James Cooper Wheeler
 
 THK CAsK WAS H TNG H1IY 1 KK 1 A1.OK1. 
 
 SKK C ti
 
 THERE SHE BLOWS! 
 
 A WHALING YARN 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES COOPER WHEELER 
 
 Author of "Captain Pete of Puget Sound," etc. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 
 
 .U WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET
 
 Copyright, 1909 
 
 BY K. P. Dl TTON \- Co.MI ANY
 
 THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO THOMAS MORRISON, 
 NOW LIVING IN NEW BEDFORD, STILL FEARLESS 
 AND LOYAL, THO MANY YEARS OLDER THAN 
 WHEN HE AND THE AUTHOR OF "THERE SHE 
 BLOWS" WERE SHIPMATES ON THE AVOLA
 
 TO THE READER 
 
 or sixty years ago Whaling was a 
 great Industry, and hundreds of vessels 
 manned by thousands of sea-faring men, as 
 fearless and efficient as those described in these 
 pages, pursued Leviathan to the very bound 
 aries of the globe. To-day it is a thing of the 
 Past. One occasionally hears of a lonely 
 whaleship in the arctic seas, or of whales being 
 caught from stations on shore and shot to death 
 with cannons, but the heroic pursuit of the 
 olden times is dead. 
 
 Whalers were a breed of seadog differing 
 from the present type of sailorman as much as 
 a Collie does from an Upland Scotch stag 
 hound, and while I freely admit the present 
 generation to be in many ways an improve 
 ment on their predecessors of fifty years back, 
 I maintain that the men who sailed out of New 
 Bedford, Nantucket, and Sag Harbor in the 
 forties possessed a toughness of sinew and 
 energy of mind it would be difficult to parallel 
 in the present era.
 
 To the Reader 
 
 "There She Blows" is, of course, not abso 
 lutely true, but there is not an incident in the 
 tale that might not have occurred without con 
 travening the Law of Nature. And the detail 
 is accurate as a picture taken with a camera. 
 Captain Bourne did exist, and was one of the 
 best men that ever walked a quarter deck. Joe 
 Stoddard was killed while attacking a whale 
 twenty years ago. The rest of the crew of the 
 Avola, with the exception of hearty Tom Mor 
 rison and the author, have every one passed 
 away. 
 
 A part of the story of Sacred Ben was orig 
 inally published in The Independent," and the 
 International Whale Chase was published in 
 "The Youth s Companion" several years ago. 
 My thanks are hereby tendered to them for 
 their courtesy in permitting me to use the ma 
 terial in this connection. 
 
 And a last word, dear reader. Pray do not 
 scan these pages for literary merit. I have 
 not aimed for it. The tale possessed me and 
 whirled me along from start to finish so swiftly 
 I could scarcely pause to put in stops, and make 
 paragraphs. I hope you will enjoy the reading 
 as much as I did the writing! 
 
 JAMES COOPER WHEELER.
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 THE CASK WAS FLUNG FIFTY FEET ALOFT . . Frontispiece 
 
 SEE CHAPTER 
 THUS WE LAY MOORED IN SECURITY, THROUGH THE 
 
 LIVE LONG NIGHT IV 
 
 " IT S A FLOATER, I THINK," HE REPLIED, " BUT IT S A 
 
 LONG WAY OFF " XV 
 
 THE WOMAN, YOUNG AND HANDSOME, SEEMED UNCON 
 SCIOUS OF HER BURDEN XVI 
 
 SUDDENLY WE HELD OUR BREATH, AND LISTENED AS IF 
 
 OUR SOULS DEPENDED ON OUR HEARING . . XVIII
 
 THERE SHE BLOWS 
 
 A WHALING YARN 
 
 CHAPTER ONE 
 
 WHEN I arrived in New Bedford I found 
 the bark Avola, Captain Zenas Bourne, 
 was to clear for a three years voyage in the 
 South Pacific, the following morning. The 
 vessel was outfitted by the firm of Woodward 
 Brothers, and I made for their store. The 
 room I entered seemed a sort of warehouse 
 filled with coils of rope, and all sorts of marine 
 supplies were piled around, while from hooks in 
 the walls and ceiling hung sea boots, and oil 
 skins. 
 
 A smallish, wiry man with sea-beaten, 
 craggy face was talking to a well-dressed gen 
 tleman I took to be Mr. Woodward. I felt in 
 my bones that the other was Captain Zenas 
 Bourne, so I stepped to the railing that divided 
 the room, and when he turned and glared at 
 me, said: 
 
 I
 
 2 There She Blows 
 
 "Are you Captain Bourne?" 
 
 "Yes. What do you want ?" 
 
 I don t believe he meant to be brusk, or knew 
 that he was so. The habit of the quarter-deck, 
 that of a life-time, had formed his manners, 
 and he carried them ashore and afloat. He 
 eyed me keenly as I told him : 
 
 "I hear the Avola is to sail on a three years 
 cruise to-morrow, and I d like a berth in her." 
 
 At this point he suddenly reached over the 
 railing, and seized my hand. He turned the 
 palm up, and scrutinized it : 
 
 "Well, I m blowed!" he grunted at the end 
 of his investigation. "It looks as if you had 
 done some work! What do you want to go 
 sperm whaling for? What s your name, and 
 where do you hail from?" 
 
 "Ed Hall, sir, and I was born on Long 
 Island." 
 
 "Humph ! What are you going to sea for ? 
 Done anything wrong, and running away?" 
 
 My temper is a little short at times, and it 
 really seemed Captain Bourne was going 
 further than he had any right, for I was not 
 his sailor yet. So I said : 
 
 "I am twenty-six years old, and my own
 
 A Whaling Yarn 3 
 
 master, and it s nobody s business but my own 
 why I go to sea." 
 
 Instead of getting angry, the old boy grinned 
 at this, and inquired: 
 
 "What do you expect to do aboard the 
 Avola? Know anything about ship work?" 
 
 I answered pretty earnestly : 
 
 "You re mistaken, captain, if you think I 
 will not be worth my grub. I can work hard, 
 and pull a good oar although I m not a sailor- 
 man." 
 
 "Well," said the old skipper gruffly, "You 
 may have some good stuff under your skin. 
 That bulldog jaw of yours looks like it. I ll 
 ship you as a green hand, and give you the two- 
 hundredth lay in the voyage. Here are the 
 articles. Sign them now. You ship for three 
 years not to exceed five. You can buy your 
 kit here, and it will be charged against your 
 lay. Do you know what to get ? No ? Then 
 I ll help rig you out now." 
 
 I had found favor in the old man s eyes, and 
 to tell the truth, he suited me pretty well, too. 
 He picked me out a donkey, or sea-chest, and 
 I stowed it with a judicious selection of sea 
 going apparel and necessaries. He added a
 
 4 There She Blows 
 
 single mattress, and pair of gray blankets, and 
 announced that I was ready for the voyage. 
 
 "And, by the way," he added, "you d better 
 borrow a wheelbarrow from Mr. Woodward, 
 and take your dunnage down to the ship now. 
 I ll go with you and pick you out a bunk. If 
 you wait till morning those Geezers (Anglice: 
 Portuguese) that I ve shipped for ard will get 
 to windward of you, and leave you the worst 
 quarters in the fo k s l." 
 
 I was taken aback by the rapidity with which 
 Captain Bourne carried things along, as well 
 as inclined to be complimented by what was 
 surely unusual interest in the personal affairs 
 of a prospective foremast hand. But I man 
 aged not to lose my head, and trundled the 
 wheelbarrow behind him to the wharf. The 
 Old Man hailed the ship-keeper, and he and I 
 took my outfit to the forecastle, which was be 
 tween decks in the bow of the Avola. Two 
 rows of bunks built onto the skin of the vessel 
 extended around the room. The captain 
 pointed out the lower one in front of the scut 
 tle, and right amidships : 
 
 "There !" he ejaculated, "that s the best bunk 
 for ard, and you ll have to fight to hold on
 
 A Whaling Yarn 5 
 
 when the Geezers find a green hand has made 
 fast to it." 
 
 "All right, sir, I can scrap," I said. 
 
 He looked at me with what I am sure was 
 appreciation in his shrewd, old, gray eyes, and 
 remarked : 
 
 "Well, you will have to whether you can, or 
 not. Now, have you got money for your sup 
 per and bed? You ll get breakfast aboard 
 after we re under way." 
 
 "Yes, sir," I answered. "I m all right, and 
 I ll be aboard at daylight in the morning." 
 
 Captain Zenas Bourne rolled up the street, 
 and left me to take care of myself. I leaned 
 against a post, and watched him pass out of 
 sight with a feeling in my heart, that whatever 
 might befall, that old man and I were going 
 to be good friends. 
 
 I was down at dawn the next morning, and 
 the dock alongside the Avola already began to 
 swarm with those interested in the sailing of 
 the whale ship. Captain Bourne, and his of 
 ficers, the first, second, third, and fourth mates, 
 were among the first. Then the sailors began 
 to string along, a motley crowd, some carrying 
 their kits in round-bottomed canvas bags on
 
 6 There She Blows 
 
 their shoulders, and others wheeling- their 
 donkeys on barrows borrowed from their 
 boarding masters. Most of them were Por 
 tuguese, of all shades of complexion from jet 
 black to light orange. Although the Old Man 
 recognised me with an approving nod, I felt 
 rather as though I was in a foreign country. 
 However, when the whole crew had arrived, 
 I found of the twenty individuals who com 
 posed it, one fifth, or four of us were Amer 
 icans. There was an old Yankee sea dog, a 
 young fellow from Vermont, a stalwart darky 
 from one of the Southern states, and myself. 
 
 Shortly after sun-up the mate took charge of 
 the deck, and men were sent aloft on the yards 
 to loosen the sails; then as the Avola s fasts 
 were cast off from the wharf, her canvas was 
 sheeted home. The second mate stood at the 
 wheel until she was fairly under way when 
 one of the able seamen was called to take it. 
 After a half hour in which all hands labored to 
 reduce the chaotic confusion about the decks 
 into something like order, the whole crew was 
 summoned to the quarter deck, and lined up 
 on the leeward side. This was for the purpose 
 of separating us into the starboard and port 
 watches. The captain is supposed to head the
 
 A Whaling Yarn 7 
 
 starboard watch, and the first mate the port, 
 although, as a matter of fact, the captain does 
 not stand any watch, the second mate perform 
 ing this part of his duty. A whaler s crew is 
 divided into boats-crews as well as watches, 
 and when the ceremony was through I found 
 Jonas, the Yankee sailor, and I were both in 
 the starboard watch, while Barker, the Ver- 
 monter, and George the darky were in the 
 mate s division. The Old Man, who also 
 nominally headed the starboard boat s crew 
 although he was not expected to lower except 
 in emergencies picked me to pull the after 
 oar. 
 
 After these preliminaries were arranged the 
 starboard watch was allowed to go to break 
 fast, and here I had a new experience. We 
 went below, and prepared for the meal by get 
 ting out our tin pots and pans. Shortly, 
 Slush, the cook, came forward to the forecastle 
 with a bucket on each arm. One of the Portu 
 guese sailors, a giant of a fellow, picked up a 
 small wooden tub from behind the steps and 
 standing directly under the hatch allowed 
 Slush to fill it from his buckets. I was on my 
 donkey in front of my bunk, pot and pan ready, 
 and watched what ensued with great interest.
 
 8 There She Blows 
 
 Jonas sat on his chest next me, and also looked 
 on apparently in some discontent at the read 
 iness of the big dago, whose name was Anton. 
 I must describe Jonas more particularly so you 
 will better understand the events which took 
 place in a short time. 
 
 He was of the traditional Yankee type ; sal 
 low-faced, with features which might have 
 been shaved to an edge with a draw knife. His 
 keen, wintry, blue eyes twinkled with humorous 
 intelligence, and lit up his quaint countenance. 
 In figure he was one of those tall, spindly-look 
 ing New Englanders who are so deceptive in 
 appearance. With his narrow and sloping 
 shoulders he seemed a fit subject for con 
 sumption, and who was to guess that his chest 
 was deep and thick, and his trunk round as a 
 barrel, while his seemingly fragile limbs had 
 the strength and elasticity of tempered steel. 
 I had seen all sorts in the gymnasiums in New 
 York, and divined something of the real man 
 under the covering of his uncouthness, but to 
 the dagoes the Yankee was a weakling and 
 according to forecastle ethics a good subject 
 for imposition. 
 
 The meal consisted of a large chunk of salt 
 beef, and about half a bushel of potatoes boiled
 
 A Whaling Yarn 9 
 
 with their skins on. A box one foot high and 
 two long called the bread barge, was filled with 
 hard tack, and completed the repast. Anton, 
 the big Portuguese, was evidently regarded 
 a man of weight among his shipmates. At 
 any rate, he assumed the leadership in fore 
 castle matters from the beginning, as was 
 shown by his so promptly getting out the mess 
 kid the small tub which serves as a platter 
 and receiving the food from the cook. As I 
 found out afterward, each watch ordinarily 
 agrees on a leader who is called "Captain of 
 the forecastle," and among his other functions 
 is that of partitioning the meals delivered, so 
 to speak, in bulk by Slush. 
 
 In short, Anton without qualifying had 
 taken upon himself the running of the fore 
 castle affairs of the watch, and the assumption 
 was approved by the rest of his compatriots. 
 Jonas knew, and realised all this, but although 
 I saw something was out of gear, I had only a 
 dim conception of the situation. But when 
 Anton had cut all the eatable portion of the 
 beef from the joint, and divided it among the 
 other Geezers and himself, and handed over 
 the remnants of gristle and bone to Jonas and 
 me, I was perfectly ready to back the Yankee
 
 io There She Blows 
 
 in the measures he promptly took to reorganize 
 the dago plan of campaign. He looked at me 
 inquiringly, and I suppose my face satisfied 
 him, for without more ado, or a word of ex 
 planation he reached over, and calmly ex 
 changed the contents of Anton s plate for the 
 bare bone allotted to him. The Portuguese 
 was so paralysed by the impudence of this tin- 
 looked for action that for a second he made no 
 motion of remonstrance, sitting in amazement 
 at the temerity of this insignificant-looking 
 heretic. But the eyes of his countrymen were 
 upon him, and he realised he must establish his 
 supremacy on the spot, or be unable forever 
 after. 
 
 He put down his plate, and the next moment 
 his huge black fingers closed around Jonas 
 scrawny throat. As he felt the clutch, Jonas 
 delivered the blow called an "upper cut" by 
 boxers, and caught Anton full on the square 
 point of his black chin. The Yankee s blow 
 was given with such unexpected and surprising 
 strength that the form of the giant Portuguese 
 struck the deck shoulders first. The next in 
 stant the other seven dagoes piled onto the 
 Yankee. I had begun to comprehend what 
 Jonas inquiring look at me meant, and it did
 
 A Whaling Yarn n 
 
 not take long for me to get into the battle. In 
 fact, I succeeded in stopping two of our as 
 sailants before they reached my ally. The 
 first one I got a full swing at, and hit him so 
 hard under the ear that he went over almost as 
 limply as Anton. The second got hold of me 
 before I had a chance to strike, but I butted 
 him full in the face, and he sat down on a 
 donkey, and tried to hide his head in his arms. 
 And now Jonas started to work, and it was 
 evident he was an artist. The first fellow who 
 got to him he grasped below the hips, and with 
 a quick swing catapulted him over his head, 
 and into the bunk behind. This man did not 
 attempt to come out again during the scrim 
 mage, and this only left us four to deal with. 
 Two of them, however, were cunning enough 
 to drop, and seize the Yankee s knees and feet, 
 and I knew that the others would have kicked 
 him the instant he was down. I did my best 
 to stop that game by giving the biggest a tre 
 mendous crack in the eye that must have made 
 him see a good many stars, for he hallooed out 
 something in Portuguese, and started up the 
 scuttle steps to the deck. It did not appear to 
 make any difference to Jonas whether he was 
 standing up, or lying down; he apparently
 
 12 There She Blows 
 
 fought just as viciously in one posture as the 
 other, and the way he mauled those two poor 
 dagoes who had thought they were going to get 
 him at their mercy, was surprising. At last 
 he got an opportunity he had been manoeuvring 
 for, and gave the most troublesome one a kick 
 in the stomach that hurled him senseless 
 against the after bulkhead. 
 
 The fight was over, although I could hardly 
 realise it. It had not taken two minutes for 
 us to whip the whole watch, for the ones who 
 remained capable, had no desire to continue 
 hostilities. Now I became aware for the first 
 time that the hatchway was filled with excited 
 faces. The next instant they all melted away, 
 and the rock-hewn features of Captain Bourne 
 appeared. After squinting down, he called 
 out sharp and stern : 
 
 "Below there! Are you through scrap- 
 ping?" 
 
 "Aye, aye, sir!" replied Jonas and I simul 
 taneously. 
 
 "Then pile out here, the starboard watch! 
 I want to see you all aft."
 
 CHAPTER TWO 
 
 "THE starboard watch filed aft, and paraded 
 1 on the lee quarter. We did not look as 
 shipshape as half and hour before. Jonas and 
 I, except that our clothing was in rags, turned 
 up all right, but it was easy to see that the 
 Portuguese were in bad shape. The Old Man 
 walked down the line scrutinizing each indi 
 vidual keenly until he had thoroughly mastered 
 the condition of affairs. He considered a mo 
 ment while we stood uncomfortably watching 
 him. Then he began to speak : 
 
 "Men," he said, and his voice had a ring of 
 absolute authority I had not heard before. 
 "You ve begun this cruise with a good-sized 
 scrap among yourselves, but I am not going to 
 growl about it. I like a good fight myself. It s 
 all right down in the forecastle, and lets out the 
 bad blood. It must not come on deck. If it 
 does, I ll take a hand, and you will find I can 
 keep the ball rolling pretty swift if you start 
 it going. One more word before you go for 
 ward. I said I like a scrap, but" here he
 
 14 There She Blows 
 
 glared up and down the line, "you must do 
 your fighting fair and sailor-like! I won t 
 have seven or eight of you piling on one. It 
 seems to me something of that sort happened 
 this morning, but you dagoes got all you 
 called for, and it served you right. Go for 
 ward!" 
 
 Away we went, Jonas and I in the lead, 
 chuckling to ourselves over this taste of the 
 Old Man s quality. There was no doubt that 
 fight, and his speech on top of it, made my ex 
 istence in the forecastle very different from 
 what it might have been. The watch resumed 
 its interrupted meal. One of the Portuguese 
 voluntarily shared his liberal portion of beef 
 with me, and Anton nibbled meekly at the bone 
 the doughty Yankee had dispensed as his share. 
 
 This was the beginning of my friendship 
 with Jonas. He promised he w r ould take 
 charge of my nautical education, and teach me 
 all about the rigging, and how to box the com 
 pass so that in a week or so I would know as 
 much as the average run of ordinary seamen. 
 And while we are on this subject I must de 
 scribe the Avola to you. 
 
 She was bark-rigged, that is, she had three 
 masts like a ship, but the fore and main masts
 
 A Whaling Yarn 15 
 
 carried square sails while the mizzen was fitted 
 with fore and aft canvas like a schooner. She 
 was a very old hull, and had originally been in 
 the West India trade, but forty or fifty years 
 before had been caught in a hurricane, and all 
 the sticks blown out of her. The hulk had 
 been bought by some enterprising New Bed 
 ford man, and, after refitting, turned into a 
 whaler. She was said to be soaked with sperm 
 oil from stem to stern, and that preserved her 
 from falling to pieces with dry rot, like the 
 "One Hoss Shay" Doctor Holmes described 
 about the time the Avola must have been built. 
 For the rest, she was blunt-bowed, and no 
 sailor, but comfortable in a sea way. She 
 carried four whaleboats, and it took our 
 large crew to man them all. The whaling 
 craft of those days scorned such devices as 
 patent blocks, and double topsails, or the more 
 modern donkey engine to help out in the heavy 
 drags, but put their reliance on the number of 
 the crew, and main strength. To wind up she 
 was of 373 tons burden. 
 
 What was rare even in those days the old 
 hooker had a flush deck from the taffrail to the 
 chocks in the bow only interrupted by the try 
 works abaft the foremast, and the galley
 
 16 There She Blows 
 
 further aft, and Jonas told me that if she had a 
 topgallant forecastle and poop deck, she could 
 not have sailed a knot an hour in a fair gale, 
 and the best she could do now was not over six. 
 He said she had been built by the mile, and 
 sawed off to order. 
 
 We had a brisk and steady breeze that al 
 lowed us to lay our course, and all hands were 
 kept on deck the balance of the day to stow 
 the loose odds and ends in place, and get things 
 in shipshape order. I stuck close to Jonas, 
 and picked up all the information I could. 
 Whenever we had a leisure moment, which was 
 not often, he coached me on the names of the 
 ropes that hung and trailed everywhere. He 
 was an A. B. himself; and as I found out after 
 ward, could have dismantled the bark and set 
 up her rigging taut as ever, and not been puz 
 zled by the problem. He told me he hailed 
 from Gloucester and had worked with the fish 
 ing fleet as a boy, afterwards sailing deep 
 water out of New York for some years. Then 
 when he had got a taste of blubber hunting, he 
 had never been able to detach himself from it. 
 
 I became acquainted with the officers during 
 the day, and I may as well describe them, for 
 you will often meet them. The mate was a
 
 A Whaling Yarn 17 
 
 tall, well-built man of thirty years. Jonas 
 told me he had the reputation of being as good 
 a seaman as ever slapped the deck with his 
 foot, but he had a bad temper. One voyage 
 he had been promoted to master through the ac 
 cidental death of the captain, and had used his 
 crew so badly he had been imprisoned when he 
 brought the ship into port. The Yankee 
 thought we were as well off not to be in his 
 watch, as he was apt to make trouble with his 
 men. 
 
