A GREAT BLOW
Many and terrible are the temptations which await the striving
Christian, whatever his or her spiritual age may be. It is a moot
point whether they (the temptations) are felt more severely by the
babe in Christ in the first fervour of the new life, or by the mature
Christian who is insensibly led to feel that he or she has attained
unto a firm standing in the Faith. But one thing is, or should be,
beyond controversy, and that is that no fiercer temptations assail any
man than those which await the newly converted sailor, who has begun,
in the solitude of the ocean and its sweet freedom from the allurements
of shore vices, the upward way. He has been born, and has grown up to
a certain Christian stature in a state of peaceful freedom from the
evils of shore life, and has almost come to regard them as belonging to
a previous state of existence to which he can never return. Then, when
he is suddenly plunged headlong into them again he is in great, very
great, danger of a relapse that may give him an agonising season of
remorse. But I must not carry this digression too far. I only wish, in
beginning this chapter, to point out how dire were the perils awaiting
the crew of the _Xiphias_, many of whom were only, in the imitative
way common to the majority of human beings, behaving as they saw the
general sense of their little community would have them behave, and not
at all from any conviction as to the necessity of such behaviour to
their peace or from any inward urging whatever.
It is, however, safe to say that such considerations troubled no one
on board the ship at all. Every man was in an overflowing state of
happiness at again anchoring in a civilised port after the long and
weary cruise and the many hardships and dangers encountered. Every
man, too, with the exception of Rube, was half-intoxicated with a
quite lawful pride in his achievements during the past two months. All
remembered how helplessly, ignorantly, and painfully they had begun
the voyage, traced easily the educational way they had come, mentally
visualised vividly each heroic detail, and gradually lost sight of the
great central fact of it all, the Fatherly care of God. Therefore,
when, the next day after arrival, the rescued passengers returned on
board with urgent requests to the Captain that he would allow them
the privilege of entertaining the crew ashore as a slight return for
benefits received, all who could be spared on that day, except Rube,
joyfully availed themselves of the permission readily given and went
ashore.
They were royally welcomed at one of the principal hotels by the
rescued ones, some of whom had wired home and received in reply advices
enabling them to draw upon the local banks for all moneys needed. They
were entertained far too well, for two-thirds of them returned on board
drunk and quarrelsome, and for the first time that voyage the foc’s’le
was the scene of a riotous conflict, in the midst of which Rube moved
like a strong apostle of peace, able, as well as eager, to enforce
quietude upon the most unruly, even though it involved a considerable
amount of what some weak-minded people might call brutality. The lesson
taught by this episode was not without its valuable effect upon those
who had remained on board. With a self-sacrifice entirely laudable,
they refused to go ashore at all. This may not, probably will not, be
assessed by my readers at its proper value; but, oh, if landsfolk could
only realise the intense longing for a run ashore which seizes upon
sailors after being cooped up on board ship for seven or eight months,
it would be understood. Truly, Reuben and the skipper had done their
best to give the ship-keeping crew such amusement as was possible, and
the best shore food, fresh beef, mutton, and vegetables that could be
procured had been provided.
Table Bay swarms, or did swarm, with a splendid species of crustacean
known as ‘craw-fish,’ many of which grow to a huge size, weighing
several pounds, and have a flavour in no way inferior to that of a
lobster. There was great sport in catching these in impromptu nets made
of rope-yarn meshed upon hoops and baited with bones, and even greater
satisfaction in knowing that they would live for months in tanks of
salt water frequently renewed. Then there was ordinary fishing, or,
perhaps, I should say extraordinary fishing, of the schnapper, the cod,
and other fish which swarm around the southern extremity of Africa
almost unmolested. And sailors love fishing, though scarcely any class
of men living within reach of fishable waters get less of it.
So quite pleasantly the time passed away--the four days during which
Captain Hampden found it possible to sell his baleen and tranship it,
and to expend a liberal sum in fresh food, vegetables, and live-stock.
On the fifth morning, at daybreak, the cry of ‘Man the windlass!’
rang along the deck of the _Xiphias_, and all hands responded. But,
unhappily, most of those who had been ashore did so very unwillingly.
