselves under the hatchway, and with a sort of diminutive pitchfork
hurl the blocks (horse-pieces) upwards into a shallow trough secured
to the coaming or upper edge of the hatch, whence the attendant on the
mincer loads a tub with them and drags them away. And unless these
blubber-room men be exceedingly skilful as well as strong, they will
not only never have a breathing space during the six hours of their
stay below, but will, in addition, have to bear much contumely from the
officer in charge, who will be instant in his sarcastic inquiries as to
what they may be doing below--whether they are asleep or not.
The clank-clank of the mincer is unceasing, tall tongues of flame from
the funnels of the try-works make long red smears upon the gloom as
they stream away to leeward, and the two harpooners feed the bubbling
cauldrons with minced blubber, bale out the sufficiently boiled oil,
and watch with unceasing care against a sudden splash of cold water
into the pots, which may cause the oil to rise in a moment, and,
overflowing into the furnaces, set fire to the ship. All the watch is
so busy that there is no time to notice the weather, or moralise upon
this most romantic scene--a ship’s company who, having succeeded in
winning from a hostile element the spoil of the mightiest creature
known, have now converted their vessel into a floating factory, and
under the most extraordinarily difficult conditions conceivable are
engaged in realising that spoil in order to convey it to their home
port thousands of miles away.
Here let us leave them for awhile, and exercising our privilege of
instant transition, glance back at the quiet village whence the
departure of our hero withdrew so much consolation and manly assistance
in the old age of his parents.