 "However," concluded Jonas, "the Old Man 
 will attend to him if he gets gay. They don t 
 none of em want to fall foul of old uncle Zene !" 
 
 I looked up as he called the captain by this 
 name, and the Yankee laughed at my puzzled 
 expression, and explained that was his common 
 nickname ashore and afloat. 
 
 Mr. Stoddard, the second mate, who headed 
 our watch, was a man of different make-up. 
 He weighed about two hundred and fifty 
 pounds, and appeared fat, but he was in reality 
 a mass of brawn and muscle, and wonderfully 
 spry for his size. He was said to be one of the 
 best whalemen in the fleet, and a good fellow in 
 every way. 
 
 The third officer was Mr. Fletcher, a darky,
 
 1 8 There She Blows 
 
 and an efficient sailor-man. Mr. Morrison, a 
 Blue-nose from Nova Scotia, winds up the roll 
 as fourth mate. I came to know him very well 
 later on, and he was a man to tie to. 
 
 At two o clock, four bells shipboard time, 
 Captain Bourne called out to me as I stood with 
 Jonas forward of the try works : 
 
 "Lay aft here, you, Ned!" was what he said, 
 and his tone left no doubt on my mind he meant 
 me to come on the run. That was what I did, 
 and when I reached the wheel where he was 
 standing, he said as peremptorily to Big Anton 
 who had the trick: 
 
 "Go forward, you !" 
 
 The Portuguese dropped the spokes as if they 
 were red hot, and went as rapidly as I had 
 come. 
 
 "Now, you Long Island greeny," said Uncle 
 Zene, "I m going to give you a lesson in steer 
 ing. Can you box the compass ?" 
 
 "No, sir," I replied, "but I ll be able to this 
 time to-morrow." 
 
 "See that you do," he growled good-natur 
 edly. "Well, never mind the compass to-day 
 then. Do you see the corner of that sail ?" and 
 he indicated it with his gnarled old forefinger. 
 "That s the weather clew of the mainsail. You
 
 A Whaling Yarn 19 
 
 keep it lifting. Feel her with the spokes! A 
 little more to starboard ! I suppose you know 
 starboard means right, you numskull? Now 
 to port ! Keep feeling her !" 
 
 And so he kept on to my surprise and grat 
 itude, in a gruff, authoritative way, but with a 
 direct clearness that soon gave me confidence. 
 I caught on so quickly that his grim features 
 became quite amicable, and at last he conde 
 scended to say as though he was admitting too 
 much : 
 
 "You re a good deal of a lubber, Ned, but I 
 guess after awhile we ll manage to make a 
 sailor-man of you. Who started that scrap 
 down below this morning? And what was it 
 about?" 
 
 He sprung these two questions at me as a 
 cat pounces on a mouse. I hesitated one mo 
 ment, but reflecting that it could not do any 
 body any harm, I related the story exactly as it 
 occurred. He listened with interest, and nod 
 ded in a satisfied way when I had finished. 
 
 "Yes," lie commented, "that s about how I 
 thought it happened. That Jonas seems to be 
 a pretty handy man, don t he? You have got 
 to keep your end up at sea. If you don t, you 
 go up yourself. You tie to Jonas, and learn the
 
 2O There She Blows 
 
 ropes as soon as you can. Go aloft every 
 chance you get, and don t be on the hind rattlin. 
 Now get forward to your work again, and send 
 Anton aft to the wheel." 
 
 Mr. Morrison and the Yankee were working 
 together making a long splice as I carried my 
 message to Anton, and the former called me to 
 them : 
 
 "What was the Old Man saying to you, Ned? 
 Do you know, you kind of favor him," he add 
 ed, looking at me curiously, "same gray eyes, 
 and long, undershot chin! What did he say?" 
 
 "He seemed to be curious about the scuffle in 
 the forecastle," I answered. "And I told him 
 the whole story." 
 
 "That s what you want to do if he asks you 
 anything," remarked the fourth mate, who 
 seemed to know and appreciate uncle Zene. 
 "He won t question you if it ain t right." 
 
 "I am sure of that," I replied heartily. 
 "He s a good man !" 
 
 "None better!" agreed Morrison and Jonas.
 
 CHAPTER THREE 
 
 T FOUND the Avola was to run to about the 
 latitude of the Western Islands, and then 
 south, parallel to the eastern coast of Africa. 
 Things quieted down the first week we were at 
 sea, and we had no more such lively days as the 
 first one out of port. Everything was snugged 
 up and stowed away, and the men made the ac 
 quaintance of each other and the officers, and, 
 in short, we got into running order just like 
 any other machine. We had good weather too, 
 although this was the month of October, and we 
 were, Mr. Morrison told me, liable to run into 
 a gale any time. 
 
 Masthead lookouts were sent aloft before we 
 were fairly out of sight of the dock, and the 
 second day I stood my trick at the fore-royal 
 with Jonas. This was an experience that took 
 me some time to get accustomed to. A heavy 
 rope becket the size of a man s body is made 
 fast to the butt of the royal mast, the height of 
 your waist above the futtock shrouds and the 
 lookout stands with his feet upon the latter, and 
 
 21
 
 22 There She Blows 
 
 his body through the former, about ninety feet 
 above the deck. It may seem perfectly calm 
 down below, but when you are up there the 
 slightest whisper of breeze roars like a tempest 
 in the ears of the green hand. And then the 
 motion! Possibly only a gentle see-saw on 
 deck but at the royal masthead you sway in an 
 arc thirty or forty feet wide, and when there is 
 really a heavy sea on, it takes a seasoned sailor 
 to stand it. I was never a bit qualmish as 
 far as sea-sickness goes from the beginning, 
 but I confess I spent a dizzy and uncomfortable 
 two hours there the first time I did masthead 
 duty. Afterwards I became so used to it that I 
 really enjoyed the swing from starboard to 
 port. And the outlook was magnificent. It 
 was the first time I ever got a full and satis 
 factory idea of the ocean, although I had often 
 seen it from the shore, being a Long Islander. 
 But hanging up there in mid air with our boat 
 the only speck on that waste of living water, 
 was a sight to remember and make you feel 
 pretty small and lonely. As masthead duty is 
 of vital importance on a whaling ship, two offi 
 cers also stand lookout at the main royal, so 
 there are always during the daylight four sharp 
 pairs of eyes on the watch for Leviathan if he
 
 A Whaling Yarn 23 
 
 shows his head or rather his hump above 
 water. 
 
 It happened I was the first on board the 
 Avola to "raise whales," as sighting them from 
 the masthead is termed. We were ten days out 
 and the weather looked threatening. As I left 
 the wheel, at which I was now taking my reg 
 ular trick, to go to my masthead lookout, I 
 heard the Old Man tell Mr. Stoddard that the 
 barometer was falling, and to look out for 
 squalls. Ragged, black clouds were scurrying 
 across the sky, and often shutting out the sun as 
 I climbed the rattlings to the masthead. Jonas 
 came up ahead of me, and as he was settling 
 himself in the bight of the sling he said to 
 me: 
 
 "If I know anything about North Atlantic 
 weather we re going to have a nasty bit of 
 a storm before many hours are over." 
 
 "I suppose a storm at sea must be exciting," 
 I remarked. "I never saw one." 
 
 "Well, you ll see plenty before you re 
 through this voyage, Ned," he returned. 
 
 As I gazed about I could perceive that the 
 waves were growing larger and more turbulent, 
 and beginning to break into foam at their 
 crests. As I made this reflection I espied an
 
 24 There She Blows 
 
 unusually big patch of white water about three 
 miles away that did not resemble the other 
 waves, and close beside it there appeared a 
 black spot, and then something that looked like 
 a jet of steam shot into the air. I suspected 
 at once it was a whale, but fearing to sound a 
 false alarm and be laughed at, I pointed it out, 
 and said quietly, though my heart was beating 
 fast: 
 
 "Jonas, is that a whale?" 
 
 He caught it like a flash, and answered : 
 
 "Of course it is ! Sing out quick before the 
 officers catch on and get the credit." 
 
 "There she blows !" I yelled, and I think the 
 whale must have been deaf if he did not hear 
 me himself. 
 
 The next instant the captain who had been 
 below in the cabin, burst out of the after com 
 panion way without any coat or hat. In a 
 second he was in the waist, and nearly break 
 ing his neck in the effort to look aloft : 
 
 "Who raised them whales?" he hailed. 
 
 "Long Island Ned, sir," I called down. 
 That s what he had nicknamed me. 
 
 Before he had time to say any more, Mr. 
 Stoddard, at the main, who had got his binocu 
 lars to work, began to sing out, and the Old
 
 A Whaling Yarn 25 
 
 Man stiffened to an attitude of intense atten 
 tion: 
 
 "Thar she blows! Thar she blows! Thar 
 she blows ! Thar she w r hite waters !" 
 
 This last was a wailing screech, and the Old 
 Man called, his voice eager as a terrier s 
 whine : 
 
 "What do you make of him, Mr. Stoddard? 
 That sounds to me like sperm whale, sir !" 
 
 "It s a lone bull, sir! And sperm all right." 
 
 "Where away?" demanded the master. 
 
 "Two points off the lee bow, sir," returned 
 the second mate. 
 
 The captain faced the attentive man at the 
 wheel : 
 
 "Let her fall off!" he ordered. "Sing out 
 when we head right, Mr. Stoddard." 
 
 "Aye, aye, sir. Steady!" he roared, "steady 
 as she goes !" 
 
 And the Avola pointed straight at the lone 
 bull. 
 
 "Brace the main yard!" was the captain s 
 next order. 
 
 All hands were on deck now, having 
 swarmed up almost as promptly as the skipper, 
 and the yards came home with a swing. Then 
 the halliards were tautened up, and the old
 
 26 There She Blows 
 
 Avola started on her new course as fast as she 
 knew how. 
 
 "Steer small!" admonished uncle Zene as he 
 reached into the companion rack for the spy 
 glass to which he clung in preference to the 
 more modern binoculars. He adjusted its 
 lanyard around his sinewy neck, and mounted 
 the main rigging to the masthead like an ac 
 tive boy. The whale disappeared now, and 
 Jonas said he had sounded, but would come to 
 the surface again before long. I held my 
 breath and searched that stretch of black water 
 as though I was looking for gold. Again I 
 was the lucky one I guess I had the best eyes 
 and I caught the black spot and the mist 
 spray of the spout before the others : 
 
 "Thar she blows! Thar she blows! Thar 
 she blows !" 
 
 "Sperm whale!" yelled the Old Man. "Go 
 below you mastheads ! Stand by to lower the 
 boats!" 
 
 I was jumping with excitement, and the 
 blood seemed to be running up and down my 
 backbone as if a faucet was turned on in my 
 head. For once I was quicker than Jonas, 
 and I was out of my becket and getting down 
 the rigging as though the rattlings were
 
 A Whaling Yarn 27 
 
 greased. When I struck the deck, I made for 
 the after house on the keen run, with Jonas 
 close behind. Tom Morrison the fourth mate, 
 who headed the boat, was already there, and as 
 we arrived, he and Fayal Joe the boatsteerer 
 harpooneer he is called in books had the 
 painted canvas cover off the boat, and were 
 lifting the tubs of whale line into her: 
 
 "Where s your bread and water, Ned?" he 
 snarled. 
 
 Not that he meant to be ugly, but at this 
 supreme moment nobody stopped to oil phrases, 
 and besides, as after oarsman, it was my place 
 to fill a small canvas sack with hardtack, and a 
 keg with water which was taken along as a 
 precaution in case of the boat being acciden 
 tally kept from returning to the ship. That 
 was the secret of my haste in coming from aloft, 
 and without a word of reply except "Aye, aye, 
 sir !" I seized the bag and keg, and dropped to 
 the deck to fill them. I put the keg under the 
 faucet of the water butt, and set it running, 
 and then filled my breadsack, so that the two 
 operations were going on at once. Not only 
 I, but every member of the crew seemed to be 
 shod with quicksilver, and in an incredibly 
 short period of time the boats were ready to
 
 28 There She Blows 
 
 go in the water, and their crews stood by them 
 awaiting the next word from the captain. 
 
 This detail that is so long to describe did 
 not probably take over five minutes, but you 
 must remember that all the time the Avola was 
 bowling down the wind toward the whale, and 
 he was headed our way, so that in what seemed 
 a breath of time, the Old Man s voice came 
 down from aloft: 
 
 "Below there?" 
 
 "Aye, aye, sir !" answered the mate. 
 
 "Stand by to lower away. Lower away!" 
 
 The men at the boat tackles bowsed, the 
 boats were pushed overboard as they swung 
 free; the boatsteerer leaped in the bow to at 
 tend to unhooking the tackle, and the officer 
 into the stern sheets. 
 
 "Surge on those falls !" was the order. 
 
 The boats fell smoothly and swiftly to the 
 surface of the water, the others members of 
 the crew scrambled over the side, and in some 
 miraculous way got safely on their thwarts. 
 They were not permitted to enter the boat be 
 fore it was afloat because these cockleshells are 
 built of the flimsiest material, and it is only 
 through the wonderful seamanship of the 
 whalers they endure the work they are forced
 
 A Whaling Yarn 29 
 
 to go through. The weight of the full crew in 
 the craft while it was swinging in the air would 
 buckle her up and take out the bottom. 
 
 I was on my thwart facing the fourth mate 
 about as soon as anybody, though I nearly went 
 overboard getting there. 
 
 "Pull all!" he ordered, as he passed the loom 
 of his steering oar through the becket that 
 gave him his purchase. We dropped our oars 
 in the water, and in a few strokes left the ship 
 behind : 
 
 "Avast pulling!" sung out Morrison. "Get 
 out that mast, and step it !" 
 
 The boat mast with the sail furled to it is 
 kept in the stern sheets with the butt end under 
 the after thwart, and the other projecting 
 astern. The tub oarsman, Jonas, who was 
 next to me, and I got it out in a jiffy. It was 
 passed forward, and through the hole in the 
 bow thwart into the cleat at the keel of the boat. 
 The next instant the gaskets were cast off, the 
 sheet passed aft to the fourth mate, and as the 
 halliards were tautened, the sail caught the 
 wind. The boat started ahead like a skittish 
 horse, but Morrison was not satisfied with our 
 rate of speed, and 
 
 "Pull all!" was the order.
 
 30 There She Blows 
 
 Out came the ash blades in the rowlocks 
 again, and we swept over the wave like an al 
 batross. It was hard work and quick, jerky 
 pulling, for the impetus that the sail gave made 
 me look out pretty sharp that I did not catch a 
 crab. I recognised the danger even before the 
 fourth mate said calmly : 
 
 "Long Island Ned, if you catch a crab, I ll 
 knock your head off!" 
 
 Beyond that possibility the consequences 
 would have been dire, I being the after oars 
 man. I think Morrison just meant to brace 
 me up with the threat, although he was a very 
 earnest man, and little given to fooling when 
 he had business on hand. 
 
 The boatsteerer pulls the forward oar in the 
 whaleboat, and it being his duty to throw the 
 harpoon, he thus becomes the harpooner. On 
 board ship he is called the boatsteerer because 
 after he has made fast to the whale with the 
 harpoon, or "iron," he comes to the stern, and 
 steers the boat, while the officer occupies his 
 station forward, and kills the whale with the 
 lance. Fayal Joe, a Portuguese from the 
 Azores, steered the starboard boat. He was 
 a tall, long-geared chap, and I had heard it 
 was his first voyage in that capacity.
 
 A Whaling Yarn 31 
 
 In rowing we had our backs to the whale, 
 and as no one under Morrison s eye considered 
 it healthy to look over his shoulder, we could 
 not see how quickly we were coming on the 
 quarry. But the fourth mate s face was as 
 plain to read as a telltale compass, and not 
 five feet distant from mine as he stood at his 
 steering oar. His deep blue eyes glowed over 
 the water in front, and his figure crouched as I 
 imagine a wild beast contracts itself before the 
 spring which pulls down its prey. As I watch 
 ed he set his teeth, and his eyes became like 
 coals, and I knew we were nearing that lone 
 bull. A moment more, and he leaned far for 
 ward, as if he were reaching out with his body, 
 and shouted: 
 
 "Stand up, Joe!" 
 
 Fayal Joe put the end of his oar in the cleat, 
 and rose to his feet in the bow of the boat. As 
 he put his knee in the slot in the fore sheets 
 called the clumsy cleat, he reached over and 
 picked up his " iron," or harpoon, which he 
 had previously laid ready to his hand. 
 
 Teak your oars! Get your paddles!" or 
 dered Morrison. 
 
 The result of this order was to bring the 
 crew paddle in hand, sitting on the gunwale
 
 32 There She Blows 
 
 and facing the whale. As I expected there 
 was the bull not fifty yards away and bound 
 past us, broadside on. His huge black head, 
 several feet above the crisping waves, was 
 plainly in sight, and thirty feet further back his 
 hump arose making an inky island in the sea. 
 I did not have time to wonder for the fourth 
 mate said quietly he was calmer now the 
 climax had arrived : 
 
 "Stand by to take in the sail!" He added: 
 "Joe, I m going to put you right against that 
 fellow." 
 
 I had my eye on the boatsteerer s face as he 
 spoke, and I thought I saw a hint of uncer 
 tainty in its expression. But if my suspicion 
 were right he must have quickly regained his 
 resolution. It seemed to me we passed those 
 few yards of water that separated the boat and 
 the whale with magical quickness, for in a 
 twinkle as I involuntarily braced my body to 
 withstand the shock of contact, the nose of the 
 boat came with a soft, solid chug against the 
 side of the whale, just abaft the fin. I saw 
 Fayal Joe s long arms sway aloft with the iron, 
 and as the keen point came down piercing the 
 side of the bull, I heard Morrison s steady, 
 authoritative voice, saying:
 
 A Whaling Yarn 33 
 
 "Clue up there! Knock that mast down! 
 Steady, lads !" 
 
 While this was doing Joe had thrown his 
 second or "preventer iron." We had got the 
 sail rolled and the mast down and stowed, 
 when Morrison s voice came again, and this 
 time with startling emphasis: 
 
 "Starn all! Starn all, for your lives!"
 
 CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 great bull whale, when it felt the prick 
 of the iron, had suddenly arrested his on 
 ward course, and a thrill ran through his frame 
 that turned the sea water into foam. Then he 
 began "milling," as the whalers call it, and 
 steadily revolved on his axis, as one might say, 
 until his flukes, twenty feet from corner to 
 corner, came with smooth velocity under the 
 bow of the whaleboat. It was then that the 
 fourth mate gave his warning cry to stern all 
 away from the advancing peril. There was no 
 need to urge us to push hard on our oars. I 
 never worked more willingly in my life than 
 I did right there. Luckily we caught the water 
 together with the blades of our oars, and the 
 light boat glided away from the impending 
 catastrophe as fleetly as a birchen canoe. Even 
 as we drew out of danger that tremendous tail 
 arose with the easy strength of a mighty en 
 gine, churning the brine into soap suds, and 
 waved aloft, an immense black signal of dis 
 tress, almost over our heads. 
 
 34
 
 TUTS \VK I. AY MOORKI) IN SECURITY, THROl dl TIIK LIVE-LONG 
 NIGHT. 
 
 See Chapter IV.
 
 A Whaling Yarn 35 
 
 "Not this time!" remarked the cool officer, 
 with a smile at me, as the boat drew still further 
 away. "Ah," he added, "there go flukes !" 
 
 The other boats had been outstripped by 
 ours, and were just now coming to the scene 
 when we were "fast," and the whale had gone 
 down. We had scored a clean beat on them 
 and Morrison was in high spirits and smiling 
 at the other officers as they ranged along side. 
 In the meantime the line was sizzling out of the 
 chocks in the bow of our boat, and leading 
 straight down into the sea. The fourth mate 
 had picked up a bight as it ran out of the tub, 
 and thrown a deft turn around the loggerhead 
 in the stern sheets, used as a snubbing post. 
 All hands in the starboard boat sat facing for 
 ward, oars peaked, and ready to haul in as soon 
 as the bull completed his perpendicular dive. 
 A whale of this size Morrison said in high 
 glee he would try out at least a hundred bar 
 rels will frequently remain under water a half 
 hour or even longer before being forced to 
 come to the surface again to breathe. Of 
 course, you know a whale is a full-blooded 
 animal like a hippopotamus or a cow, and must 
 fill its bellows sooner or later, or drown. I sat 
 there and watched the line run out; it whizzed
 
 36 There She Blows 
 
 from the tub to where the fourth mate held it 
 down, now with a round turn about the logger 
 head for more than half had disappeared 
 and as it smoked away from the tough oak it 
 writhed and curled forward between the oars 
 men to the chocks, where Joe stood with an eye 
 on the boat hatchet in case something fouled 
 and it became necessary to cut. As Morrison 
 bore down with more strength that smoothly 
 running line smoked in the chocks as well as at 
 the snubbing post, and the drag of it made the 
 boat fairly squat in the water under the tremen 
 dous strain. If it snarled as it came out of the 
 flemish coil in the tub, and snared a man in one 
 of those bights, it w r ould snatch him a hundred 
 feet beneath the surface of the deep in the 
 twinkling of an eye if it had not cut him in 
 two before he reached there. Morrison sat and 
 smiled happily, and bore down harder on the 
 line that seemed to lead straight to perdition 
 as I realised our peril. 
 
 Then to my great relief the whizzing streak 
 began to lead out and away from the nose of 
 the boat. The officer showed his teeth like a 
 school boy at play, and said cheerfully : 
 
 "He s coming up, Ned. Now you ll see some 
 fun ! Lay aft here, Fayal Joe."
 