The memory of their spree was secretly most alluring; they had tasted
illicit delights again, and were lamenting the deprivation of them.
Thus they were sullen, unwilling, and miserable. Vainly did Rube exert
all his simple arts to rouse them out of themselves, to cheer them.
They would not be cheered; they hugged their misery and almost infected
several of their shipmates.
But the work was going on, all unconsciously the best cure was being
applied, and by nightfall, with their fine old ship heading northward
for the Mozambique Channel before a fine following breeze, they had
gone much farther than they were aware of on the road to repentance and
recovery. By repentance I do not mean that spurious sentiment which
is really sorrow for one’s inability to go and repeat former sins or
excesses, disgust and annoyance at being compelled to reap what one has
sown, but a comprehensive change of mind with reference to one’s former
behaviour, a distrust of one’s own powers of resistance to the drawings
of evil, and a determination to trust for deliverance from them to
Almighty God. A simple definition, perhaps, but one that I know is far
too often neglected or wilfully misunderstood.
Day succeeded day in perfect loveliness of weather and peace on board.
The routine of the ship had fallen easily back into its accustomed
grooves, and opportunity had been taken to renew all the wastage that
had been made in the general equipment of the ship and boats by reason
of the recent heavy demands made upon it. But no whales were seen.
Eager eyes scanned the wide sea for every moment of the daylight, but
nothing was seen of any value. Still, the previous sense of irritation
and almost hopelessness was not there, could hardly be, since so great
an accession of profit had been made during the last two months; a haul
that, as Captain Hampden gratefully admitted, might not have been made
on some voyages during the first two years. But as day succeeded day
and week followed week, there came upon all hands a querulous desire to
question the wisdom which had brought the ship into a part of the ocean
where everything desirable was found except the one central object of
the voyage: profit. As watch followed watch under those lovely skies,
the watchers became listless, careless, their attitude at the mastheads
showed how weary they had become of the fruitless gaze across the wide
sea-plain. And the wise skipper, who, as a skipper should, carefully
noted all the symptoms of discontent, gradually tightened the somewhat
relaxed disciplinary fibres, and had many things done which, under
the pressure of whaling, might quite safely have remained undone. The
recently obtained cargo was overhauled and re-stowed, the reeking hold
was thoroughly cleansed, and although nothing was ever undertaken which
could not be dropped at one minute’s notice, had whales appeared, an
enormous amount of valuable work was accomplished, and that, too,
without any friction whatever. In addition to the work of the ship, the
Captain unofficially encouraged the men to undertake in their leisure
moments the making of ‘scrimshaw,’ the name given to _objets-d’art_
(?), fabricated of ivory and bone, and calling out all the latent
mechanical genius possessed by the men.
To this end, foreseeing an easy, quiet time, he had caused several
jaw-pans of the sperm-whale to be set aside and towed astern in order
that they might bleach to a dazzling whiteness. All the teeth had
been saved and pickled in barrels of strong brine, and a considerable
number of the shorter blades or laminæ of baleen had been retained when
the bulk of it was transhipped at Cape Town. Word was passed forward
that any man who felt inclined might have for the asking such of
these materials as he chose in order to try his hand at curio-making;
and the carpenter, although, like most good workmen, he would not
lend his tools, never refused to saw off a length of jawbone for a
walking-stick, or cut up into rough pieces the bleached bone, for
any man who asked him. Nor did he make any favour of showing a man
how to make his own tools out of old knives, files, rasps, or even
sail-needles. This amiability had great results, for before long
practically all hands were engaged upon this fascinating hobby, and,
emulating one another, were turning out some really beautiful pieces
of work in carved ivory, bone, and baleen. Some of the sticks were
quite works of art. A length of, say, three feet by one inch square,
sawn from a jaw-pan after it had been subjected to a long tow astern,
would be tightly lashed down to a spar in the sun so that it would dry
perfectly straight. Then, by the aid of a ‘cutter’ or rasp, softened
in the fire and filed into deep ridges with cutting edges, it would
be worked down into a rough roundness of outline. By the aid of other
equally primitive tools the stick would then be gradually fashioned
into the semblance of a rope, with ‘worming,’ or a much smaller rope
twisted into its lays--a form of art which is highly interesting, as
having been practised by sailors from very remote days. Three years
ago, when staying at Repton School, I was shown over the ruins of the
ancient abbey there, and in the recently unearthed crypt, dating back
to Anglo-Saxon times I was told, there were four monolithic pillars
of stone supporting the roof, each of which was carved into the same
semblance of a rope with ‘worming’ in its lays. Also at a great country
house where I stayed last year, whose noble and hospitable owner
made a hobby of collecting books on ancient art, I saw some superb
illustrations in colour of ancient croziers, upon which were carved in
ivory or worked in precious metals the universally used ‘Turk’s-head’
of the sailor, which has not altered one jot of its details down to the
present day through all those hundreds of years.