 A Whaling Yarn 37 
 
 He passed lightly forward on the starboard 
 side of the boat, and Joe came aft on the port. 
 The line was not running so rapidly now, and 
 by the time the fourth mate had his lances laid 
 out for ready use the strain on the boat had 
 ceased. The lances have a blade sharp as a 
 razor, and a wrought iron shank six feet or 
 more long, with a wooden shaft to give grasp 
 to the hand and accuracy to the dart. They 
 are a deadly weapon in the hand of a skilful 
 whaleman, and sometimes a single dart will 
 penetrate to the life of the colossal animal, and 
 send it in its death flurry. 
 
 And now as the line became less tense, and 
 led out horizontally, Morrison ordered: 
 
 "Haul in the slack, lads !" 
 
 "Aye, aye, sir !" 
 
 The four men ahead of me did the work; it 
 was my duty to coil it down in the stern sheets 
 between me and Fayal Joe, and I was particular 
 that the bights should be laid so they would run 
 out clear in case the bull, as sometimes hap 
 pened, took a notion to sound again. I made 
 each bight overlap another so it could not foul, 
 and Joe looked on with approval. Morrison 
 was too busy watching for the whale to break 
 water to notice my scrupulous care and any-
 
 38 There She Blows 
 
 how it was not his place but Joe s to attend to 
 this detail. 
 
 In came the line, and then I heard a noise 
 like a small dam breaking loose and Joe whis 
 pered : 
 
 "Thar she breaks water!" 
 
 I looked, and saw the green sea creaming 
 over the square snout and wicked jaws of the 
 bull, as it rose from the depths. The upper 
 head, or "junk," as whalemen call it, is a huge 
 mass of flesh in size and shape like a box car, 
 while the lower, which contains a glistening 
 array of big ivory teeth, was comparatively 
 thin. This terrible head reared itself to a 
 height of about twenty feet; then the rest of 
 the body appeared, and it lay before us in full 
 view, not forty feet away. I was glad we were 
 well abaft the fin and nearer the tail than the 
 head. Later I discovered that many blubber 
 hunters prefer to take a whale head on. It did 
 not seem to make any difference to Morrison. 
 He cast a glance at us over his shoulder as he 
 raised his lance, and said softly, as though he 
 were afraid of disturbing, or "galleying" the 
 bull: 
 
 "Haul, you sons of guns ! Haul hard, now !" 
 
 The line came in hand over hand, and I coiled
 
 A Whaling Yarn 39 
 
 away like mad, not forgetting to overlay in my 
 haste. Then the officer said : 
 "Assez! Avast hauling!" 
 The boat continued to glide ahead; the bull 
 was thirty feet away ; twenty ! Morrison poised 
 his lance in air and hurled it at the black side 
 of the monster. It struck close behind the fin, 
 sunk through the tough blubber like a sharp 
 knife cutting cheese, and penetrated deep into 
 his vitals. The gigantic frame gave a convul 
 sive shudder, and as a shower of bloody spray 
 came out of his spout hole, Fayal Joe yelled : 
 "You ve got him, sir. You touched his life !" 
 The fourth mate was hauling back his lance 
 by the thin warp, and viewing the bull contem 
 platively. Suddenly he passed the lance butt 
 under the harpooneer thwart, and roared as he 
 hastily sat down to the oar: 
 
 "Starn all, you blamed fools ! Starn all !" 
 His quick eye had caught some indication, 
 invisible to us, that the whale was going into 
 his flurry, and nothing but his rapid energy 
 saved the bacon of that boat s crew. Promptly 
 as we obeyed the order, we had not driven the 
 boat five lengths before Leviathan apparently 
 stood on his head and swung those flukes 
 around in every direction, with a colossal
 
 4O There She Blows 
 
 strength and mad energy that made a Niagara 
 of the sea, and raised waves almost swamping 
 us as we dug stoutly to increase our distance 
 from this maelstrom bent on annihilating us. 
 Next the monster started an insane race in a 
 circle a hundred yards in diameter, and 
 threshed around with a tumultuous velocity 
 that was even more terrifying than his first 
 performance. We did not waste time, but con 
 tinued to back water until we finally reached a 
 calmer zone, and then at Morrison s silent ges 
 ture, lay on our oars. I don t want to be hifal- 
 utin, but there was something tremendous and 
 elemental in that spectacle. This magnificent 
 animal, a hundred feet long, and endowed with 
 physical strength and vitality to roam the illim 
 itable seas unconquered for centuries, wiped 
 out by a handful of New Bedford sailors for the 
 purpose of supplying oil to the lamps of New 
 England farmers. His prodigious power had 
 been overcome in a moment s struggle, and this 
 last Cyclopean exhibition of aimless fury was 
 his dumb protest against the inevitable Law, 
 that all Nature must submit to the dominion of 
 Man. 
 
 The dying struggle did not endure long. We
 
 A Whaling Yarn 41 
 
 could see his energy failing; his mad rush be 
 came slower and slower, and 
 
 There he goes, belly up!" said the fourth 
 mate. 
 
 A last slap on the water with his flukes sent 
 the spray high in air and he rolled over on his 
 back, washing about in the salt surge, a mere 
 carcase to be cut up and tried out at our will. 
 
 I began to pay some attention to other things 
 than the whale. In the first place I missed the 
 rest of the boats, and found they were half way 
 between us and the Avola, which lay about four 
 miles to leeward under reefed topsails. They 
 had returned to the ship and left us alone to 
 fight it out, which I suppose was good whaling, 
 but seemed to me very unsympathetic. Now 
 I became aware the weather had changed for 
 the worse. The wind had risen and was howl 
 ing keenly cold about our ears, while the sky 
 seemed close down upon the face of the waters, 
 and was filled with scurrying clouds that had 
 ragged and wind torn edges, and were of the 
 color of greasy ink. I noted we lay about fifty 
 feet from the dead whale we had hauled up on 
 the line and our boat seemed to be in com 
 paratively smooth water, while the surface of
 
 42 There She Blows 
 
 the sea that environed us had become a tur 
 bulent mass of foam. Short waves leaped and 
 threw their spiteful crests toward the heavens, 
 and at intervals a mountainous wave would 
 swallow up all the little ones in its rush. The 
 fourth mate had not failed to see all this, and 
 now he said : 
 
 "Get for ard here, Joe. I guess I had better 
 take that steering oar." 
 
 The whale boat is only about thirty feet long, 
 and this steering oar projects astern half its 
 length, giving the man who holds it such ready 
 control he can shift the nose of the light craft 
 in a moment to any point of the compass, or in 
 fact, almost turn it on its axis. This is one of 
 the factors of the whaleboat s miraculous sea 
 worthiness ; the steadiness and judgment of the 
 man who grips the handle is the other. It never 
 occurred to me to question our safety while 
 Tom Morrison was at the butt of that steering 
 oar, and apparently the rest of the boat crew 
 like me cast the responsibility on him, and did 
 not worry but that he would keep us out of 
 trouble. 
 
 Tom did not seem to think there was any 
 unusual call upon his powers, and w r ent right 
 on about his business the same as always. We
 
 A Whaling Yarn 43 
 
 pulled up to the carcase and flagged it, that is 
 put a steel-shod pole with a small flag on the 
 other end, into the blubber. This, I took it, 
 was more a point of etiquette than from any 
 fear it would get adrift, and some one else claim 
 it as their prize. Then after another survey of 
 the ship, and the sky to windward, he settled 
 himself comfortably in the stern sheets and re 
 marked to us : 
 
 "Well, lads, I reckon we re in for a night of 
 it. I don t calculate the old bark is weatherly 
 enough to beat up to us in this slant of wind, 
 and it looks as if it would blow some harder 
 before long. It s just as well we ve got the 
 slick of this sperm whale to lie in, for I don t 
 believe the Avola can get to us before morning, 
 if she does then." 
 
 This slick he mentioned seemed to me like 
 a special interposition of Providence in our be 
 half, but I knew later that it was a fact always 
 taken advantage of by the hardy whale hunters 
 of the North Atlantic, and often tempted them 
 to lower away when it would have seemed a 
 mad undertaking to less adventurous souls. 
 That huge mass of the whale s body, weighing 
 as nearly as one can estimate from thirty to 
 sixty tons, and coated over all with blubber
 
 44 There She Blows 
 
 which is nothing more than an integumental tis 
 sue filled with almost fluid fat from six to 
 fifteen inches thick, exudes oily matter enough 
 to still the turbulency of the waves to a great 
 extent. It, the slick, covered in the present 
 instance a surface of perhaps a couple of thou 
 sand square feet right in the lee of the dead 
 whale, and this was our Port of Safety. 
 
 Thus we lay moored in security with the 
 wind shrieking, and occasionally a terrific 
 snow squall howling down upon us, through 
 the live-long night. I did not close my eyes, 
 but some of the crew actually curled up on their 
 thwarts and took catnaps. Morrison s hand 
 never left the loom of the steering oar, but his 
 fostering watchfulness was apparently not 
 needed, for the staunch, well-modelled, honest 
 ly-built little craft rode as safely under the lee 
 of the carcase as if it were in a quiet mill pond. 
 
 Shortly before dawn the gale moderated, and 
 the air grew colder. The wind, Morrison told 
 me, had shifted several degrees to the north 
 ward, and we might look to see the old Avola 
 somewhere in the neighborhood by day break. 
 Then the stars, which had shone fitfully among 
 the clouds, began to grow paler and a mist 
 appeared along the eastern horizon. This kept
 
 A Whaling Yarn 45 
 
 growing whiter and extending further around 
 the rim of the heavens, and finally scintillating 
 gold rays shot through its heart. The sky 
 above was tinted as with a slow brush in pink, 
 and at last the upper edge of the sun s disk 
 appeared over the black surface of the ocean 
 and marked a dazzling yellow path on it. 
 
 The fourth mate stood up, and shading his 
 eyes with his hand, looked over the whale into 
 the eye of the wind. I rose and followed his 
 glance. Yes ! there was the bark bowling mer 
 rily along parallel to us, and about a mile and a 
 half away. She was evidently making a long 
 leg and a short one and would reach us on the 
 next tack. She looked mighty comforting to 
 me, and my heart warmed up to the old girl. 
 I guess the others, except Morrison little ex 
 periences of this sort seemed to have no effect 
 on him felt the same as I did.
 
 CHAPTER FIVE 
 
 ALL hands were on deck and ready for work 
 when we got on board again. The first 
 thing of course was to make our capture se 
 cure. We in the boat got a fluke chain around 
 its "small," that part of the body next the tail, 
 and passed it aboard through the hawse hole, 
 and it was made fast on the windlass. Then 
 the body lay along the ship s side, and the head 
 projected ten feet astern. The officers agreed 
 it was a large bull, and in prime condition. 
 They predicted it would try out a hundred and 
 fifteen barrels. 
 
 As we came over the side, a pretty tired lot, 
 the Old Man sung out : 
 
 "Mr. Haveron, get to work!" 
 
 "Starboard boat s crew get breakfast!" or 
 dered the mate. Then to the others: "Off 
 with the main hatch! Get out those cutting 
 tackles, and up aloft with them!" 
 
 While this was doing the cutting-in stage 
 was rigged at the waist. This is a very simple 
 affair, and consists of two twelve-foot planks
 
 A Whaling Yarn 47 
 
 thrust outboard from amidships. Another 
 plank of the same length is bolted to them at 
 the outer ends, and the whole steadied and 
 guyed by whips from aloft. A waist-high life 
 line is added for the safety of the officers, who 
 stand on it with their long-handled whaling 
 spades. We had hurried down our meal by 
 this time, and Mr. Stoddard and the fourth 
 mate rolled up their sleeves, took a spade 
 apiece, and went out on the stage. It w y as their 
 especial work because the starboard boat had 
 made the capture. 
 
 The whale was hauled forward until his neck 
 came under the staging, and Stoddard started 
 in to cut its head off. This was not an easy 
 job, for it must have been eleven or twelve feet 
 through. The spade has a handle twelve 
 feet long, with six-inch blade. He worked 
 away industriously until he was tired out, and 
 then Morrison took a hand at it. The carcase 
 was rolled or turned as they chopped to give 
 them better opportunity, and finally by muscle 
 and deftness combined they found the joint and 
 got the head free from the body. A line had 
 previously been attached, and it was allowed to 
 float astern for the nonce. 
 
 Next a transverse line was marked out in
 
 48 There She Blows 
 
 the blubber, and they got their spades under 
 neath a ten-foot strip, and loosened it up. The 
 huge cutting tackle was overhauled, and Fayal 
 Joe for he struck the bull put a life line 
 around his waist, and climbed down on the 
 slippery back of Leviathan. It took an active 
 and sure-footed man to stand on that greasy 
 black skin, and more than one shark was al 
 ready nosing around, but the nimble Portu 
 guese scrambled along to the strip and cut a 
 round hole in it with his keen boarding knife. 
 Then he reached out for the tackle block, and 
 hooked it in. This concluded his part of the 
 performance, and he got back on deck with 
 great celerity. The tackle fall had been car 
 ried forward to the old-fashioned windlass, and 
 the whole crew of foremast hands now manned 
 the brakes. 
 
 "Make a noise there ! Let s hear you !" the 
 Old Man called from the quarter, where he was 
 watching every step of the proceedings with 
 animated eyes. 
 
 Then Jonas, who it appeared, was the only 
 chantey man in the bunch, piped up: 
 
 "Oh, Shenandoah, I love thy waters !" 
 And the crew chimed in, led by Fletcher in a
 
 A Whaling Yarn 49 
 
 second bass, smooth as velvet, and deep as an 
 organ note: 
 
 "Oh, ho, my rolling river !" 
 The Yankee took up the strain again : 
 "I love the place where dwell thy daughters." 
 The thundering chorus came : 
 
 "Oh, ho, I m bound away 
 On the broad Missouri !" 
 
 The swing and rhythm of this was irresist 
 ible, and the brakes worked like mad. Up 
 came the great blanket strip from the rolling 
 body of the whale, the mates spading like 
 demons to free the blubber from the red flesh. 
 Haveron called : 
 
 "Two blocks!" 
 
 This meant the blocks of the tackle had come 
 together, so the second one was overhauled, 
 and Joe with his boarding knife made another 
 hole in the blanket the level of the rail, and 
 hooked the second tackle on. Then he cut the 
 strip across it so it freed the upper one, and 
 
 "Heave and surge!" was the order. 
 
 The fall tender let the first strip surge to the 
 deck as the second one mounted to the mast-
 
 50 There She Blows 
 
 head, while we continued our chantey. Three 
 men were taken from the windlass, and two of 
 them, armed with six-foot spades, started to 
 cut the blanket strip into horse pieces for the 
 mincing machine. The third used his sheath 
 knife to clear the red meat from the inside of 
 the blubber so it would not injure the quality 
 of the oil. 
 
 Working with vim and good will, as we all 
 did under the Old Man s eye, we soon skinned 
 that whale s carcase down to the small, which, 
 with the flukes, we heaved bodily in on deck. 
 Those formidable flukes reached from rail to 
 rail, and that was twenty-two feet, for I after 
 ward measured it myself. After this the head 
 was hauled up to the waist again and split 
 lengthwise into case and junk, the latter being 
 the upper part. A line was passed around it, 
 the cutting tackle hooked on, and it was bowsed 
 on deck, although it made the bark heel to the 
 wave before it reached there. 
 
 "Now," said Jonas, who was next me on 
 the brake beam, "look at this careful, Ned, and 
 you ll see something that land lubbers would 
 not believe." 
 
 This is what happened; the gang in the 
 waist secured that "case," or lower jaw, on
 
 A Whaling Yarn 51 
 
 end, and so the point was in the water and the 
 butt on a level with the rail. Fayal Joe 
 mounted it, dug in a bit with his knife, and then 
 took a narrow pail like a small well-bucket 
 from Stoddard, and began dipping oil out of 
 the hole he had made. 
 
 That s pure spermaceti," said Jonas, "and 
 worth about three dollars a gallon." 
 
 I counted the bucketsful after this, and Joe 
 filled it one hundred and fifty-seven times ; four 
 gallons to the bucket was six hundred and 
 twenty-eight gallons of spermaceti out of the 
 case. There is less than this in the junk, but it 
 is so full of oil you can squeeze it out like water 
 from a full sponge. 
 
 While I was digesting these facts Morrison 
 came forward and beckoned to me. When I 
 joined him he said: 
 
 "Stand by to help me get the fires started 
 in the try works." 
 
 These are a large brick furnace, containing 
 two iron kettles, built on the deck abaft the 
 foremast, leaving a four-foot gangway to port 
 and starboard to get by it. It is usually cov 
 ered with a tarpaulin, which we removed. A 
 large copper tank stood on the starboard side 
 into which the cooked oil was ladled to cool,
 
 52 There She Blows 
 
 and on the port was what he called a "scrap 
 cooler." While he was starting a blaze in the 
 firepits he told me to bring him some scraps, 
 pointing to this cooler. I lifted the cover and 
 found it filled with what looked like a lot of 
 mouldy, greasy dough nuts. They turned out 
 to be the crusts of the horse pieces after the 
 oil had been boiled out, and made a fuel of 
 wonderful quality, possessing almost complete 
 combustion, and giving intense heat. Thus 
 the unfortunate whale provides the fuel to boil 
 the oil out of his blubber, and the whaleman is 
 saved a serious item of expense. 
 
 The fires beginning to roar, we got out the 
 mincing machine, and lashed it handy to the 
 port pot. This is like an old-fashioned hay cut 
 ter and has a powerful knife, operated by a 
 heavy balance wheel, and man power, which 
 slices the horse pieces two feet long by one 
 high as evenly as a carver cuts ham, only 
 leaving the lower edge of piece untouched, so 
 it all hangs together, yet can be boiled com 
 pletely out. The men at work on the blankets 
 in the waist began to have a store of horse 
 pieces by this time, and they were being hauled 
 and shoved over to us with gaffs and pikes. 
 A man was called by Morrison to turn the
 
 A Whaling Yarn 53 
 
 wheel of the machine. As the minced horse 
 pieces came out of the mouth they dropped into 
 a tub from whence Morrison caught them 
 on a sort of a pitch fork, and flung them into 
 the pots; and then the fires were roaring, the 
 oil sizzling and the machine whirring at the 
 same time. 
 
 It is difficult to conceive the degree of slip- 
 periness and greasiness that marked our decks. 
 I think sperm oil must be the best lubricant 
 known to man, if the state of the Avola was 
 anything to go by. I am sure-footed as a cat, 
 but the way I slipped on that unaccustomed 
 surface made it dangerous to myself and 
 others for me to cross the deck. I was re 
 lieved to find that all were as bad as myself, 
 and the number of bruises we got from our 
 falls was astonishing. What was worse, we 
 cut ourselves frequently on the spades and 
 knives that seemed to be everywhere, and the 
 raw oil made nasty, running sores that were 
 difficult to get rid of. 
 
 It had been all hands on deck so far, but now 
 that the whale was cut in and his blubber 
 worked into horse pieces ready for the mincer, 
 the press of work was over, and the starboard 
 watch was sent below after dinner. When we
 
 54 There She Blows 
 
 turned to again at the first dog watch at four 
 o clock, I found the cooper, "Bungs," he was 
 nicknamed, hard at work setting up casks. We 
 had a lot of shocks and hoop iron between 
 decks, and whenever there was "an affair of 
 oil" it was Bungs to the front. 
 
 As both watches were now on duty again, 
 the decks were lippered up; the oil and grease, 
 and small bits of red meat that had been cut 
 from the blubber were gathered as thoroughly 
 as possible, and the decks given a hearty sluic 
 ing down. When we were through, it looked 
 less, and smelt less, like a dirty slaughter house 
 than it had done previously. We did not shift 
 our oil clothes meaning the soaked ones we 
 wore until the remainder of the blubber was 
 tried out. The casks containing the oil were 
 not stowed away for several days, for it was 
 necessary to watch and test them until danger 
 of leakage was past. 
 
 I had now seen an affair of oil from the 
 start to the finish, and began to feel, rather to 
 the derisive amusement of Jonas, like an old 
 blubber hunter. I must confess it was tough 
 work while it lasted, and that I felt a sense of 
 blessed relief when it was over and we had 
 returned to our regular routine.
 
 A Whaling Yarn 55 
 
 We were running down our southing now 
 parallel to the west coast of Africa, and had a 
 good deal of heavy weather, but the old Avola 
 turned out to be a mighty comfortable sea boat, 
 and I did not mind, except that I found stand 
 ing mast head in a gale of wind, or a storm of 
 sleet was no joke. However, I had discovered 
 by this time that unpleasant things have to be 
 endured, and that if you can summon the res 
 olution to grin at them you are doing no more 
 than most of your mess mates. When I come 
 to think of it, I realise I learned a good many 
 lessons on that cruise. One was to keep your 
 temper under difficulties, and to never stop 
 trying. 
 
 As we were doubling the Cape of Good Hope 
 we ran into the heaviest storm we had encoun 
 tered. We buffeted it, most of the time only 
 under a rag of try sail. For forty-eight hours 
 the old bark weltered along well-nigh under 
 water. In fact, the decks were awash and life 
 lines were rigged to prevent us being swept 
 over the rail. During this period the cook was 
 unable to keep a fire in his galley stove, and our 
 main food was hard tack. It was at this time 
 I learned a hearty man can relish, and even 
 digest, raw, fat salt pork on a pinch. I don t
 
 56 There She Blows 
 
 suppose I d care much for it to-day, but I recall 
 very clearly that it tasted good then, and so far 
 as I could see, it did not disagree with me. I 
 certainly was pretty well occupied those three 
 days, and did not give my digestive apparatus 
 much thought. 
 
 By the time we ran through that gale into 
 fair weather in the Indian ocean, our ship s 
 company was pretty shook down. We had not 
 had any more trouble in our watch in the fore 
 castle, anyhow, since that first scrap over the 
 division of the grub. There had been some 
 slight unpleasantness at first, but it wore ofT, 
 and the dagoes found that we "white men," as 
 we called ourselves in contradistinction to them, 
 were not bad fellows after all, if they did not 
 impose on us. For my part I discovered qual 
 ities in the Portuguese make-up that I had 
 never dreamed of. Of course, they were clan 
 nish, and ignorant, and superstitious, and 
 bigoted. But when you had gained their con 
 fidence it was yours forever, and they were or 
 dinarily good natured. I did some disgraceful 
 lobbying and managed to elect Jonas captain 
 of the forecastle. He made an ideal one, being 
 full of tact united to sound judgment, and pos-
 
 A Whaling Yarn 57 
 
 sessed ability to enforce his authority when 
 questioned. 
 
 The Old Man could not of course descend 
 very far from his quarter deck dignity, but he 
 made it evident to me that my conduct had his 
 approval. Tom Morrison and I had almost 
 become chums. Whenever he had an oppor 
 tunity to include me in his task he did so. He 
 was a zealous teacher, and I an ardent pupil, 
 and it came about that by the time we were 
 four months out I had become so proficient in 
 seamanship that I had little to learn from the 
 oldest sailor forward, and could readily have 
 rated as able seaman. Besides all this I was 
 healthy as a wild duck, and had not a single 
 regret for the easier life I had left behind in 
 New York.
 
 CHAPTER SIX 
 
 OUR passage across the Indian ocean was 
 uneventful. Being near the equator the 
 weather was warm, and we abandoned the 
 forecastle as a place of residence, using it only 
 to store our belongings. I took my mattress 
 every night to the top of the forward house, 
 the little uninclosed shed that covered the try 
 works. Up there under the stars, tasting the 
 fresh, briny breeze, I thought of how I used to 
 sleep in the confinement of a stuffy room, and 
 wondered at the restraints of a higher civiliza 
 tion. 
 
 In all this time we did not sight whales but 
 once, and they were far away and "shoved 
 junk" out of sight before we closed in on them. 
 The Old Man said they were wild and timid, 
 and acted as though they had been recently 
 hunted. There was really no work to do except 
 sail the vessel, but it is healthy shipboard rule 
 to keep the foremast hands busy, and the 
 officers displayed a surprising ingenuity in de 
 vising tasks to "work up our old iron." A 
 
 58
 
 A Whaling Yarn 59 
 
 quantity of ancient tarred hempen cable was 
 disinterred from the hold, and cut into five or 
 six-foot lengths. We separated these into 
 strands, and unlaid the rope-yarns. Then 
 Spinning Jenny was set up, and we spun in 
 numerable balls of marline, which were care 
 fully stowed away in the sail room for future 
 emergencies. Others of us manufactured the 
 raw material into sinnate, three-ply and five- 
 ply. When a sufficient store was accumulated, 
 other tasks, even less essential, were sought out 
 for us. I remember spending the better part 
 of a week scrubbing and polishing that copper 
 oil cooler with canvas and sand until I finally 
 brought it to a state of dazzling and entirely 
 unnecessary radiance. At the last we actually 
 got up the chain cables from the lockers, during 
 a tedious calm, ranged them neatly on deck in 
 the waist, and pounded the rust off with club 
 hammers. When we were through, it took us 
 half a day to scrub the deck clean again. 
 
 During that same calm I had an adventure 
 with sharks that made me careful ever after 
 about bathing from a ship at sea. The word 
 had been passed forward that during the sec 
 ond dog watch the men could go in bathing. It 
 was a dead calm, and a man was kept at the
 
 60 There She Blows 
 
 wheel merely for form. As we were preparing 
 for the plunge Captain Bourne said to us : 
 
 There may be sharks around, and I won t 
 insure your legs." 
 
 Then he called to Mr. Fletcher, who was 
 standing lookout at the main masthead : 
 
 "Keep a lookout for fins close in, Mr. 
 Fletcher. I can t afford to lose . any of the 
 men." 
 
 I have always been a good swimmer, and 
 found the rest were tyros alongside of me, so 
 I had to show off. It was nothing for me, with 
 my gymnasium experience, to run up the rig 
 ging, out on the top gallant yard arm, poise a 
 moment in mid air and then spring far out, 
 coming down and cleaving the water head first. 
 It took them all aback, and I had the after gang 
 at the rail watching and clapping their hands, 
 even to the Old Man. 
 
 The others soon had enough, and came out. 
 I took one last dive from the forward rail, and 
 made a reach out from the ship s side of ten or 
 twelve rods. As I turned to come back to the 
 Avola, Fletcher suddenly sung out from aloft : 
 
 "Swim hard, Ned, if you ever did! There s 
 a big blue shark out there, and I think he s onto 
 you."
 
 A Whaling Yarn 61 
 
 I heard Fletcher s warning cry plainly, and 
 it sent a chill to my heart. As I involuntarily 
 raised my body in the water to see where the 
 shark was, I heard the Captain roar : 
 
 "Starboard boat away!" 
 
 I could not see the shark, but lost no time 
 digging out at a racing pace toward the ship. 
 I could see the starboard boat in the water, 
 with the Old Man in the stern handling the 
 steering oar. The crew was made up of naked 
 men, and Tom Morrison himself had the after 
 oar. It did not seem a jiffy, though it was a 
 pretty anxious one, before the boat and I were 
 close together, and then the Captain threw his 
 hand up and yelled to me from forty feet away : 
 
 "Close behind you, Ned! Can you dodge 
 him?" 
 
 I turned in the water and saw the back fin of 
 the shark cutting the wave twenty feet away. 
 I was scared half out of my senses, of course, 
 but I did not seem to act more slowly on ac 
 count of the fact. I remembered, even at that 
 paralysing moment, that a shark has to turn 
 on his back to seize his prey. It seemed to me 
 he was on the point of doing this, but I sum 
 moned the nerve to wait the hundredth part 
 of a second to make sure, for I felt that was
 
 62 There She Blows 
 
 my only chance. That interval could only have 
 been an eye-wink, but it seemed an eternity of 
 time, and the upright fin moved nearer. Then, 
 hurrah ! his body gave a twist and I dived out 
 of sight, heading to the boat, actively as a 
 porpoise. 
 
 The next instant I rose on the other side, and 
 Morrison had my arm in his strong grasp 
 and was hauling me bodily aboard. While I 
 sat breathless on the thwart beside him, I saw 
 the baffled shark come up in his old posture 
 with a puzzled air, as if he wondered how in 
 the deuce I had managed to get away. 
 
 Sandalwood Island was the first land we 
 sighted since leaving New Bedford, except the 
 peak of Teneriffe. It was most refreshing to 
 my eyes to see the waves dashing on the white 
 beach, and the cocoanut groves, the trees look 
 ing like gigantic feather dusters wrong end up, 
 in the background. We coasted along about 
 three miles away, and had a fine view. Now 
 I felt that we were really in the South Seas of 
 Oceanica, that fabled region of romance that 
 had always excited my imagination. 
 
 A few days after losing sight of Sandalwood 
 Island we came into that maze called the Zoo- 
 loo seas. It is an archipelago, and we seemed
 
 A Whaling Yarn 63 
 
 hardly ever to get out of sight of land. If one 
 islet went hull down, another reared its head, 
 looking much like the last, in front of us. It 
 was evident we were not cruising, for we 
 steered a regular course, and the Old Man kept 
 a sharp eye on the after cabin telltale to see 
 that the helmsman held the Avola on it. If he 
 got dreamy and let her fall off a few points, 
 Uncle Zene was promptly on deck and inter 
 viewed him to his discomfiture. It was at this 
 time Tom Morrison let out to me that we were 
 bound for the Port of Kema, on the island of 
 Celebes, to refill our water casks, as the supply 
 of that important fluid was becoming in need of 
 replenishment. He had been there before, and 
 told me no white people lived there except a 
 Dutch Resident and a few traders, it being 
 under the rule of Holland. It was merely a 
 native village on an open roadstead. The 
 natives were a nice set of fellows, and we d 
 probably have a liberty day ashore. Shortly 
 after this conversation, a plaintive, long-drawn 
 howl came down from the man at the fore 
 masthead : 
 
 "Land, ho!" 
 
 The Captain, who was pacing the weather 
 quarter, looked up and observed to Mr. Have-
 
 64 There She Blows 
 
 ron, who leaned against the taffrail, cutting a 
 pipe-full of tobacco : 
 
 "That s the hill of Tchiboula, sir, to the left 
 of our anchorage ground. Brace the main 
 yard and give a pull on the halliards, and with 
 this breeze we ll sight the town in two hours." 
 
 "Aye, aye, sir! * answered the mate. Then 
 in a sharper tone: "Lay aft here, and brace 
 the main yard !" 
 
 The willing men sprang to the braces, and to 
 the cheerful "Make a noise there!" of the Old 
 Man, started a lively chantey and braced the 
 yards sharp to the wind. 
 
 "Main tops l halliards !" was the next order, 
 and soon we had every sail flat as a board and 
 had shaken a knot or two out of the old Avola. 
 
 Before the two hours were up we were close 
 enough to see the houses of the beautiful little 
 village. It lay nestled among the trees at the 
 base of the hill, and looked as peaceful a sanc 
 tuary as ever mortal gazed upon. We had no 
 time to grow sentimental over it for the mate s 
 voice growled : 
 
 "Off with the main hatch here ! Jump down 
 in the hold one of you and pass up the end of 
 the cable. Look alive, lads !" 
 
 Shortly the cable was ranged, the anchor
 
 A Whaling Yarn 65 
 
 gotten off the bow, and the mate reported 
 respectfully to that mighty potentate, the Old 
 Man: 
 
 "All ready to let go, sir!" 
 
 "Very well, sir," returned he with quarter 
 deck politeness, taking command himself: 
 "Stand by the foresail, the larboard watch! 
 Mainsail here the rest of you. Let go the 
 to gallant sheets ! Clewlines and buntlines 
 haul! Let go to gallant halliards! Clew em 
 up, my lads! Now your foretops l sheets! 
 Main tops l sheets! Hard down your wheel! 
 Let go the anchor !" 
 
 Plunge! went the starboard bower, rattling 
 twenty fathom of chain cable along with it. 
 The Avola swung sluggishly around head to 
 the wind, and we lay at anchor in Kema road 
 stead. A fleet of canoes had put off from the 
 shore and swarmed around the ship. Each 
 tiny craft held one or more bright-eyed, dusky- 
 hued, gesticulating, grinning natives, and by 
 the time we had the sails stowed they were 
 all on board. Each was bent on according 
 to a tradition I had read of in Captain Cook s 
 Voyages, but had never hoped to see realised 
 selecting a congenial spirit among the crew, to 
 whom the guileless savage devoted himself, de-
 
 66 There She Blows 
 
 claring the chosen one to be the friend of his 
 heart, and soul-brother to all eternity. 
 Thenceforth until the ship should leave, this 
 gentle, brown-skinned brother attached himself 
 to the service of his newly-made friend. He 
 lets no day pass without coining off at least once 
 to feast his eyes upon him, and fares out each 
 time full-handed with all the delicious tropical 
 fruits of the country, and even cooked deli 
 cacies if these pall. 
 
 A young Apollo with eager, merry smile 
 made overtures to me with a bunch of fruit, 
 and I closed an immediate compact of frater 
 nity with him. He was so winning in speech 
 and mien that I was almost as fervent as he in 
 protestations of devotion. His costume was 
 airy though picturesque, and admirably 
 adapted to the climate. It consisted of a sin 
 gle piece of figured cotton print, about tw r o 
 yards long by one wide, wrapped about his 
 loins. The rest of his handsome, bronze body 
 was bare. When we had concluded our mutual 
 vows he leapt over the bulwark, going down 
 the side of the ship like a cat to his canoe, and 
 passed up a magnificent bunch of bananas. 
 Not the clumsy, thick-skinned plantains we 
 see in temperate climes, but the real Chinese
 
 A Whaling Yarn 67 
 
 sugar banana, small, beautiful in form, with 
 rounded curves, a thin skin, and a flavor ! del 
 icate, insinuating, luscious! melting on the 
 tongue, enchanting the palate. And even this 
 divine fruit was not half the sum of what my 
 Nikolas this was his name laid at my feet. 
 Oranges, cocoanuts, mummy apples, mango- 
 steens, and even palm toddy had he brought off 
 in such profusion that the quantity threatened 
 to overflow my bunk. 
 
 Our newly found brothers remained aboard 
 until nightfall. Before we turned in the word 
 was passed forward the starboard watch were 
 to prepare for liberty the following morning. 
 There was a grand overhauling of donkeys, 
 and the contents of mine were brought out, 
 and viewed with a critical eye. When I got 
 through inspection I decided the best suit I 
 possessed was on my back. It consisted of an 
 oil-stained shirt, and a pair of weather-beaten 
 drawers very much the worse for wear, and so 
 patched with canvas that only close observation 
 enabled one to determine that flannel was the 
 fundamental material. I bought a good-sized 
 piece of white duck from Big Anton for a plug 
 of tobacco, with which I was better supplied 
 than apparel, and sitting under bare poles, ap-
 
 68 There She Blows 
 
 plied a workmanlike patch across the seat of the 
 dilapidated garment. Then I donned them in 
 serene consciousness that I was fit to go ashore 
 in any village in the archipelago. 
 
 The sun came sliding up from the edge of the 
 sea the next morning bright and clear and 
 looked down on the starboard watch out since 
 the first streak of dawn prinking preparatory 
 to the descent on the village. Water, fresh 
 water, a luxury on a whale ship, was dealt out 
 in unheard profusion, a pint to each member 
 of the go-ashore gang! Jonas and I united 
 our supply, and tossed up to see who should 
 wash his face first. Not until this function 
 was performed did we utilise the fluid for the 
 other portions of our bodies. The ceremony 
 was completed by sluicing ourselves down with 
 buckets of salt water drawn from over the 
 side. You see, salt water, however pleasant 
 to bathe in, is useless to cleanse. As I was 
 giving myself the last rub with the piece of 
 old canvas that did duty as a towel Nikolas ap 
 peared, and learning to his delight that I was 
 bound ashore, volunteered to convey me thither 
 in his canoe, declaring I was his guest for the 
 day.
 
 A Whaling Yarn 69 
 
 The island of Celebes which I was going to 
 visit is little known to the world at large. It 
 lies between Borneo and New Guinea, but is 
 smaller than either. Unlike them it abounds 
 in grassy plains free from forests which fur 
 nish abundant pasture, and wild game is plenti 
 ful. The plains are the common property of 
 the tribes that live on them, and intrusion from 
 aliens is jealously guarded against. The tiger 
 and leopard, though found in other parts of the 
 archipelago, are curiously enough unknown in 
 Celebes. Horses are numerous, and though 
 small possess unusual strength, spirit, and en 
 durance. Their spirited heads and clean limbs 
 seem to denote their descent from some 
 thoroughbred strain of blood. 
 
 Rice, maize, cotton, cassava, and tobacco are 
 the chief products of the soil ; the exports, which 
 at that time were principally to China, included 
 birds nests the edible kind tripang, sharks 
 fins, and tortoise shell. Gold is not unusual 
 in the beds of the streams, but has not been 
 found in great abundance. The population of 
 the island was estimated at two millions and 
 consists of two principal races : the Haraforas, 
 who inhabit the interior and the Bugis, who
 
 70 There She Blows 
 
 live principally on the coast. These latter 
 manufacture a cloth celebrated among the 
 other islands for durability and fineness. 
 
 The form of government is in most cases a 
 limited monarchy, in which the sovereign is 
 controlled by the subordinate chiefs, and oc 
 casionally they again by the people. Women 
 are eligible to the throne, and take an active 
 part in political affairs. This fact is note 
 worthy for Mohammedanism is the prevailing 
 religion.
 
 CHAPTER SEVEN 
 
 \TIKOLAS placed me in the bow of his 
 ^ cranky craft, and telling me not exactly 
 in those words to try and preserve my center 
 of gravity, he took his place in the stern and 
 bent to his work. His dexterity was marvel 
 lous, and we fairly flew. A few minutes 
 brought us to the shore. The starboard boat 
 with the rest of the liberty men, left the ship s 
 side at the same time we did, and as we were 
 not a whale they did not exert themselves to 
 keep up. I waited on the shore to find out the 
 programme of the day. Of course, sailor-like, 
 the first and main idea was to get drunk, that is 
 with most of them. Two or three made an en 
 gagement to meet in the market place, and if 
 their sheets weren t fluttering too much, take a 
 ride on horseback. Nikolas said that there 
 would be no difficulty getting steeds, and whis 
 pered to me privately in his broken English that 
 I could ride his horse as much as I wished free 
 of cost, because of his exceeding great love for 
 me. Then he and I walked along the main
 
 72 There She Blows 
 
 street of the village. It was a long esplanade 
 lined on either side with magnificent trees. The 
 houses were built well back from the roadside, 
 and without exception had large flower gar 
 dens in front. The dwellings were spacious, 
 and covered a large area but were only one 
 story in height. To my eyes they were rather 
 conspicuously painted. Orange seemed a fa 
 vorite color though you could find every hue 
 in the rainbow. Some of the larger residences 
 were really attractive and kept with unex 
 pected trimness. Ten minutes walk brought 
 us to the market place. Long before we ar 
 rived we could hear the hum and buzz of the 
 crowd of natives. There was a clamor which 
 rivalled the stock and cotton exchanges rolled 
 into one. It was unlawful to buy and sell any 
 where except in this place, Nikolas said, and 
 the traders had to pay a high price for the 
 privilege of putting up and operating a stand 
 in it sometimes the enormous sum of two 
 dollars a year ! 
 
 I had found out by this time that my brother 
 Nikolas was a man of consequence in his com 
 munity. In point of fact he was the local 
 native school teacher, and drew an absurd sal 
 ary of something like forty dollars per annum
 
 A Whaling Yarn 73 
 
 from the Dutch government for his profes 
 sional services. He now proposed to exhibit 
 his school to me, and told me on the way, he 
 had procured a substitute to attend to his duties 
 during my stay in port. The school edifice 
 turned out to be the only two-storied building 
 in Kema. The classes were reciting as we en 
 tered. The pupils were few of them more than 
 seven or eight years of age, and of extraor 
 dinary precocity in body and mind. A brighter, 
 prettier set of children are seldom seen than 
 they were, though I must confess they smelt 
 rather strongly of the cocoanut oil with which 
 their bodies and hair appeared to be freely 
 smeared. Otherwise each one was clean as a 
 new button. As nearly as I could make out, 
 for the language was literally Dutch to me, 
 they were reciting a spelling lesson, or one in 
 arithmetic. It called up memories of the time 
 when I was a country school boy, and drawled 
 in sing-song nasal tone, with the rest of the 
 class: 
 
 "Two times one are two ; two times two are 
 four; two times three are six;" or "G-e, ge, o, 
 geo; g-r-a-, geogra ; p-h-y, fy, geography!" 
 
 At the conclusion of this lesson Nikolas had 
 them sing, and they all arose and warbled sev-
 
 74 There She Blows 
 
 eral of the old, familiar Methodist hymn times 
 of my childhood, set to Malay words. It made 
 me choke a little to hear these unforgotten 
 strains rising up in this out of the way, and al 
 most barbarous place. It brought back the old 
 meetin house on the brow of the hill, school 
 house during the week days. Then the voice 
 of Nikolas was again in my ear. He said : 
 
 "Now, s pose you want, Ned, me take you 
 along to home belong to me. S pose there, 
 you want drink, me give drink. S pose you 
 want smoke, me give. My sister make dinner 
 in two hour." 
 
 I went with him. He lived in a neat house 
 on the main street. It was thirty feet back 
 from the road and the front part of the yard 
 was a flower bed of indescribable gorgeous- 
 ness. As we entered the house my nostrils 
 were greeted by the most delicious scent they 
 had ever known. I asked my brown brother 
 what it was, and he pointed out several bushes 
 to me. They were from eight to ten feet high, 
 with green foliage interspersed with bunches 
 of beautiful white flowers, and dark purple 
 berries. This, he explained, was the coffee 
 bush, and he would directly give me some coffee 
 made from its beans.
 
 A Whaling Yarn 75 
 
 At this moment two charming brown- 
 skinned maidens, one about fifteen and the 
 other perhaps a year older, appeared from the 
 interior, and I was introduced to Nikolas sis 
 ters. Unfortunately they had not a word of 
 English, but I made them comprehend I loved 
 their brother, and desired to be on friendly 
 terms with them. They were delightful crea 
 tures, although only half-civilized Malay girls. 
 The eldest was a large, well developed, bloom 
 ing Hebe, while the younger was an arch, slen 
 der sprite who turned everything into fun. 
 But I must not linger over them. Enough to 
 say they gave me a mighty good dinner of 
 which I would be puzzled to name the ingre 
 dients, and at the close of the meal a cup of 
 coffee whose equal I never drank. 
 
 While I was lighting the cigar one of the 
 girls rolled me I heard a clatter of hoofs, and 
 there was my brother in front of the gate 
 mounted on as pretty a pony-built horse as I 
 ever laid eyes on. I was out in a moment ex 
 amining every point of the little beauty. He 
 was caparisoned with an English saddle and 
 bridle, and his hide and hair were soft and 
 silky as if he had come from under the hands 
 of an accomplished groom. He did not seem
 
 76 There She Blows 
 
 to mind my two hundred pounds in the least- 
 he even pranced under the weight. Nikolas 
 ran alongside, and I set off down the street to 
 the market place. The animal had a long, even 
 pace that rolled as easily and gradually from 
 one side to the other as a rocking chair. We 
 soon came to where Tom Morrison, Bungs the 
 cooper, and Big Anton were gathered to meet 
 me. 
 