But to return to our stick-maker. At one end of the stick about eight
or ten inches would be cut away until only a slender square rod of
about three-eighths of an inch thickness remained; upon this would be
threaded medallions of ivory, baleen, silver (quarter-dollars), ebony,
and coco-tree wood. An albatross head or some similarly well-known
object would be patiently carved and secured on top, and the whole
stick was then polished, first with fine sand, then with powdered
pumice-stone, and finished with chalk and oil. And really, when
completed, many of these pieces of work would have made no bad show
in an industrial exhibition, especially if the primitive tools could
have been shown with them. Besides this fascinating pursuit, there were
several others tacitly encouraged by the skipper, such as model-making,
gymnastics, swimming (on calm days), and, of course, fishing. And thus
gradually what had threatened to become a painful set-back to all of
them turned out to be a veritable blessing, a halcyon time which many
remembered all their lives after with the most tender regret.
But still they were not earning anything, and after their experience
on the other side of the Cape they began to feel as if their fortunes
were already made. They did not realise the vastness of the ocean and
the tiny little circle, after all, that their outlook gave them from
the mastheads. And in spite of the noble bounty offered by the skipper
of twenty-five dollars to whoever should ‘raise’ a sperm-whale, it was
very hard, to hang up there for two hours in that blazing sun and keep
one’s attention fixed upon one’s business. At last, however (eleven
weeks having passed since they left Cape Town), it happened to be
Rube’s masthead at daybreak--that is to say, shortly after 5 A.M. With
his usual pleasant alacrity he swallowed his coffee and sprang into the
fore-rigging at the cry from aft, ‘Man mastheads!’ As he went MacManus
said jestingly, ‘Reubin, darlin’, ef yez do be raisin’ sperm-whales
Oi’ll share th’ bounty wid yez.’ ‘Yew shall that,’ replied Rube gaily,
‘an’ everybody else as well ef I know myself.’ As he went springingly
aloft his eye dwelt lovingly upon the marvellous colouring of the sea,
the ever-changing sequence of shades reflected from the glory above;
and his heart filled with loving worship, for there is no education
in appreciative observation of God’s wonderful works like an intimate
acquaintance with Him. When he reached the topgallant-yard he saw the
great glowing arc of the sun’s upper limb just shedding a long line
of blazing gold along the horizon, as if it could not contain all its
store of glory, but must needs let some run freely on every hand. And
as Rube climbed into his perch the awful majesty of the whole orb swung
clear of the sea, and ocean and sky blazed ineffably, blindingly upon
Rube’s sight, making him for a moment veil his face in his hands and
murmur a few disjointed words of praise.
Never in all his experience had he seen so glorious a sunrise. He could
not help feeling an intense desire for more ability to appreciate its
marvels, for more power to praise, more capacity for gratitude. And
then as his eyes swept the horizon round, remembering his duty, he saw
immediately beneath the sun’s disc a curious peak, black, but edged
with flame, which gave him the impression of its being some gigantic
mountain top upon which the sun had been resting, and now was rising
after it in readiness to receive it if it should fall. So strong was
the impression that it made him shudder in spite of himself and turn
away. As he did so, broad on the port beam about five miles away
rose the well-known figure of a sperm-whale exhaling a great volume
of vapour diagonally from his spiracle and sending before his blunt
head a perfect cascade of diamond spray. One moment’s pause, and from
Rube’s deep chest burst the startling whalers’ call, at which the
previously half-awakened decks below burst suddenly into seeming life.