 All three were considerably over the bay, 
 having wit enough left to be full of Old Nick, 
 and stick like grim death to their mounts. 
 None of them knew how to ride, and I saw a 
 catastrophe was imminent, but the ponies were 
 so small, a poor rider had not far to go, and 
 sailors are proverbially tough, so I gave no 
 warnings, and we started in a mad gallop up 
 the street. 
 
 Big Anton was the first to come to grief. 
 After growing somewhat used to the motion 
 of his craft his confidence begot carelessness, 
 and he allowed for a weather instead of a lee 
 roll, which brought his line of preponderance 
 outside his center of gravity. When he found 
 his seat precarious he dropped his bridle, and 
 clasped his saddle more closely than ever with 
 legs and hands. This hastened his discom-
 
 A Whaling Yarn 77 
 
 fiture as his girths were loose. The saddle 
 turned and Anton stood on his head. The 
 horse stopped when it realised something was 
 amiss, and the victim picked himself up amid 
 our roars in no wise the worse for his mishap, 
 save that the crown of his hat was crushed out 
 of shape. 
 
 "Jesu Maria !" he exclaimed, and lapsed into 
 a state of solemn wonder. 
 
 This was only the beginning. I noticed 
 Bungs had his enormous feet shoved through 
 his stirrups, which in the way he utilised 
 them resembled a pair of barbaric anklets. I 
 was on the point of warning him he had better 
 take his feet out when up came Tom Mor 
 rison in a mad dash. Bungs pony gave a 
 sidelong jump, and the cooper, who had 
 succeeded in getting his foot out of the 
 starboard stirrup, described a sudden par 
 abolic curve in the air, the length of which 
 would have been greater had it not been circum 
 scribed by the hold the other stirrup had. 
 
 I got the steed by the head and stopped 
 him as he was bolting, while Tom extri 
 cated the spluttering cooper from his predica 
 ment. By the time we returned from our 
 ride each, with me as the honorable exception,
 
 78 There She Blows 
 
 had several falls, and my shipmates decided 
 that riding was not half so much of an amuse 
 ment as it looked to those who had not tried it. 
 
 Our liberty did not expire until daybreak the 
 next morning, at which time we \vere expected 
 to be on board. The sailors had found a sort 
 of boozing ken on the outskirts of the village, 
 where I was informed with much exultation 
 they could purchase square-faced Hollands 
 gin in unlimited quantities for the equivalent 
 of forty cents a bottle. This was a fortuitous 
 opportunity not to be neglected by sea-faring 
 men, and they embraced it with ardor. My 
 brother Nikolas who had come by this time to 
 regard me as one apart from the average fore 
 mast hand, told me frankly I had better re 
 main with him instead of joining the revellers. 
 I confirmed his confidence by pledging myself 
 to return to his house to spend the evening, and 
 he agreed to ferry me to the Avola in his canoe 
 before midnight. He invited me to call with 
 him on the Dutch Resident, but I decided my 
 costume left something in the way of adequacy 
 to be desired when it came to making cere 
 monious calls, and declined. 
 
 My decision to spend a quiet evening with 
 Nikolas and his sisters and a very pleasant
 
 A Whaling Yarn 79 
 
 one it proved was more than justified the 
 next morning when the liberty gang returned 
 to the ship. They had a lively time which 
 wound up in a row with the natives. A Por 
 tuguese called Madeira had been struck be 
 tween the shoulders by a green cocoanut 
 hurled at him by an indignant Bugis. I 
 was unacquainted with the cocoanut in the 
 character of a missle up to this time, but it 
 certainly was a thing to fight shy of judging 
 by its effects in this case. It had nearly broken 
 his spine, and thrown both his shoulders out of 
 commission. The others said but for the gal 
 lantry of Tom Morrison and Jonas, who had 
 charged the mob of warlike natives and by des 
 perate fighting succeeded in routing them, 
 Madeira never would have been able to leave 
 the field of battle. 
 
 Nikolas made his appearance soon after the 
 watch came aboard, and told me Madeira had 
 made overtures to the villager s womenfolk 
 and the natives were considerably exercised 
 over the occurrence. In consequence of this 
 happening the Old Man decided not to give 
 the port watch liberty as he had intended, for 
 fear of further complications. When the con 
 sequences of his indiscretion were found to be
 
 8o There She Blows 
 
 so far-reaching, it made Madeira unpopular 
 with the disappointed men, and one of them 
 gave him a sound thrashing as soon as he had 
 sufficiently recovered from the effects of the 
 cocoanut to stand it. That, as they say in 
 diplomatic circles, closed the incident. 
 
 It did not take long to get our water casks 
 filled. We towed them to the mouth of a 
 stream a mile above the village. It was down 
 right hard work, but it was all day on deck for 
 both watches, and sleep all night. Before we 
 pulled up the mud hook the captain purchased 
 five hundred green cocoanuts, and fifty 
 bunches of bananas for general use at sea as 
 long as they lasted. He told me the whole 
 quantity cost about five dollars American 
 money, and it was desirable for sanitary rea 
 sons to give all hands a good scouring out after 
 their long regimen of salt diet. And, by the 
 way, did you ever eat one of these green nuts? 
 You split it open with a hatchet after drinking 
 the juice. The white meat is half-formed, and 
 the consistency of custard. You eat it with a 
 spoon, and it s good. 
 
 Of course my brother Nikolas, who had 
 stuck to me closer than wax during our whole 
 stay, was with me when we got our anchor
 
 A Whaling Yarn 81 
 
 apeak. By shrewd dickering and the sacrifice 
 of a large share of my store of tobacco, I had 
 managed to get in the way of barter from some 
 of the opulent Portuguese a Havre red flannel 
 shirt of good quality, and a gorgeous Roman 
 silk tie. To these I added a much bullioned 
 yachting cap I had in my donkey I was 
 ashamed to wear it and laid them in my 
 brother s lap the last sad morning when we 
 bade each other farewell. The tears were in 
 his eyes at the munificence of the offering, and 
 in mine at its inadequacy. Then we embraced 
 in haste, but fervently, and parted. I never 
 think of him to this day without my heart grow 
 ing warm. 
 
 Our course lay to the northward towards the 
 Philippines after leaving Kema, and I heard 
 from aft that we were now on what was con 
 sidered good sperm whaling grounds. Indeed, 
 the fact was plainly evident in the changed de 
 meanor of the Old Man and the officers. Cap 
 tain Bourne spent most of his time on deck, and 
 he paced the quarter like a lonely wildcat in a 
 cage. Every now and then he would pause in 
 his swift walk, go to the rail and sniff the 
 wind. Morrison said as we watched him do 
 this:
 
 82 There She Blows 
 
 "The Old Man thinks he can smell em, and 
 I believe he can !" 
 
 One day a sail was reported from the mast 
 head, and in a couple of hours we drew close to 
 it and saw it was a British whaler, from Syd 
 ney probably, the captain affirmed, under easy 
 canvas and cruising like ourselves. Later on 
 the Lime-juicer cleared away his boat and 
 came to pay the Avola a visit, "gam" they call 
 it in whaling parlance. When they arrived 
 Mr. Haveron took his boat s crew and de 
 parted to the Martha, that turning out to be 
 her name. This is whaling etiquette. 
 
 The new-comer was Captain Tugwell, Eng 
 lish to the back-bone, and in the whaling service 
 all his life out of Scotland first, and later 
 Sydney, New South Wales. It had struck four 
 bells in the morning watch ten o clock, shore 
 time and the wind had fallen away till there 
 was scarcely steerage way. Stoddard the sec 
 ond mate, and Fayal Joe stood at the main 
 masthead sweeping the surrounding waters 
 with their binoculars. The fierce tropical sun 
 melted the pitch between the deck planks, and 
 made the tar on the shrouds and swifters 
 blister. 
 
 The two captains paced the quarter deck.
 
 A Whaling Yarn 83 
 
 The Briton was tall, bearded and muscular ; old 
 uncle Zene, under-sized, sinewy, and clean 
 shaven. He made two steps to Captain Tug- 
 well s one. They resembled a bull and a 
 panther caged together. The restless manner 
 in which they prowled back and forth sug 
 gested confined wild animals. Now and then 
 the American master went to the side, and 
 sniffed the air with a curiously alert expression 
 on his face. He seemed to scent prey. The 
 stalwart Englishman watched him with intel 
 ligent eyes, and a certain air of expectancy. 
 
 After one of these trips to the rail our Old 
 Man called out in his curt, decisive voice : 
 
 "Pass the word to Mr. Morrison to come 
 aft." 
 
 The fourth mate popped up like a jack-in- 
 the-box. 
 
 "Tom," said Captain Bourne, meeting him 
 at the fife rail, and speaking so Tugwell did 
 not hear: "Get the starboard boat in the 
 water and stand by with the crew. I smell 
 whales, and this Lime-juicer shall not get away 
 first if they re raised, for I m going to lower 
 myself." 
 
 Tom, who was of course the Old Man s 
 boatsteerer in this case, met his eye with per-
 
 84 There She Blows 
 
 feet understanding and his soul was full of joy, 
 but he only answered quietly : 
 
 "Aye, aye, sir." 
 
 Uncle Zene returned to his guest while Tom 
 swung himself by the swifter to the starboard 
 roof of the after house. 
 
 "Lay aft here, Long Island Ned!" he called. 
 
 I dropped my scrub rag, and got there quick. 
 Morrison wasted no time in words. Together 
 we lifted the two tubs containing the coiled 
 whale line into the boat, which swung outward 
 from the davits. His few hasty sentences had 
 put me on, and I seized the water keg and 
 dropped to deck; I now kept my bread sack 
 filled in case of sudden emergency. By the 
 time he had got his harpoons and lances stowed 
 in their cleats in the boat I was back. 
 
 "Stand by the starboard falls!" sung out 
 Tom. 
 
 The three other men of our crew Jonas, 
 and two Portuguese were old whalemen, 
 sturdy fellows, and especially good oarsmen. 
 They had been watching Morrison and me with 
 lively interest. As they got the word, they 
 bounded aft, and in a twinkle were at the falls. 
 
 "Lower away!" said the fourth mate. He 
 and I stepped in the boat as it fell toward the
 
 A Whaling Yarn 85 
 
 water. When it met the wave Tom deftly un 
 hooked the bow tackle, and I did the same by 
 the one at the after thwart. 
 
 "Stand by to take the short warp!" called 
 the officer. 
 
 It shot from his hand and was caught by 
 Joe Wing, who pulled the midship oar. He 
 had been rechristened after an outfitter in New 
 Bedford by Morrison because his Portuguese 
 name was cumbrous to the tongue. The boat 
 ranged alongside, and the fourth mate leaped 
 into the chains. As he scrambled up, he said : 
 
 "Stay with her, Ned." 
 
 Morrison walked quietly forward again. He 
 spoke briefly to Jonas, who passed the word 
 to Joe Wing and Manuel, the midship and bow 
 oars, and all three lounged around the break of 
 the try works, alert as ferrets. Morrison him 
 self pulled the harpooner oar when the Captain 
 lowered, and I was at the after oar, and a good 
 one, if I say it myself ; and there you have our 
 crew. 
 
 Captain Tugwell had an eye like a hawk, and 
 he observed these significant preparations with 
 a complacent grin. He rested easy in the 
 knowledge as I heard after of the possession 
 of the strongest boat crew out of Sydney, and
 
 86 There She Blows 
 
 although he was perfectly aware of the purpose 
 of the master of the Avola he did not doubt 
 that if the two boats started anywhere near on 
 even terms, his would reach the whales first. 
 The next moment his eye caught sight of a sud 
 den commotion on the Martha, half a mile to 
 leeward. 
 
 Then both skippers straightened and grew 
 rigid, while a sonorous voice came down from 
 the main royal slings : 
 
 "Thar she blows! thar she blows! thar she 
 blows ! thar she white waters !" 
 
 Captain Bourne s voice cut the air like a fife, 
 as he threw back his head to gaze aloft, but 
 though it made the blood tingle in the veins of 
 every man in hearing, it was steady and con 
 trolled : 
 
 "What do you make of them spouts, Mr. 
 Stoddard? And how do they bear?" 
 
 "Sperm whale, sir! Three points off the lee 
 bow. About two miles off! It s another big, 
 lone bull breaching, sir !" 
 
 "Aye, aye. Lay down from aloft, sir ! Ship- 
 keepers stand by ! Lower away !" 
 
 At the first hail Captain Tugwell s crew of 
 brawny beef eaters, all old whalemen, had 
 streamed aft and entered their craft, which lay
 
 A Whaling Yarn 87 
 
 ahead of our starboard boat, which I held close 
 under the chains. Tugwell, like a gallant fel 
 low, hesitated between his sense of fairness and 
 his keenness to get away, and he and Uncle 
 Zene leaped over the side at the same instant. 
 Our boat crew seemed to occupy their places by 
 magic, and as each skipper grasped the handle 
 of his steering oar, Tugwell called to Bourne : 
 
 "It s a fair start, sir ! I ll give you a dinner 
 if I don t make fast first!" 
 
 "Same here!" returned the undaunted Old 
 Man. 
 
 The oar blades dipped, and it seemed as if 
 the ship suddenly shot away from us. The 
 whale lay ahead at the apex of a triangle of 
 which the other two points were the Avola and 
 the Martha. 
 
 So the struggle an international whale- 
 chase had begun.
 
 CHAPTER EIGHT 
 
 FOR a hundred and twenty-five years or so 
 the Americans and Britons have been try 
 ing each other s mettle in various ways, and 
 here was as pretty a contest of nerve and muscle 
 as ever occurred between them. Both of us 
 were crack crews. The boats were the same 
 model, and within five pounds of equal weight. 
 The English sailors, man by man, appeared 
 bigger and stronger. The Americans had 
 pulled together six months, the others ten. 
 Both captains were seamen, and true men from 
 the soles of their feet to the arch of their skulls. 
 Side by side, and not ten feet apart, we 
 pulled, and neither forged a foot ahead of the 
 other. The water was smooth as a mill pond, 
 and if there was a difTerence, Tugwell s men 
 made a hair the most splutter. I held myself 
 down looking at the captain somehow helped 
 me and pulled as I never pulled before. I 
 gripped the water firmly, barely covering my 
 blade, put my whole weight in the stroke, and 
 got in a vicious ting at the end that made the
 
 A Whaling Yarn 89 
 
 boat jump. The captain nodded with a stern 
 smile on his gaunt features, and I knew I was 
 right. Morrison, Manuel, Joe Wing and Jonas 
 knew how to pull, too. The oars, three to 
 starboard, two on the port, rose and fell as 
 truly with my stroke, and feathered as rhyth 
 mically as if the same powerful hand controlled 
 all. There was no hurry, no excitement ; we all 
 smiled, and save for the rush of the boat, and 
 the foamy curl on each side the bow, our power 
 would have gone unsuspected. 
 
 Before half a mile had passed the complacent 
 smirk disappeared from the English skipper s 
 face. No one was a better judge of men and 
 boats, and what he saw made him anxious. 
 His broad face became grim, and he turned 
 again to his own crew: 
 
 "A little quicker! And steady, my men. 
 Steady!" 
 
 Then I saw the form of the after oarsman of 
 the Martha s boat draw ahead, bit by bit. I 
 turned my head, and met the gray eye of Uncle 
 Zene. Persistent use of the telescope had set 
 it deep in his head, and although it was glow 
 ing like a live coal, somehow I gathered cool 
 ness and comfort from it. 
 
 "They ve got more beef, Ned," he murmured,
 
 90 There She Blows 
 
 softly, "and maybe they ll be sorry for it after 
 they keep this lick up another mile. Steady, 
 boy. We re doing well." 
 
 Captain Tugwell drew a length ahead, and 
 stayed there. We pulled like a well-oiled ma 
 chine, and wore our old, happy expression. 
 We looked at the Old Man in the stern 
 sheets. We knew him, and were easy, although 
 each of us, despite seeming carelessness, had 
 sporting blood enough to have given our lay 
 sooner than be beaten. The whale was in full 
 sight from the boats, although only the mas 
 ters, who faced the chase, could see him. He 
 had ceased breaching and lay at ease, a patch 
 of his broad back as big as a barn showing 
 above the blue water. 
 
 The boats from the Martha had got away 
 before those from the Avola, and were coming 
 down the further side of the triangle, but our 
 captain saw that Mr. Haveron headed them. 
 These boats would have been nearer the whale 
 than we but for the duel between the skippers. 
 As it was the superior crews of the latter had 
 wiped out the advantage in the start. It was 
 only a question whether Tom Morrison or 
 Captain Tugwell s boatsteerer would "break 
 blackskin" first. But wait a bit!
 
 A Whaling Yarn 91 
 
 The whale was only half a mile away, and 
 the two boats were coming up abaft his fin. It 
 would not do to cross his line of sight, which 
 fortunately for whalemen is restricted. 
 
 "A leetle more ginger, Ned !" breathed Uncle 
 Zene. 
 
 It seemed to me I had been waiting half my 
 life for this permission. I gathered myself and 
 lay back on my oar with a smooth, fluent heave, 
 that, as the rest of the crew took the new mo 
 tion, seemed to lift the boat over the water 
 instead of forcing her through it. But Captain 
 Tugwell was not the man to be caught napping. 
 He heard the bitter grind of the oar looms on 
 the rowlocks, and with a quick glance back 
 ward he leaned to his sturdy fellows, and cried : 
 
 "Now PULL!" 
 
 Hurrah ! Here was the tug of war ! Those 
 brawny British giants straightened themselves 
 in a simultaneous flash, and in a twinkle both 
 crews were in a contest that would have dis 
 abled ordinary or untrained men by the violence 
 of their exertions. The pretense of indifference 
 was thrown off the faces like a discarded mask, 
 and now these Anglo-Saxons, American and 
 British, locked their jaws like sprung steel 
 traps. Tugwell s black beard bristled with
 
 92 There She Blows 
 
 eagerness, and as much of his countenance as 
 could be seen was crimson. He had abandoned 
 all affectation of unconcern, and his gaze at 
 Captain Bourne was a defiant glare. 
 
 Uncle Zene s attitude would have made a 
 superb marble of Action. His poise suggested 
 a leap forward, and he seemed only to hold 
 himself back by the grasp of the corded left 
 hand on the steering oar. His face was livid, 
 and his eyes no longer burning coals, but in 
 tense lightning, as they flashed over his own 
 crew to the British boat, and beyond to the 
 whale. 
 
 The second of time I had captured sent our 
 boat ahead with a leap that nearly closed the 
 gap. Clink ! Clank ! went the leathered looms 
 in the iron row locks. The wave turned white 
 and hissed as the bows cut it, and, inch by inch, 
 we gained! Tugwell shifted the grip of his 
 steering oar from his right to his left hand, but 
 before he completed the motion our skipper 
 reached forward, and falling into my heave, 
 pushed on the after oar as I pulled. The Briton 
 executed the same manoeuvre two heartbeats 
 later, but he had been forestalled. Now, Joe 
 Wing, tugging at the midship oar, caught a 
 glimpse of the Sydney boat, and his staunch
 
 A Whaling- Yarn 93 
 
 ashen blade tore through the water with a force 
 that tried its virtue. Then Jonas saw the Brit 
 ish bow, and at last it came in my line of vision. 
 The Lime-juicers were being fairly out-pulled ! 
 
 Neither crew took a thought of the whale in 
 this desperate work. Our backs being to it 
 we could not see, and, anyway, it was the busi 
 ness of the captains to look after that part of 
 the affair ; ours to win the race. But Leviathan 
 was close aboard now. Suddenly the Old Man 
 stood erect: 
 
 "Avast pulling!" 
 
 The stroke was arrested in mid air, and with 
 a common impulse we looked over our shoul 
 ders. 
 
 "There goes flukes !" added he. 
 
 What we saw was a huge, ebony column, 
 ten yards high, a hundred feet in front. The 
 bull had literally stood on his head preparatory 
 to sounding, and as we gazed he passed out of 
 sight, waving in farewell a pair of flukes 
 twenty feet broad. 
 
 Captain Tugwell s boat shot ahead ten feet, 
 and now its crew lay on its oars. Tugwell was 
 delighted. This incident had altered the com 
 plexion of affairs, and given him another 
 chance. Neither skipper could foretell with
 
 94 There She Blows 
 
 any certainty when and where the bull would 
 reappear. The oldest whaleman might be for 
 given for making an error in this matter. 
 Nothing but absolute divination could deter 
 mine it, and it was mightily important. The 
 nearest boat would probably be the first to get 
 fast, and the first iron driven into the blubber 
 decided not only the captains dinner bet and 
 the rivalry of the crews, but the ownership of 
 the whale. For no matter who kills, the law 
 of the whaling ground holds that "he who 
 strikes first shall possess." 
 
 That black tower of flesh and fat represented 
 a hundred barrels of oil, a matter of four or 
 five thousand dollars, and one not to be under 
 rated by a thrifty Yankee on the fifteenth lay. 
 Uncle Zene had pitted his brains against the 
 wits of sperm whales almost from his birth. 
 Was he, who could follow a school across the 
 trackless ocean as a hound trails the deer, to be 
 beaten now by a Lime-juicer from Sydney ! He 
 tried, as it were, to fill his veins with oil and 
 his brain with spermaceti in the effort to creep 
 inside the skin of that hundred-barrel bull. 
 Presently he said softly: 
 
 "Pull all!"
 
 A Whaling Yarn 95 
 
 Captain Tugwell had taken position a quarter 
 of a mile beyond where the whale had sounded. 
 The other boats arrived on the scene, and sta 
 tioned themselves behind him. 
 
 "Avast! Back water!" said our Old Man. 
 "Look out, Mr. Morrison. Don t peak your 
 oars, my men. Stand by, all !" 
 
 Uncle Zene had brought up half-way be 
 tween the British captain s boat and the spot 
 where we had last seen the whale. He reasoned 
 that the bull was not alarmed, and had no mo 
 tive for running away. His keen eye had noted 
 the slight indication of the flukes, and this gave 
 him the clue to direction. Our boat lay re 
 collect this stern on to the Sydney captain s. 
 
 The vertical sun scorched and roasted. The 
 oily blue water threw back the heat at the 
 brassy heavens, and the atmosphere quivered 
 as if on the point of ignition. Ten minutes, 
 fifteen passed. Each sailor watched along the 
 line of his oar. The eyes of Morrison and the 
 Old Man devoured all space. Of a sudden a 
 long, sobbing respiration quavered at Captain 
 Bourne s back, and I, facing that way, saw the 
 square, black mass of the bull s head emerge 
 midway between the boats. Uncle Zene sprang
 
 96 There She Blows 
 
 a foot in the air and half whirled, laying back 
 on his steering oar to bring his boat around. 
 Tugwell s crew had caught the water. 
 
 Joe Wing had an inspiration and surged on 
 his oar to assist the captain overcome the iner 
 tia of the boat. She shot around, more swiftly 
 than the Old Man had counted on. He over 
 reached, failed to recover, and went overboard 
 with a great splash ! 
 
 I caught the flash of the Briton s oar blades 
 as the captain s heels passed out of sight. 
 Then I rose to the occasion and made myself 
 famous. I sprang to my feet, tossing my oar to 
 the skipper with the same motion. My hand 
 gripped the handle of the steering oar, and I 
 yelled : 
 
 "Give way!" 
 
 Jonas, Joe Wing, Manuel and Tom Morrison 
 heard my command, which was half appeal, and 
 answered. It was the last chance for the bull 
 whale, and the bet ! They strained on the ash 
 blades until their former efforts were as noth 
 ing. 
 
 "Steady, steady there! Stand up, Tom!" I 
 cried. 
 
 Morrison peaked his oar, and the next in 
 stant braced his knee in the clumsy cleat, his
 
 A Whaling Yarn 97 
 
 harpoon above his head. The British boat- 
 steerer, on the other side of the whale, was 
 rising. 
 
 "Give it to him !" I yelled. 
 
 It was a long dart, but the fourth mate 
 obeyed his after oarsman. The iron gleamed 
 in the air and sank chock to the hitches in 
 the blubber. 
 
 "Starn all! We re fast!" he shouted. 
 
 We picked up the Old Man as we backed 
 out of the way of the whale s flukes. 
 
 "Blast you," he said to me, "you re all 
 right!" 
 
 I will not deny I was inclined to rejoice over 
 my exploit, but I did not have much leisure to 
 receive congratulations or plume myself. That 
 whale started to sound, and we had to attend 
 to business. Besides it appeared this bull had 
 his herd of cows in the immediate vicinity, and 
 they ranged up when they found their leader 
 was in trouble. The captain told me that 
 ordinarily a bull is looked upon by the cows 
 as able to take care of himself. At any rate, 
 he is usually left to fight his battles alone. Our 
 victim s harem must have been near by, al 
 though undiscovered by us until the starboard 
 boat had got fast.
 
 98 There She Blows 
 
 The result of the appearance of the balance 
 of the school was that every boat except one, 
 belonging to the Martha, killed a whale. This 
 was seven in all, three to the Englishman and 
 four to us. It was extraordinary good fortune, 
 and put every one into the highest spirits. Of 
 course, they were all cows except the one we 
 had got, and much smaller, and of less value. 
 But such as they were, they gave us plenty 
 occupation. There being no wind, the Avola 
 was unable to come to us, so we secured our 
 whales together, and, stringing out the boats 
 tandem-wise, one ahead of the other, we towed 
 our carcases to the ship. That was hot work, 
 if you please, with the thermometer at about 
 1 10, no sea on to help us, and those four whales 
 dragging behind. Luckily the bark was only 
 about two miles distant at the kill, and by sup 
 per time we had them all alongside. 
 
 This was one of the whaling exigencies 
 where no time was to be lost, and every man 
 was expected to do his duty, and as much more 
 as he was able. In the prevailing hot weather 
 that blubber was liable to "blast," that is be 
 come stringy and sticky so it could not be 
 advantageously worked and tried out. If we 
 did not get it into the try pots before these
 
 A Whaling Yarn 99 
 
 conditions set in, we might lose hundreds or 
 even thousands of dollars, besides having our 
 work go for nothing. 
 
 Now Uncle Zene came to the front. He took 
 personal charge of every detail himself, and 
 was here, there, and everywhere; supervising, 
 inspiriting, lending a sturdy fist where it was 
 needed, until he fired every heart. I recollect 
 there was a glorious moon that night; the se 
 rene skies were filled with golden, softly glow 
 ing stars, like jewels lying on a velvet mantle. 
 The white canvas hung above us without a 
 breath of air stirring its folds, and the fires 
 under the pots roared and cast their ruddy 
 gleams through the shadows. 
 
 All through the night we labored without 
 cessation, and when the early dawn appeared, 
 all but one of the whales was cut in. All hands 
 were kept on deck throughout the day. Even 
 the Old Man did not take advantage of his 
 privilege, as supreme in authority, to get some 
 rest. He even had the steward serve his meals 
 on deck, and at the fag end of our weary task 
 he looked as fresh and vigorous as if he had 
 just turned out. There were no flies on Uncle 
 Zenas, and his whole ship s company were will 
 ing to acknowledge it.
 
 CHAPTER NINE 
 
 HTHEY were as busy on board the Martha as 
 * we were, and the weather remaining calm, 
 the vessels drifted about, within a mile of each 
 other the whole period of the cutting in and 
 trying out. At last, when Mr. Morrison had 
 ladled the last skimmerful of oil into the cooler, 
 and the fierce stress of the occasion was over, 
 one of the mastheads hailed the deck and re 
 ported the Martha was signalling. Captain 
 Bourne had the signal halliards rove and got 
 his code up in a jiffy. A conversation by means 
 of flags ensued, and at the end the Old Man 
 summoned Morrison and announced that Tug- 
 well wanted to pay that dinner bet the next 
 day, and he desired the Master of the Avola 
 to bring his own boat crew, for the men of his 
 boat who had been beaten in rowing wanted to 
 make the acquaintance of the fellows who were 
 able to do it. 
 
 We thought the Lime-juicers pretty decent 
 chaps, and the balance of our shipmates were 
 
 100
 
 A Whaling Yarn 101 
 
 inclined to be envious of our good fortune, for 
 it was assumed a feast would be tendered us as 
 well as our captain. Anything pertaining to 
 grub is of paramount importance in the fore 
 castle six months out, and it was expected all 
 the delicacies in the Martha s run would be 
 handed out. Speculation was rife as to the 
 nature of the particular dainties, and the wild 
 est prophecies were made by Jonas, who pre 
 tended to be informed on the bill of fare of 
 ships hailing from Australia. 
 
 According to whaling etiquette the first mate 
 of the Martha came to visit the Avola as we 
 made our way to the English vessel. Captain 
 Tugwell rigged his sea ladder for us at the 
 gangway, and received Uncle Zene with great 
 ceremony, as the grizzled, old Yankee skipper 
 came over the rail. He nodded to Tom, and 
 me as well, and took in Jonas, Joe Wing, and 
 Manuel with a keen and curious glance that 
 evidenced he was interested in us as whaling 
 material. I heard him say to Captain Bourne, 
 as they walked the deck a little later : 
 
 "I would not have believed, sir, that your 
 crew could out-pull mine ! And I confess I can 
 not understand it !"
 
 IO2 There She Blows 
 
 Uncle Zene was bland and soothing as sweet 
 oil. To be sure he had a right to be because he 
 had captured the bull: 
 
 "Don t let that stick in your crop, Captain 
 Tugwell," said he, "I m glad it isn t to do over 
 again. I calculate it might come out different." 
 
 Tugwell smiled in his beard, and was might 
 ily consoled by this admission, but at the same 
 time I knew perfectly well that the tough down- 
 easter would have died before he let the issue 
 "come out different." 
 
 Tom Morrison was taken in charge by the 
 English fourth mate, and we foremast hands 
 were ushered to the forecastle by the other 
 boat crew. Close at hand they turned out to 
 be bluff, hearty Colonial Englishmen. All had 
 been born in Australia, and followed a sea 
 faring career since they began to work. They 
 had cruised among the islands of the South 
 Seas on traders, and pearlers, and whalers, 
 until the archipelago was an open book to them. 
 Had they possessed the gift to tell their stories 
 to the world, their experiences would have 
 made Melville and Stevenson tame in com 
 parison. One of them, a handsome, athletic 
 fellow, ran away from a German trading 
 schooner on the Solomon islands, and lived
 
 A Whaling Yarn 103 
 
 among the cannibals for three months, saving 
 his life a dozen times by nerve and quick- 
 wittedness, until at the last he was forced to 
 put to sea in an egg-shell of a canoe. He pad 
 dled, sailed, and drifted ten days, and was 
 picked up by a Spanish trader. The captain of 
 this craft was a demon incarnate, and the cast 
 away found he had apparently exchanged the 
 frying pan for the fire, so one night he launched 
 his canoe again, after breaking the skull of the 
 man on anchor watch who tried to detain him. 
 This time he was discovered, lying helpless and 
 insane from hunger and thirst, in the bottom of 
 his tiny craft by a homeward-bound American 
 whaler. He reached New Bedford that trip, 
 but shipped in the Mary a week after arriving 
 in port, and went to New Zealand hump-back 
 ing. Thence to Sydney, where everybody 
 hailed him as one born again. 
 
 I don t know what they had to eat in the 
 cabin, but our dinner was no great improve 
 ment on the Avola bill of fare. The only thing 
 that seemed to be added in honor of the occa 
 sion was plum duff. We spent the balance of 
 the afternoon on the Martha, and I rather 
 imagined that the Sydney skipper broached 
 more than one bottle down below. Captain
 
 IO4 There She Blows 
 
 Bourne was steady as a clock when we started 
 back, but Tugwell had a sheet in the wind as 
 he stood at the rail to bid us farewell. The 
 vessels separated the next day, and that was 
 the last time we ever met. 
 
 We continued cruising in this vicinity for 
 the next three months, and at the end of that 
 period had some five hundred barrels of oil 
 under our hatches. This was doing very well 
 as such things went, but it did not satisfy Uncle 
 Zene. He had a reputation for sighting whales 
 oftener than any man out of New England, 
 and they were not coming fast enough to suit 
 his views. So he decided to run into a small 
 harbor he knew of on the skirts of the Philip 
 pines, called Salla Baboo, renew his supply of 
 water, get some fresh fruit and vegetables, and 
 bear away for the New Ireland ground, where 
 he once before had been successful. 
 
 When we arrived we found the bark Java, 
 out of New Bedford, lying there. We dropped 
 anchor within a couple of ship lengths of her, 
 and the captains immediately got together to 
 exchange news. The Java had been out three 
 years and had some thirteen hundred barrels 
 of oil. She was a ramshackly old craft, many 
 degrees worse than the Avola, and I learned
 
 A Whaling- Yarn 105 
 
 from Tom Morrison that her stores were in 
 such bad condition that the crew could hardly 
 eat the bread, which was weevilly, or the rusty 
 pork and beef. Consequently they were unruly 
 and discontented, and many of them would 
 have deserted if they had been where they could 
 have done so to advantage, in spite of the fact 
 that the oil in her hold meant considerable 
 money in their lays. Captain Taylor was hav 
 ing a pretty hard time of it, though the con 
 dition of the ship and its supplies were due to 
 no fault of his. It seemed the short-sighted 
 owners had sent the Java to sea with a lot of 
 damaged supplies without taking Captain Tay 
 lor into their confidence, and now he was 
 bearing the brunt of their sins. He considered 
 this hard lines, and was dissatisfied with the 
 situation. Although he was forced to make the 
 best of matters to win out, he was decidedly 
 inclined to sympathize with his ill-used ship s 
 company, although he dared not let them 
 know it. 
 
 Before we had been at Salla Baboo twenty- 
 four hours we saw a good deal of the Java s 
 crew, and heard all I have been telling you, 
 and more. I fancy Uncle Zene was sorry he 
 had come in, although he sympathized with
 
 106 There She Blows 
 
 Captain Taylor, whom he considered a good 
 man in an unwarranted predicament. He 
 realised, however, that it was bad for the mo 
 rale of our crew to be mixing so intimately 
 with one in such bad shape as that of the Java. 
 The Old Man warned us before making port 
 to be careful in our dealings with the natives, 
 for they were a mean and treacherous race. 
 There was a small settlement of them hard by 
 our anchorage, and they came freely to the 
 ship, but our officers would allow none of the 
 foremast hands to go ashore unless in a party 
 in charge of one of the aftergang. These na 
 tives seemed to be some wild race of Malay 
 origin, and were a villainous looking set of 
 wretches, not comparable in any degree with 
 the Bugis of Celebes. 
 
 It rained heavily the third night we were 
 there, and the next morning we dropped all our 
 sails in order to let them dry and prevent the 
 canvas from rotting. The Java followed suit. 
 Even in this simple matter it was observable 
 that her sailors worked unwillingly, and in a 
 slovenly way, very different from the smart 
 manner in which the Avola-ites did their duty. 
 
 The weather was unsettled, and at four 
 bells 10 a. m. a terrific squall came down
 
 A Whaling Yarn 107 
 
 with the suddenness of a thunderbolt. It came 
 in right off the sea, and caught us flat aback, 
 with all that canvas exposed. We had only 
 the starboard anchor down, and the bottom 
 was sandy and gave no hold to the flukes that 
 was any use in such an emergency, so away 
 we went stern first ashore. Luckily there were 
 no rocks, and the beach had a steep pitch, so 
 that about all the harm we did was to poke the 
 rudder, which stuck out straight amidships, 
 well into the sand. During the scene of wild 
 activity that ensued I had time to see the un 
 fortunate old Java also torn loose from her 
 moorings, and driven broadside on to the shore, 
 a few hundred feet below where we were 
 pounding. I also noticed that the natives had 
 swarmed down like ants, and were tearing 
 along the strand, and eagerly crowding around 
 her. 
 
 Our officers were at their stations by this 
 time, and the Old Man, in his undershirt, took 
 charge of matters. He was steady as a rock, 
 and gave his orders with a clearness and pre 
 cision that brought order out of chaos in a 
 moment, and incidentally made us feel that 
 nothing had happened that could not readily be 
 put right. He set the port watch stowing the
 
 io8 There She Blows 
 
 canvas forward, and the starboard gang doing 
 the same at the main, and all in a quiet and 
 orderly manner. The wind continued to blow 
 with great force, and as we of the starboard 
 watch came down from aloft, his quick glance 
 told him the Java was not getting her canvas 
 in as handily as she should, and that her posi 
 tion, broadside on, put her in a dangerous 
 dilemma. He did not hesitate a moment, but 
 ordered Mr. Haveron to get the forward boat 
 in the water and take his watch to the assist 
 ance of Captain Taylor. Then he went aft with 
 Mr. Stoddard and closely examined our own 
 situation. He seemed perfectly satisfied, and 
 even took the trouble to tell us that no harm 
 had been done by the casting away of the bark. 
 As soon as the tide served in a couple of hours 
 we would kedge the Avola off into deep water 
 again. 
 
 In the meantime, by the assistance of Mr. 
 Haveron and our draft of men, the Java had 
 succeeded in rolling up her sails and pointing 
 her yards to the wind. I heard after that the 
 natives had begun to swarm aboard as our men 
 arrived, but Captain Taylor knocked one per 
 sistent chap back on the beach with a belaying 
 pin, and after that the others had come to the
 
 A Whaling Yarn 109 
 
 conclusion the Java was still able to take care 
 of herself. 
 
 After the fashion of squalls in those lati 
 tudes, the wind fell as abruptly as it had arisen, 
 and we were all right again except that our 
 ships were on shore instead of afloat. Captain 
 Taylor brought out his last bottle of square 
 face, and spliced the main brace as far as the 
 lucky port watch was concerned, and they re 
 turned in high feather to the Avola. Then 
 there was nothing more vital to do than to kill 
 time until the tide rose sufficiently to put the 
 captain s plan for floating her into operation. 
 A kedge, weighing about four hundred pounds, 
 was broke out of the hold, and lowered gingerly 
 on the thwart of the boat. This was ferried 
 out a cable s length broad off from where we 
 lay. It was hove overboard, and the cable 
 brought back to the windlass. Then the right 
 bower, which had dragged, was hove short and 
 got aboard. By this time the tide, running in 
 like a mill race, was high enough in Uncle 
 Zene s opinion to begin operations. 
 
 The men manned the windlass brakes. Mr. 
 Fletcher, the negro third mate, with the second 
 bass voice, took his station at the bitts, and 
 when the Old Man sung out cheerily:
 
 no There She Blows 
 
 "Boost her out of this, lads !" 
 Fletcher tuned up: 
 
 "I m goin to Looseyanna 
 For to see my Maryanna !" 
 
 Then we all thundered in chorus : 
 "To my Ranzo, Ranzo, Ray-ay !" 
 
 And the brakes pumped in unison like mad. 
 Fletcher came again with deep earnestness : 
 
 "Yes! I m goin to Looseyanna 
 For to hug my Maryanna!" 
 
 And the chorus : 
 
 "To my Ranzo, Ranzo, Ray-y-y-y!" 
 
 The Old Man raised his hand. The ship had 
 not stirred. 
 
 "Take both the port boats, Mr. Haveron, 
 hitch on to the bowsprit, and see if you can t 
 give us a tow. I m afraid that kedge will drag 
 if we put any more strain on it." 
 
 Away they went, and we of the starboard 
 watch handled the brakes without help. But 
 we were able to, for the next effort made the 
 bark quiver, and another pull brought the rud 
 der out of the sand, and hurrah! we slid out
 
 A Whaling Yarn in 
 
 smoothly from the shore. The port watch came 
 aboard, and we let go both anchors this time, 
 and once more the Avola was in her native 
 element. 
 
 We had all thought the Java in much worse 
 case than ourselves, but, as events turned out, 
 hers was also an exceptionally fortunate cast 
 ing away. Her keel had luckily not caught 
 the sand at all. Only her bilge lay on it. At a 
 little higher stage of the tide she came off with 
 less trouble than we. 
 
 The next day we filled and rafted off the last 
 of our water casks, and after Uncle Zene had 
 bought a couple of tons of yams and a lot of 
 fruit, we went to sea. We left the Java there. 
 She never showed up again in New Bedford, 
 nor was she spoken after we saw her. Her 
 fate is one of the numberless mysteries the 
 ocean holds the key to.
 
 CHAPTER TEN 
 
 WE dawdled along under cruising canvas, 
 keeping a general southeasterly course. 
 Signs of whales were abundant, and the Old 
 Man was continually on the alert. The mast 
 head lookouts were stimulated by the offered 
 prize of a pound of ship s tobacco to the man 
 who first saw a spout, but day after day passed 
 and the welcome call never came down to the 
 deck. This cruising for whales and not getting 
 them is tedious work, and I was delighted one 
 morning, when the starboard watch was on 
 deck, and the wind had completely failed, to find 
 the Avola had drifted so close to an island I 
 afterward knew it to be one of the New Heb 
 rides that the wavelets could be seen break 
 ing on the beach of white sand, and the cocoa- 
 nut groves in full view tossing their plumed 
 heads in the air. A little after sunrise, when 
 canoes were observed gathering along the 
 water s edge with the evident intention of com 
 ing out to the ship, the port watch forbore their 
 
 112
 
 A Whaling Yarn 113 
 
 sleep to remain on deck, and enjoy the sen 
 sation. 
 
 When the sun hung an hour high, a fleet of 
 canoes approached the ship. They differed 
 from the South sea craft I had seen, and though 
 they were really canoes in that they were dug 
 or rather burned out of a single log, they were 
 much larger than those we had hitherto known. 
 Ten, or even fifteen paddlers went to each craft 
 in addition to the loads of fruit and other 
 articles they were bringing for purposes of 
 barter. 
 
 The Old Man had come on deck and was 
 surveying the flotilla through his antique tele 
 scope. Presently he called Mr. Stoddard, the 
 second mate, who was in charge of the deck, 
 and said: 
 
 "There must be a couple of hundred niggers 
 there, Mr. Stoddard, and they want to trade. 
 But these New Hebrides natives haven t the 
 best reputation, and it s just as well to be on the 
 safe side. Don t let more than ten of them 
 aboard at once, and gather the balance under 
 the stern. We ll use a long-handled scoop net 
 to lift up our purchases. I guess somebody had 
 better stand by with my double-barreled gun in
 
 114 There She Blows 
 
 case of trouble. Send that Long Island Ned 
 aft. He can shoot, I ve heard. 
 
 "Aye, aye, sir!" 
 
 The captain brought up his gun an old- 
 fashioned muzzle loader and a powder horn 
 that had possibly done duty in the revolutionary 
 war, with a handful of duck shot. He had some 
 doubt about the efficacy of the latter, and I fi 
 nally manufactured some wicked slugs out of a 
 handy section of lead pipe. I loaded the fusee, 
 and took my station on top of the after-house. 
 By this time the canoes had dashed along side, 
 the natives yelling and splashing their paddles. 
 At first they unceremoniously tried to climb up 
 the Avola s sides and over the rail. But Stod- 
 dard, Morrison, and the boatsteerers put a stop 
 to that after permitting the foremost ten to 
 come on deck. The balance took the prohibi 
 tion good-naturedly, although they attempted 
 to evade the vigilance of the officers until they 
 found the effort of no avail. 
 