Not one minute was lost, for the crew were in the highest state of
efficiency and eagerness. Only two boats were lowered, for the whale
had no fellow; he was apparently one of those morose old bulls that had
been ejected from his overlordship of the school he had led so long
and was doomed to wander lonely till the end. One drawback there was
to the chase; it was almost a flat calm, and at such a time approach
to a lone sperm-whale is exceedingly difficult. His senses (whatever
they are, they are not like ours) are so acute that unless there be
a little sea on, something that by its natural sounds may render the
splash of an oar or the rattle of a rowlock inaudible, the whale will
almost certainly be alarmed and make good his escape. But as they were
paddling with the utmost caution in his direction, a puff of wind
darkened the water and at the same time sent a cold shiver through
all hands. The mate recovered from his surprise first, and his hoarse
whisper ran through the crew’s ears: ‘In paddles, step mast, quietly
now.’ He was obeyed in swiftness and silence, and the second mate,
following the example, had his sail up almost as soon. Then, as the
graceful boats glided noiselessly across the just rising ripples, all
hands had leisure to look about them, and to their intense uneasiness
they saw that the whole aspect of the heavens was changed. The colour
of the blessed sun itself had faded from glowing gold to a stale,
sickly, greenish hue, and the morning cheerfulness of the sky was
replaced by a dreary, leaden blue, to which the sea had responded by
turning almost black. And it was so cold. The sun seemed at once to
have been shorn of his beams and his power of distributing warmth. He
still shone, it is true, but as if through a veil of some deadly mist
depriving him of all his beneficent influences. Yet there was no vapour
whatever visible.
The mate, however, alone of the little company, seemed entirely
unconscious of any change in the weather. With his eyes fixed upon the
supine monster ahead he steered the boat as if he were part of it,
as if, indeed, he were enduing it with some of his own personality.
Occasionally, it is true, he cast furtive glances at the second mate’s
boat, but that was only to see whether he was keeping as far ahead of
that officer as etiquette demanded. And as the breeze freshened the
lively craft began leaping gamesomely over the infant waves, nearing
the whale at a great rate. At last! The harpooner, a lean American from
Nantucket, rose stealthily to his feet, balancing the clumsy-looking
weapon as if it were a feather in his right hand, and methodically
arranging the coils of stray line on the little forward deck or ‘box’
of the boat. She made one last spring forward; then, with a great
swooping curve, graceful as that of an albatross, she glided alongside
the whale, and two harpoons flew from Walter’s sinewy fingers into the
whale’s body. She passed into a little offing of safety as the sail
was brailed in, but the whale wasted no time or strength in fruitless
struggle to free himself of the irons. He apparently gathered all
his powers together and fled to windward through the rapidly rising
waves, heeding not the weight behind him more than as if it had not
existed. He went so fast, indeed, and so dead end on to the sea that
the accomplishment of the boat’s clearance was a task of uncommon
difficulty, taking nearly thrice the usual time. And when it was
finished neither the companion boat nor the ship was to be seen. More,
the black pinnacle of cloud noted by Rube at sunrise had now overspread
fully one half of the heavens. The other half had a menacing shade, not
of cloud, but the shadow of the great eastern mass, and yet behind the
gloom there was the suggestion of an unearthly glow. No one could say
why or how the ship had disappeared, but not a sign of her was visible.
A strange fear fell upon all, even Rube, who by virtue of his great
strength had the midship thwart (the heaviest oar) in the mate’s boat.
Instinctively the mate came aft and got out the compass; but, except to
tell in which direction the whale was going, which they already knew
was something near east, its indications were of little value--they
had no bearing of the ship. And the whale went steadily on into the
gathering darkness.