 I did not wonder the Old Man was backward 
 about giving them any rope, for they were a 
 wild and savage-looking set of heathen. A 
 breech clout of grass blades strung on cocoa- 
 nut husk twine was their sole garment, and 
 their thin arms and legs were of ape-like length.
 
 A Whaling Yarn 115 
 
 Their hair was arranged in a striking fashion, 
 entirely new to me. It had in the first place 
 as appeared in the light of subsequent knowl 
 edge been killed by the application of quick 
 lime, made by burning coral. Then the hair, 
 resembling untarred hemp oakum after the 
 treatment, was divided into ridges running fore 
 and aft from the forehead to the nape of the 
 neck. Each furrow was tinted a different gor 
 geous hue, so that some of their noddles rivalled 
 the solar spectrum, and contained all the pri 
 mary colors. The ornamentation seemed to be 
 affected mainly by the young bucks, and to be 
 attributable to their inordinate vanity. 
 
 Those who were permitted the privilege of 
 coming aboard were perfectly amazed by their 
 new surroundings, and it was evident they had 
 never before had so close a glimpse of the won 
 derful winged canoe of the White Man. It was 
 also quickly apparent they were born thieves, 
 for they attempted to filch every article taking 
 their fancy which was capacious in the 
 most naive way. Fortunately their scanty at 
 tire made it difficult for them to conceal any 
 thing about their persons. Had they been fitted 
 out with pockets they would have filled them in 
 a jiffy. As it was they were compelled to give
 
 Ii6 There She Blows 
 
 up, with scant regard to their feelings, what 
 ever they took. They did not mind this, and 
 had not the remotest notion of being ashamed 
 of their share in the transaction. I saw one 
 powerful fellow stoop and furtively attempt to 
 pull up the iron ring bolt at the corner of the 
 main hatch. He nearly tore his arms out in the 
 effort, but naturally did not succeed, as the ring 
 was secured by a clamp on the other side of the 
 deck beam. 
 
 Another native, who had a white rooster 
 for sale under his arm, was attracted by 
 Jonas tin dish, a new one. Jonas had washed 
 it after breakfast and put it on top of the scrap 
 cooler to dry. The rays of the sun scintillated 
 brilliantly on the radiant tin and fired the sav 
 age soul with a desire of immediate possession. 
 He glanced aft nobody was observing him. 
 He quickly gathered that royal appanage to his 
 breast with his right hand, the left being oc 
 cupied with chanticleer. Once secure of his 
 prize, he made a leap for the rail aft of the 
 fore rigging. His intention was, no doubt, 
 to escape overboard and swim straightway 
 ashore, enriched to the end of his days with 
 his new possession. Unfortunately for the 
 success of his project, Jonas had his eye on
 
 A Whaling Yarn 117 
 
 him. When the marauder got his head and 
 shoulders over the side his natural agility 
 being hampered by the need of holding on the 
 pan and cock the Yankee grabbed a stick of 
 fire wood from the cook s store in the deck pot, 
 and leaning outboard with his left hand cling 
 ing to the fore swifter, he menaced the darky s 
 brilliant crop of wool. The fellow gave a 
 screech and dropped the pan on deck. Jonas 
 fell back, and the detected thief made a clean 
 breach overboard, breaking water ten yards 
 away. The rooster was gasping, and, no doubt, 
 wishing he was a duck. 
 
 In the meantime trading over the stern had 
 been going on under the supervision of Captain 
 Bourne. Big Anton had the scoop net, with a 
 twelve-foot handle, and when the skipper by 
 means of signs made the occupants of a canoe 
 comprehend he was willing to exchange one 
 fish hook, or a piece of rusty, worn-out hoop- 
 iron six inches long, or a tenth of a small plug 
 of tobacco for a bunch of bananas, or a string 
 of fifteen or twenty green cocoa nuts, the bar 
 gain was eagerly accepted. Then Uncle Zene, 
 wise in his generation, and a good trader, 
 would direct Anton to haul up the fruit. After 
 wards he would carefully stick the hook (three
 
 n8 There She Blows 
 
 dozen for ten cents) in the mesh of a rope-yarn 
 of the scoop, and fulfill his part of the bargain 
 like an honest man. But the natives had lots 
 of fruit, and yams, and taro, and other things 
 the captain of the Avola needed, for the ship s 
 fare had been salt horse and hard tack for a 
 long period. Therefore, after a time he grew 
 impatient of this tedious mode of exchange, 
 and took a sudden resolution. 
 
 "Lower away the starboard boat!" he sung 
 out. 
 
 His crew had it in the water in ten seconds, 
 and stood by for orders. I handed the artillery 
 to Mr. Stoddard, and was with them. 
 
 "Jump in the crew! Mr. Stoddard, get two 
 or three of the hands. Give them each a loaded 
 musket from the companion rack, but don t let 
 them show noses unless you see cause in the 
 action of the blacks. Do not let any more 
 aboard." 
 
 He stepped in the boat, and it at once fell 
 back into the midst of the fleet of canoes under 
 the stern of the Avola. The bark was without 
 steerage way, and boat and canoes were alike 
 stationary. This move pleased the natives, and 
 they crowded around until the whale boat was 
 encompassed three or four deep. The crew
 
 A Whaling Yarn 119 
 
 each on hii thwart sat looking on, and the 
 Old Man began trading. He had brought a 
 supply of merchandise in the loose breast of 
 his jumper, and as he concluded a transaction, 
 the fruit, or whatever he had bought, was 
 handed to me, and I deposited it in the vacant 
 place in the stern sheets. All went smoothly, 
 and the men, at first a little uneasy, began to 
 enjoy the experience and exult in the large 
 quantities of fresh "chuck" the Old Man was 
 laying in at such favorable rates. 
 
 A dicker for a number of strings of green 
 cocoanuts had just been concluded when it 
 suddenly struck me that although we had been 
 buying those nuts by the score, the space in the 
 stern sheets did not grow proportionately 
 fuller. The realization came upon me with 
 the abruptness of an unexpected slap in the 
 face, and in a flash of conviction I caught on 
 to the fact that the boat was being robbed. 
 
 I turned to Uncle Zene who was already in 
 tent upon securing another lot, and immersed 
 in his own part of the business, utterly un 
 suspicious of foul play. On each side of the 
 boat the canoes crowded, and my sharpened 
 eye-sight now detected war clubs and spears 
 partially concealed in the dunnage in the bottom
 
 I2O There She Blows 
 
 of some of them. The craft nearest were 
 emptied of fruit, their cargoes having been 
 purchased. The empty canoes did not haul 
 out, and the last purchases were passed from 
 dug-out to dug-out until delivered. This con 
 signment came over the port side. The nuts 
 were strung in bunches, making a cumbrous 
 package to handle. As rapidly as I received 
 each lot I dropped it behind me, and because 
 I was facing port out of my line of vision. 
 The Old Man also had his back to the starboard 
 side, and the rest of the crew delighted as 
 school boys on a holiday were skylarking, 
 and trying to talk to the grinning natives. I 
 began to understand. Without making my 
 suspicion apparent I kept an eye out behind me. 
 Presently one of the natives in the sold out 
 canoe next to the whale boat on the starboard 
 side reached over furtively, and abstracted a 
 string of nuts I had just tossed on the pile. 
 I managed to keep the string in sight without 
 detection, and in mingled wonder and amuse 
 ment I saw it passed from one to the other 
 adroit thief until it got around to the port side, 
 and was bought again by Uncle Zene, and 
 handed to me.
 
 A Whaling Yarn 121 
 
 I lost no time in informing the captain what 
 was going on, though I managed to convey the 
 news so the blacks were unaware their little 
 game was discovered. The Old Man looked 
 serious a moment, and then said : 
 
 "Don t let on you ve noticed, and pass the 
 word quietly to stand by, but to take no notice 
 till I m ready." 
 
 While I was diplomatically discharging this 
 commission the captain appeared to discover 
 he had run out of the fish hooks and tobacco 
 with which he was paying cash down on the 
 nail. As soon as he had impressed this on the 
 minds of the savages he looked around to the 
 Avola. The fleet of canoes, and the whale 
 boat in its midst had drifted a couple of ships 
 lengths away, and in the imminence of trouble 
 the keen-witted old skipper had hit upon a 
 means of reducing the distance without arous 
 ing the suspicions of the rapacious rascals. 
 
 "Bark ahoy! Mr. Stoddard!" he hailed. 
 "Bring up some tobacco and fish hooks from my 
 after cabin, and lower them down to me in that 
 scoop net." 
 
 In a moment the savages saw the treasure- 
 laden scoop descending, and naturally as pos-
 
 122 There She Blows 
 
 sible the fleet accompanied the whale boat until 
 it was once more under the counter, and the 
 protection of the Avola. 
 
 "Now," said uncle Zene as he received the 
 articles, "stand by for squalls. These niggers 
 have been stealing out of our boat, and I m go 
 ing to give them a lesson. Are the muskets 
 ready?" 
 
 "Aye, aye, sir," answered the second mate, 
 cool as a cucumber on ice. "Give me one min 
 ute." 
 
 He disappeared in the companion way open 
 ing off the binnacle. The next moment four 
 men, each with a loaded gun, lounged to the 
 taffrail : 
 
 "All ready, sir," reported Stoddard. "Touch 
 off your trouble as soon as you please." 
 
 "Ned," said the Old Man to me, "as soon as 
 you catch that black thief at work again, let 
 him have your paddle over his head as hard as 
 you know how. Don t be afraid of hurting 
 him." 
 
 I nodded silently, and gave the hardwood 
 paddle a shove with my foot so it lay within 
 easy reach. The men heard all this, and they 
 too kept their eyes on their paddles, and waited 
 expectantly. The blacks had allowed this
 
 A Whaling Yarn 123 
 
 preparation to pass under their untutored 
 noses, and had no premonition. The Old Man 
 resumed trading unconcernedly, and the cocoa 
 nuts, yams, taro, and bananas began to circu 
 late towards the whale boat again. 
 
 A different formation of the flotilla had re 
 sulted when it moved under the Avola s stern, 
 and the canoes surrounding the boat were laden 
 instead of empty. It took some time possibly 
 five minutes before conditions became ripe 
 for a repetition of the sharp practice. During 
 the interval the boat was not allowed to drift 
 apart from the bark, the skipper directing the 
 crew to take an occasional stroke with the pad 
 dles to retain the desired proximity. This 
 order gave us an excuse for keeping the paddles 
 in our fists. 
 
 At last the same man who had been working 
 the game got into the position he had previously 
 occupied. He was a lean, wiry fellow, alert in 
 manner, and with intelligent features. He 
 imagined his opportunity had arrived, and 
 leaning over took a palm leaf basket of taro 
 from the whale boat. It weighed fifteen or 
 twenty pounds, and as he straightened to lift 
 it over the gunwale the cranky craft in which 
 he sat with eight other natives tipped so the
 
 124 There She Blows 
 
 water came almost level with the side. At that 
 instant I swung my four foot ashen paddle. 
 I brought the broad side of the heavy blade 
 down on his bushy head with a hearty good 
 will that fairly knocked him out of the canoe. 
 His thatch of hair lessened the impact of the 
 blow. It would have been more effective to 
 have struck on his bare carcase. As it was, 
 he was not even stunned except by surprise 
 at the unexpectedness of retribution. He 
 dove like an otter beneath the whale boat, and 
 emerged behind the line of canoes on the far 
 ther side. 
 
 The sudden blow was like a stage bell, and 
 rang up the curtain. Before the thief had ap 
 peared above water Stoddard and his four men 
 cocked and leveled their guns at the huddled 
 fleet of canoes. At the same instant each man 
 of the starboard boat crew brandished his pad 
 dle, and prepared to break the head of the near 
 est black. Uncle Zene had a heavy Colt navy 
 in his hand, and was awaiting the outcome, 
 ready for desperate action should the occasion 
 call for it. 
 
 No one of us had the least notion save pos 
 sibly the Old Man of how the cat would jump. 
 The inhabitants of these islands were reputed
 
 A Whaling Yarn 125 
 
 to be treacherous and bloodthirsty; therefore 
 in spite of our preparedness we awaited the 
 sequel to the blow with hearts beating more 
 rapidly than ordinarily. 
 
 There had been a startled exclamation from 
 the blacks who saw the blow fall, but it is prob 
 able that out of the mob of a hundred and fifty 
 natives not more than eight or ten realized on 
 the instant what had happened, although I sus 
 pect most of them were aware of the stealing, 
 and in collusion with it. Among these there 
 was an uneasy pause after the first involuntary 
 cry, and when they perceived the uninjured 
 culprit bob up from the water gasping, and as 
 yet scarcely aware of the cause of his immer 
 sion, they burst into loud cries which were ap 
 parently explanatory, for the next moment 
 followed a roar of unsympathizing merriment 
 at the discomfiture of their detected comrade. 
 
 Uncle Zene s revolver disappeared. The 
 strained faces, and bunched muscles of the 
 crew relaxed, and we joined joyfully in the 
 laughter. A glance at the Avola showed no 
 sign of armed and frowning defiance. The 
 curtain had been rung down.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 A COUPLE of days after the adventure re- 
 * corded in the last chapter, the ever-wel 
 come hail came down from the masthead : 
 
 "Thar she blows! Thar she blows! Thar 
 she blows ! Thar she blows !" 
 
 All hands appeared on deck with the alac 
 rity of children preparing for a Sunday school 
 picnic. It was Mr. Fletcher who had raised 
 the spouts but now the others on lookout took 
 up the call, and it was apparent to us on deck 
 that a school of whales was in sight. In a mo 
 ment Captain Bourne, who had come from be 
 low as if shot out of a gun, sung out : 
 
 "What do you make of them, Mr. Fletcher? 
 It sounds pretty good!" 
 
 "School of sperm whales, sir, about four 
 miles off on the weather bow. Twenty or 
 thirty of them, sir, from the spouts !" 
 
 "That s hearty," returned the Old Man. 
 "Brace the main yard !" 
 
 All hands were on deck and we braced the 
 126
 
 A Whaling Yarn 127 
 
 yards sharp so that the Avola could lay a course 
 heading for the whales. The wind was light, 
 and we made slow progress, but the school re 
 mained in sight despite our fears to the con 
 trary. Nevertheless it seemed hours before the 
 order came to lower the boats. We were not a 
 mile from the whales when it did. The cap 
 tain said to the officers before lowering : 
 
 "Get on to them whales as easy as you know 
 how. When you are close, paddle. Don t 
 make any noise, or you re liable to galley them. 
 When you re among em all work together, and 
 each strike a cow. If they ve got calves with 
 them be sure you don t get your iron into one 
 of them, or you re liable to have a stove boat. 
 Lower away!" 
 
 Away we went in a bunch. Mindful of the 
 captain s warning there was no haste, and we 
 regulated our speed by each other s for the 
 purpose was to attack the whales at the same 
 moment so the school would not be frightened 
 before all the boats were fast. The first mate s 
 boat led slightly, and when he arrived within a 
 quarter mile of them he said softly to his 
 crew: 
 
 "Peak oars, and take your paddles. If any
 
 128 There She Blows 
 
 of you hit the side of the boat, or make a racket 
 in any other way, I ll knock his fool head off, 
 and stick a boat bucket on instead !" 
 
 We others followed suit, and the four boats 
 silently swept down on the unsuspecting school, 
 which had no more idea of danger being im 
 minent than a parson at a tea party. It was 
 the first time I had ever approached a whale 
 facing forward, so I could see every thing that 
 took place. 
 
 It seemed as if a ten acre patch of the ocean 
 was packed with the huge black bodies of these 
 sea monsters. They rolled around, and 
 spouted, and nosed each other in a social way, 
 and it made me feel as if we were viewing an 
 aquarium with the whales disporting them 
 selves in a prodigious tank for the benefit of 
 the spectators. I observed a number, at least a 
 dozen, of the mammals were only from ten to 
 twenty feet long. Tom Morrison whispered : 
 
 "Its a herd of cows and calves. Those lit 
 tle fellows are suckling the mothers yet." 
 
 These mothers suckled their babies just as 
 the true bovine mother does, and presently 
 Tom pointed out one that was feeding. It 
 nuzzled the cow whale with its nose as you have 
 seen a calf do in the stable to its mother.
 
 A Whaling Yarn 129 
 
 There was no bull in the school, Morrison said. 
 It was probably twenty or even thirty miles 
 away, for a bull whale does not often conde 
 scend to remain any length of time with his 
 wives. It is one of the mysteries pertaining 
 to the whale that he is always able to com 
 municate over miles of water with his cows. 
 
 Our boats spread out to a distance of fifty 
 yards apart to minimize the danger of inter 
 ference, and we gently paddled in among those 
 whales. They did not seem to notice us, and 
 on all sides I could see their great backs almost 
 rubbing the boat, and their huge heads nearly 
 within reach. The officers watched Mr. Hav- 
 eron they had laid their plans on the way 
 and when he motioned old Joe, his black Cape 
 de Verde boatsteerer to stand up, they followed 
 suit. 
 
 The next moment four harpoons were driven 
 home, and the four boats were fast each to a 
 fifty or sixty barrel cow. I anticipated prompt 
 annihilation in these close quarters, but to my 
 surprise nothing of the kind I had expected 
 occurred. The stricken whales appeared more 
 bewildered than enraged, and though they 
 plunged around in disorder at the prick of the 
 irons they did not immediately sound, nor take
 
 130 There She Blows 
 
 out line at any great rate. Their companions 
 seemed to realize something was wrong and 
 the harpooned ones in trouble, for they ranged 
 along side of their wounded comrades, and 
 shouldered them in sympathy. The calves 
 were more obstreperous, and swam hither and 
 thither at top speed. 
 
 Now I became aware that Morrison had ex 
 changed places with Joe Fayal, and was stand 
 ing knee in clumsy cleat, and lance in hand. A 
 large cow came near, and at a distance of ten 
 feet he hurled his death-dealing weapon into 
 her, forward of the fin, and it penetrated a 
 fathom into her breast. She shuddered, and 
 the next instant a shower of bloody spray and 
 vapor came out of her spout hole, and be 
 sprinkled us in the boat. Morrison hauled his 
 lance back as another whale brushed by us, and 
 darted again. I don t know what was happen 
 ing in the other boats during this period, but 
 I was told afterward each officer tried to kill 
 a victim with lance whenever he felt certain of 
 inflicting a fatal wound. I seemed to see red 
 spouts arising on every side of me, and the at 
 mosphere was a wall of bloodstained fog. 
 Now the wounded whales, maddened by the 
 pain of the lance thrusts, began to rush wildly
 
 A Whaling Yarn 131 
 
 about. Twice we would have been run down 
 if Fayal Joe had not dextrously swung the boat 
 in time to save us. The whale we were fast to 
 decided to seek the bottom, and the line began 
 to whir out of the tub, and forward between 
 the chocks in the nose of the boat. 
 
 Altogether it was getting about as lively as 
 any one could desire. I like excitement, but 
 that time I had my fill, and the next moment 
 brought the climax. Some whale, I don t know 
 which one for I had lost track of them as in 
 dividuals, got its flukes neatly under the bow of 
 our boat. I say bow, but from what ensued 
 the tail must have extended under nearly half 
 the length of the boat. I saw it, and held my 
 breath, while Morrison leaned over, and pushed 
 about ten feet of his lance into the side of that 
 whale, pulled it out by the haft, and churned 
 it in again in what I suppose seemed to him a 
 more promising place. 
 
 Then came the catastrophe! I had been 
 vaguely expecting death, but could not con 
 jecture in what shape it would finally come. 
 I did not know whether the heavens had fallen, 
 or I had gone up to meet them. It turned out 
 to be the latter. The great whale, an eighty 
 barrel cow, made an easy gesture with her
 
 132 There She Blows 
 
 flukes, as one would flip his finger, and up went 
 the starboard boat and its crew in the air. Re 
 flection has since convinced me it did not ascend 
 more than thirty feet above the surface of the 
 sea, but it seemed then higher than the royal 
 pole, and that s a hundred easily. There was 
 skill as well as vigor in that toss for when the 
 boat reached the highest point it gently turned 
 end for end, and upside down. We all came 
 flying forth at different angles, like pigeons 
 from a dove cote. The fourth mate was 
 thrown farthest as he deserved, for I shall al 
 ways believe it was that last vicious thrust of 
 his that precipitated the calamity. The bow, 
 midship, and tub oarsmen came next, and 
 Fayal Joe and myself fell nearly perpendicu 
 larly, within an ace of landing on the body 
 of the monster who had caused the trouble. 
 As I instinctively struck out to prevent myself 
 from sinking my hand hit the whale s body, 
 and I withdrew it as from a lion s mouth. 
 
 I had no time to think about that however. 
 The next thing I knew there was a smack on 
 the bosom of the ocean nearby, and the flemish 
 coil of line out of the forward tub landed by us. 
 Please remember there was a whale fast to 
 the end of this line, and that he was headed for
 
 A Whaling Yarn 133 
 
 China, and travelling at about the rate of 
 twenty knots. That infernal coil did not im 
 mediately sink, as would have been expected, 
 but began to break apart, and distribute 
 flakes all around through the serene blue waves. 
 I could see the leading part being drawn down 
 by the pull of the whale, and felt in my very 
 soul that to be caught in one of those fatal coils 
 meant a death about as unpleasant, and sudden, 
 as one could devise. I was digging away from 
 this as fast as I could, and thanking my stars I 
 was a good swimmer, while Fayal Joe kept 
 right up with me. 
 