Meanwhile, on board the ship signals of recall were being frantically
made in the hope that the fast boat might see them. Mr. Peck did see,
and in less than half an hour was safe alongside again, his boat
hoisted, and his men putting all their energies into the preparations
to meet the coming cyclone. The ship was now between the Seychelles and
the Saya de Malha Bank, having been gradually working north and east
from the Mozambique Channel upon finding that usually prolific hunting
ground so barren of result. And consequently she was now in one of
the very worst places in the whole ocean for meeting with those awful
circular storms which are variously known as hurricanes, cyclones, or
typhoons, according as they are experienced in the Atlantic Ocean,
the Indian Ocean, or the China Sea, but which are all the same kind
of terrible natural convulsion, beneficent in their after-effects
undoubtedly, but while they last filling most men with the conviction
that the end of all things is at hand. Still, so staunch and seaworthy
was the _Xiphias_, in common with most of her sisters built by those
old-fashioned, methodical descendants of the old Puritans in New
England, that the near approach of such a cataclysm would have given
Captain Hampden very little additional uneasiness but for the fact of
his mate’s boat being away, lost to sight, and of his own inability to
follow it up when once the meteor burst, which it was now evidently
upon the point of doing. Nothing, however, could be left undone that
ought to be done for the safety of those remaining on board, and no
time wasted in vain regrets; so for two or three hours all hands
were kept at full pressure putting extra lashings upon everything
movable--double gaskets, ‘marling’ down the sails, hoisting the boats
as high as they would go to the davit-heads, and there securing them
with all the skill available. Also a quantity of food was hastily
cooked (the _Xiphias_, like most of those old ships, carried little
canned provisions) and stored where it could be got at without opening
hatches or depending upon a lighted fire. Everything, in fact, was done
that skill and forethought could suggest or urge to, and then the men
were called aft. All hands stood facing the gallant old skipper as with
head bare he steadied himself against the skylight.
‘Men,’ said he, ‘we’ve kem up agenst big trouble, for a boat’s crew
of our shipmates air a-missin’, an’ only God He knows whether we sh’l
ever see ’em agen. I feel a’most heart-broken at lettin’ ’em go; but,
men, I’d no idea ’at thishyer hurrican’--fur hurrican’ it’s a-goin’
t’be, there’s no possible doubt o’ that--wuz a-comin’ on so sudden.
An’, besides, yew all know how eager all han’s wuz t’ git some whale
after eour long spell athout seein’ one. Thar’s no denyin’ the fact,
eour shipmates air in terrible danger. We’re in danger, too, fur
these hurrican’s is enough t’ make the bravest man ’at ever lived
feel quaky t’ his very soul. But we’ve a grand ship under eour feet,
an’ we’ve a-done all thet man k’n do to make her ready fur the great
fight thet’s a-comin’. Naow we’ve a-got another duty t’ perform. In
thet boat beside Mr. Pease, as good an officer ’s ever trod a deck ’r
hove a lance, an’ Walter his harpooner, also one ov th’ very best, and
MacManus, Joey, and Manuel, all good, sterlin’ men as all th’ crew is,
thar’s Rube Eddy. Thet man’s taught us all lessons we needed worse
than any of us knew. By his example he’s shamed us into bein’ better
men, an’ every one of us is happier then we could ’a’ben if we hadn’t
known him. Already I feel at the thought of losin’ him’s if I don’t
care t’ live myself, an’ I know thet all of you ’r feelin’ with me how
great a blessin’ he’s ben t’ us aboard this ship. So I ask you all t’
kneel down like men an’ pray each in your own fashion fur Rube an’
his fellows in th’ boat; thet in this fearful time, God, who kin do
anything, may be with ’em t’ save, and thet He may see fit t’ bring us
all together again. An’ if not, to make us all what Rube Eddy often
prayed we might be--good men, ready t’ live ’r die as it should please
God, but whichever it is, to keep unbroken the image of God in us.
Let’s pray.’
All hands fell on their knees, and there, in the gathering darkness,
these wanderers from many lands, uncouth, ignorant, careless seafarers,
each in his own way silently pleaded with an unmistakably present God
for the safety of the boat’s crew, and all added, ‘especially Rube.’
Occasionally an ejaculation which could not be suppressed burst forth,
but for the space of about a quarter of an hour, except for the voice
of the wind like the growing wailings of a tortured spirit, and the
continual mutter of the thunder, there was no other sound. Then, as
if at a given signal, the skipper lifted up his voice in the sublime
old Apostles’ Prayer, the Amens were fervently murmured, and with
perceptibly strengthened hearts the crew dispersed to their several
duties or resting places, and thick darkness clothed them as with a
garment, shutting out all the view of sea and sky.