 It takes a long time to describe a happening 
 so complicated as this. It all occurred in 
 about ten seconds. I am sure Joe and I hold 
 the world record for the distance we swam in 
 that time. We were fifty or sixty yards away 
 from the whale, and saw something else that 
 was interesting, though too close at hand to be 
 pleasant. That whale, the same that over 
 turned the boat, reached around with her 
 flukes. It reminded me of a person feeling 
 for something that he could not see! There 
 seemed to be sensitory nerves in her tail, for 
 when the corner of her flukes came in contact 
 with the capsized boat, she lifted them, gave
 
 134 There She Blows 
 
 them a gentle wave in the air, and brought 
 them down like a pile driver on the starboard 
 boat and there was nothing but kindling wood 
 left. After demolishing the boat the cow 
 sprung at once into her flurry, and there were 
 two more not far away also in their death 
 throes. I got them all mixed up, and was un 
 able to tell one from the other. 
 
 In the midst of this intense action I had not 
 been able to keep track of the other three boats, 
 but now I saw they were near-by, and in good 
 shape. Stoddard, who was nearest, found op 
 portunity to pick up the starboard boat whale 
 line, and fasten a drag or buoy to it so that 
 the whale would not be lost. It struck me with 
 admiration that in the midst of such a turmoil 
 a man should so preserve his coolness and 
 presence of mind. It was characteristic of the 
 class to which he belonged. The breed was 
 there to begin with, and the training fostered 
 an intelligent hardihood hardly conceivable by 
 the average man. 
 
 The whales had worked away from us, or 
 perhaps we should be given some credit for the 
 fact that we were no longer in close proximity, 
 and I began to return to my normal frame of 
 mind. It is amazing how quickly one becomes
 
 A Whaling Yarn 135 
 
 accustomed to the most unusual surroundings, 
 and I actually began to feel at home in my novel 
 situation, and wonder what would be the end of 
 it. I saw Morrison and Jonas about a ship s 
 length away, and as there seemed nothing more 
 urgent I went over to them. They could both 
 swim, and were making good weather of it. 
 Manuel, the bow oar, like many of his country 
 men, was not much of a water dog, and was 
 keeping up with unnecessary effort, although 
 the density of the ocean was such that it made 
 it almost impossible to sink if one had any 
 notion of supporting himself. I saw an oar 
 tossing on top of a wave in the distance, and 
 secured it for him. After that he was easier in 
 his mind, though no safer than before. By this 
 I myself began to have some curiosity about the 
 length of time it was probable we would re 
 main floating around, and I said to the fourth 
 mate: 
 
 "When will they pick us up?" 
 
 "When they get their whales killed," he re 
 plied. "Unless they have some trouble finding 
 the ones we lanced. Of course they will at 
 tend to that first. They won t bother about us 
 until they are through their work." 
 
 This goes to show the point of view of a
 
 136 There She Blows 
 
 whaleman is different from that of the average 
 citizen, and I made some remark of the kind to 
 Morrison. I think he hardly understood what 
 I was driving at, for he only said : 
 
 "Why should they mess around about us? 
 We d only be in the way in the boats. We ll 
 be all right enough if the sharks don t show up, 
 and the chances are against it." 
 
 "Why are the chances against it?" I asked, 
 for this was a new and disturbing thought. I 
 put the question rather anxiously, for my ex 
 perience with that one in the Indian Ocean had 
 made me rather timid where they were con 
 cerned. 
 
 "Why," he replied, "though they generally 
 come about when we kill whales in these seas, 
 they get the scent of the blood from the ones 
 that have been lanced, and follow it right up. 
 They don t seem to notice anything else. I 
 suppose if they happened to run across you 
 they d take hold, but not otherwise." 
 
 This was not entirely reassuring to one in 
 clined to be nervous, but I did not let on that 
 I was not contented with the prospect. At all 
 events, I am happy to say we did not see a fin 
 until after we were picked up. 
 
 After all, the staunch old Avola reached us
 
 A Whaling Yarn 137 
 
 before the boats succeeded in killing the whales 
 they were fast to, and collecting the others that 
 had died of lance wounds. She managed to 
 beat up to us although the breeze was so light 
 it took her fully two hours to make the mile 
 or two of distance. 
 
 The result of that day s work was nine 
 whales, and the captain credited three of them 
 to the starboard boat, for Stoddard went after 
 the one we had struck in the first instance, and 
 got it after killing his own. His foresight in 
 putting that drag on was what did the trick, 
 and enabled him to find her, for not being 
 touched by the lance she had the strength to 
 "shove junk" quite a distance. Captain 
 Bourne said one hundred and fifty barrels of oil 
 that was his estimate of what our cows 
 would stow down would pay for a number of 
 whale boats, and anyhow he had a spare one.
 
 CHAPTER TWELVE 
 
 THOSE nine whales kept us busy for the 
 best part of a week. While we were try 
 ing out the blubber an incident occurred worth 
 telling. I have explained how the horse 
 pieces were sliced in the mincing machine, and 
 that Big Anton was the feeder to it. It hap 
 pened I had temporarily relieved the man 
 whose regular duty it was to turn the heavy 
 balance wheel furnishing the motive power. I 
 noticed Anton was careless in the way he bore 
 down on the horse pieces, and shoved them 
 through the trough to the blade of the knife. 
 He was a self-willed fellow and I hesitated be 
 fore mentioning my views, but as he seemed in 
 danger of an accident I finally warned him 
 that if he were not more careful he would lose 
 some of his fingers. The whole crew were 
 wearied to the verge of endurance by the heavy 
 labor of cutting in, and his temper was all on 
 edge. He glared at me with a nasty sneer as 
 I spoke, and at the same time pressed hard 
 down on the piece of blubber he was guiding 
 
 138
 
 A Whaling Yarn 139 
 
 into the machine. I was turning that heavy 
 wheel, and had it going at the rate of two or 
 three hundred revolutions a minute. 
 
 Suddenly he gave a harsh cry of mingled 
 rage and suffering, and staggered back flour 
 ishing his right hand in the air. A fierce jet 
 of blood shot out of it like water from a squirt 
 gun, and bespattered the deck planks ten feet 
 away. I dropped my wheel, and sprang to his 
 assistance, and Tom Morrison, who was close 
 at hand, got his arm around the man s waist. 
 The next instant he toppled over in a dead 
 faint, but the fourth mate and I saved him 
 from falling. We carried him, and a great 
 hulk of a man he was, aft to the captain on the 
 quarter deck, and put him down with his head 
 on a coil of rope. We were all three so covered 
 with blood that it was for an instant doubtful 
 to Uncle Zene which was the injured one, but 
 it never took the Old Man long to get his wits 
 together. Almost before we knew it he had 
 Big Anton s right hand in a bucket of salt 
 water that he had conjured from somewhere. 
 Then we saw that his thumb had been sheared 
 off close to his hand neatly as a surgeon could 
 have done it. The blood continued to flow in 
 intermittent spurts, and when the captain felt
 
 140 There She Blows 
 
 his pulse, he looked grave. Without stopping 
 to say a word he snatched the silk handkerchief 
 from about his neck, and tied it loosely around 
 Anton s wrist with a square knot. I recog 
 nized his intention of a tourniquet, and handed 
 him a belaying pin as he finished. He passed 
 it through the loop, and told me to twist it until 
 I had stopped the flow of arterial blood: 
 
 "I ll be back in a jiffy!" he finished. 
 
 He ran down to the after cabin, and brought 
 up a bottle, glass, bandages, and a lump of 
 rosin large as your fist. I had tightened the 
 tourniquet as much as I thought advisable, but 
 he gave the pin an extra turn, and handed me 
 the rosin, saying: 
 
 "Put that in a piece of canvas, and pound it 
 to a powder without losing any. It s to put on 
 his thumb. It beats cobwebs. Give me your 
 sheath knife/ 
 
 I handed it to him, and with Tom s assist 
 ance he pried the big fellow s clenched teeth 
 apart, and poured a stiff jolt of raw brandy 
 down his throat. Anton strangled, gasped, 
 and spluttered. Then he opened his eyes, and 
 weakly tried to rise. The Old Man pressed 
 him down gently, saying :
 
 A Whaling Yarn 141 
 
 "Stay there, you blamed fool. I ll have you 
 all right in a moment." 
 
 I handed him the powdered rosin, and Mor 
 rison held up the hand while the captain put as 
 much of the powder on the broad stump as it 
 would hold. Then he took the bandage roll, 
 and swathed it neatly and securely as a doctor, 
 could have done. 
 
 v I may as well tell the rest of Big Anton s 
 story while I m about it. This misfortune 
 made him almost useless as a sailor although 
 the wound healed marvellously. He was of no 
 service aloft, for he had not grip enough to 
 hang on in a tight place, and the loss of that 
 thumb seemed to incapacitate him for almost 
 every thing except steering and lookout. I 
 never before realized what a handicap the loss 
 of a thumb is, although I had read of it in the 
 Old Testament. Anyhow his uselessness and 
 helplessness took all the heart out of poor 
 Anton. From being a bold, aggressive fellow, 
 and a bit of a bully, he became a whining, 
 querulous invalid entirely out of place in a 
 ship s crew. The Old Man discharged him in 
 Singapore a year later, and the consul sent him 
 home to New Bedford, where he had kin. But
 
 142 There She Blows 
 
 he died on the passage of heart disease, I 
 heard and that was the end of him. Such is 
 a sailor s career. 
 
 We put in several months cruising on these 
 New Ireland grounds. It was easy, loafing 
 work, for we were always under shortened 
 canvas, and in the intense watch for whales the 
 ordinary tasks the officers were so ingenious 
 in providing to tide us over dull times were 
 neglected. An occasional pull on the halliards, 
 and now and then a shift of the braces, apart 
 from the wheel and lookouts, made the sum of 
 our duties when we did not have whales in 
 sight. It became very tedious in time, and al 
 most any break in the monotony was welcomed, 
 and that reminds me that we experienced an 
 earthquake one day. 
 
 I was at the wheel. We had a five knot 
 breeze, and were sliding along over a smooth 
 sea, for a wonder out of sight of the coast of 
 New Ireland, which we had been hugging for 
 weeks. The Old Man was leaning against the 
 binnacle, and was about to speak to me when 
 the Avola gave a shiver like a wounded whale. 
 The rigging quivered and shook, and as our 
 eyes met, a grating, rumbling noise passed 
 along the keel. I dropped my wheel like a hot
 
 A Whaling Yarn 143 
 
 brick, and leaping to the rail, gazed over the 
 stern, expecting to see some discoloration in the 
 water to show where we had scraped the bot 
 tom. The Old Man s grizzled head bobbed 
 alongside of me as I searched the surface, and 
 he drew a long breath of relief as he saw the 
 wave was deeply blue as always. 
 
 "Go back to your wheel, Ned," he said, "I 
 guess it s nothing but an earthquake !" 
 
 The Old Man s sense of proportion did not 
 Correspond with mine. Nothing but an earth 
 quake! Nevertheless when he explained that 
 these events were not uncommon, and ordi 
 narily harmless, and that he had experienced 
 two previously, I was obliged to confess 
 that it was easier to contemplate one than it 
 was to run the bark on a reef. 
 
 It was about this time we all began to take 
 notice something was amiss with Portuguese 
 John, the second mate s boatsteerer. He was a 
 slight, elderly man, almost black, but with 
 clean cut, delicate features that denied the 
 presence of negro blood. He was probably of 
 Moorish descent, and a certain personal fas 
 tidiousness that he managed to maintain even 
 in the close companionship unavoidable in such 
 a life as ours, confirmed the impression that
 
 144 There She Blows 
 
 eastern rather than Latin blood ran in his veins. 
 He was reputed to be a more experienced 
 whaleman than even the Old Man, and his 
 countrymen in the forecastle regarded him with 
 a respect that was near to reverence. John 
 was courteous in manner, although silent and 
 reserved. Stoddard regarded him as the best 
 man in a boat he had ever lowered with. I had 
 heard from the beginning of the voyage that 
 John was devout in mind, and framed his daily 
 life on religious principles. 
 
 We noticed John was forming a habit of 
 talking to himself. His lips moved constantly 
 when he was not occupied in some task that en 
 grossed him, and he made the sign of the cross 
 so frequently it seemed automatic. One night 
 when I had started to the scuttle butt for a 
 drink, I almost fell over John on his knees in 
 the waist. He did not notice me, though I 
 stood out plain in the moonlight, but went on 
 waving his arms on high, and talking in a 
 rapid, monotonous voice that had earnest sup 
 plication in its tones. I drew back, and met 
 Morrison at the vice bench. He beckoned me, 
 and we went forward of the windlass, out of 
 hearing of the watch. 
 
 "You saw him, didn t you ?" he asked. "It s
 
 A Whaling Yarn 145 
 
 queer, and I don t know what s got into old 
 John. He s been at this two days every chance 
 he gets. He s as good a man as ever broke 
 blackskin, but I fear he s turning soft." 
 
 We talked the matter over, and at my sug 
 gestion the fourth mate agreed to tell the facts 
 to the captain, and let him take action if he 
 thought necessary. The next night Morrison 
 told me he had informed Uncle Zene about 
 John, and the captain advised to take no notice. 
 He thought it religious mania, and it might, or 
 might not prove serious. 
 
 No one could have foretold the strange and 
 tragic ending of old John s queerness, and I 
 may as well relate it here, although the cir 
 cumstances occurred some days after. 
 
 Mr. Fletcher raised the whale in the morning 
 watch. It was a lone bull breaching a long 
 distance to the windward. It took the bluff- 
 bowed Avola three hours to beat up where the 
 lonely monarch could be seen from deck. 
 Fletcher scanned the whale long and closely, 
 while it lay spouting. Suddenly he hailed the 
 deck: 
 
 "I never seen a sperm bull like this one, 
 Captain Bourne. He s queer, and no mis 
 take!"
 
 146 There She Blows 
 
 The Old Man, pacing his quarter as usual 
 like a penned animal, paused in his stride, and 
 looked inquiringly aloft: 
 
 "What do you make of him, sir?" 
 
 "I m blowed if he s a protestant!" replied 
 Fletcher, with a brief chuckle. "He s marked 
 with a cross on his head." 
 
 Portugee John, who stood by the new star 
 board boat near Uncle Zene, gave a convulsive 
 start as the whale was described, and seemed 
 about to speak, but he restrained himself. 
 Fletcher continued : 
 
 "Seems like the cross was painted on with 
 white lead. The long streak goes from the 
 nose to the hump, and the cross bar reaches 
 clear athwart his head." 
 
 Captain Bourne happened to glance at the 
 boatsteerer, and to his surprise John s swarthy 
 face had turned the dull blue which takes the 
 place of emotional paleness in men of his com 
 plexion. 
 
 "What is it, John?" he asked in surprise. 
 
 The boatsteerer s voice was husky, and he 
 shivered as he answered, pointing in the direc 
 tion of the whale : 
 
 "Sacred Ben, sir, the Whale of the Cross!" 
 
 "Hey!" exclaimed the Old Man with an ex-
 
 A Whaling Yarn 147 
 
 pression of deep interest. "I ve heard of him. 
 He s got a bad record !" 
 
 Portugee John moved nearer, and laid his 
 unsteady hand on the master s arm. 
 
 "Capitan," he said in a strained whisper, 
 "that whale mean Death! He kill my broth 
 three year ago in the Indian Ocean, and many 
 more ! He stove three boats of the Mary, and 
 get away with four irons, an all the lines. I 
 know, for I was there ! My broth , Anton, he 
 steer Misser Brown, the mate, an all that boat 
 crew Sacred Ben he kill. And many more! 
 I hear of him in other ships. He always kill, 
 and always get away!" 
 
 "I heard something of the Mary losing her 
 boats. I was in the Okhotsk that year," replied 
 Uncle Zene. "Well, what of it, John?" 
 
 "Capitan, for Christ his sake, do not lower 
 after the Whale of the Cross !" 
 
 The sailor in Uncle Zene quaked a moment 
 because of the superstition begot by the sea. 
 Then the tough, Yankee spirit of the old New 
 England whale hunter surged up in his breast : 
 
 "Sacred Ben will try out like any other 
 whale, I reckon !" he grimly said. 
 
 John made the sign of his faith. He saw the 
 skipper s jaw set, and knew the breed. With
 
 148 There She Blows 
 
 the instinctive gesture he resigned his welfare 
 to the care of his patron saint, and braced 
 himself to do his duty whatever might be 
 fall. The Old Man took his glass from the 
 companion-way rack, and climbed the weather 
 rigging to a height where he could see the 
 bull plainly. 
 
 "The Whale of the Cross right enough !" he 
 murmured when he had adjusted his focus. 
 "I ll give him a whirl for luck!" Then he 
 snapped his glass together, and roared: "Stand 
 by to lower away!" 
 
 The masthead lookouts seemed to drop to 
 the deck. The crew, on hot foot since Fletch 
 er s first call from aloft, ranged themselves at 
 their stations. 
 
 "Lower away all !" 
 
 The falls creaked ; in a twinkle all four boats 
 touched the water, and the men were on their 
 thwarts. Stoddard, with Portugee John pull 
 ing the harpooner oar, was first away from 
 the side: 
 
 "Vast pulling!" commanded the second mate. 
 "Peak oars! Step the mast! Shake that sail 
 loose ! Throat and peak halliards hoist !" 
 
 Almost as he spoke the well-drilled men had
 
 A Whaling Yarn. 149 
 
 the mast secured, the sheet aft, and the sail 
 took the wind. 
 
 "Drop your center board. Let her go!" he 
 said to the midship oarsman. 
 
 Down it went, and held the boat up to the 
 wind as Stoddard laid her head straight for 
 Sacred Ben.
 
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 
 
 all!" Stoddard s crew lay back on 
 their oars, and the foam curled from the 
 cutwater. The second mate the only man in 
 the boat with his face to the whale looked 
 out ahead with a dancing devil in his gray 
 eye. His blood was afire with the chase. The 
 Whale of the Cross, doughty old sea warrior 
 as he was, had an antagonist who would tax 
 his art and test his fighting quality. A mile- 
 two miles were passed, and the black bulk 
 lay ahead, looming like a bare rock in mid 
 ocean. His great hump was six feet above the 
 sea. At times he spouted, sending a jet of 
 steam and spray twenty feet in the air, and 
 anon in the wantonness of might he thrust his 
 huge body half above the surface with a writhe 
 of his muscles, and falling back splintered the 
 brine a hundred yards around. 
 
 Nearer came the boat. Portugee John, 
 watching Stoddard s eye, saw it glow as the 
 dancing devil leaped with madder bounds, but 
 he never turned his head, though he knew 
 
 150
 
 A Whaling Yarn 151 
 
 Sacred Ben was close aboard. Then the second 
 mate spoke again, as he threw the boat s nose 
 in the wind this time in a strained whisper, 
 that shivered along the men s nerves like an 
 electric current: 
 
 "Take in the sail cleverly! Down with the 
 mast. So ! Stand up, John ! Pull, the rest of 
 you! Pull hard!" 
 
 He accompanied the last order with a swing 
 on his steering oar, and by the time John had 
 knee in clumsy cleat and hand on iron, he was 
 facing the Whale of the Cross, not ten feet 
 abaft his fin. John, though dago, was grit to 
 his toe nails, and despite his shaking hand 
 when the whale was sighted, intended to send 
 his harpoon home if it proved his own death 
 warrant. 
 
 "Give it to him !" 
 
 Stoddard spoke in a fierce whisper, and with 
 startling vehemence. The hearts of the men 
 leaped, and they gripped oars in arrested stroke 
 with fingers of steel that dented the ash. Por- 
 tugee John s iron flashed above his head like 
 lightning, and with a swish the barbed point 
 sung through the air and stabbed deep in the 
 side of Sacred Ben. Like report of gun after 
 touch of trigger he responded. He sprang
 
 152 There She Blows 
 
 into activity as lightly as a wild cat meets 
 its foe. 
 
 "Starn all! For your lives starn all!" bel 
 lowed the second mate. 
 
 With their souls in the strain the crew 
 pushed on their oars. A maelstrom of blind 
 ing foam encompassed them. Angry whirl 
 pools spurted vicious gushes over the boat s 
 side, and a deafening rush of waters was in 
 John s ears, while the boat reeled and danced 
 beneath his feet. But the latent tiger at the 
 bottom of his heart was aroused, and he did 
 not give back an inch. Wiping the spume from 
 his face with his left hand, with the right he 
 sought and grasped the second iron. 
 
 Stoddard at the stern, for a moment had a 
 clearer view than his boatsteerer, and he cried: 
 
 "See! He s milling!" 
 
 So it was. The bull had settled in the water 
 at the prick of the steel, and with two strokes 
 of his fins, and a lash of his tail which had 
 caused the vortex he was turning his bulk, as 
 though on a pivot, with the effect of bringing 
 his flukes underneath the whaleboat. Stoddard 
 was too old a blubber hunter not to know what 
 that meant. An upward stroke of that tre 
 mendous engine of destruction would send boat
 
 A Whaling Yarn 153 
 
 and crew fifty feet in the air, as though thrown 
 aloft by an exploding mine. He gave a great 
 heave on his steering oar, and the boat whirled 
 about. John stood, harpoon uplifted. His 
 eyes, searching the spinning eddies in front, 
 saw the flukes of the Whale of the Cross, 
 curved like a bow, ascending from the depths. 
 
 Stoddard bent to his oar again, and the boat 
 swung from the rising Death. The second 
 mate did his utmost, but even as the bow 
 turned the great tail came up from the sea, 
 smoothly, silently, as though driven by some 
 irresistible mechanical force. John gazed at 
 the black horror in momentary paralysis, his 
 iron raised for the second dart. Its point was 
 caught by the corner of the fluke, and flipped, 
 as a boy jerks his knife in mumblety peg. The 
 harpoon turned on its axis and John was 
 impaled on it. In continuance of the motion 
 the flukes rose high in air, and then sank from 
 sight. Sacred Ben had sounded, and the line 
 hissed over Portugee John s body through the 
 chocks in the bow. 
 
 There is no time for horror in a whale boat. 
 All is action. The men, scarcely realizing the 
 tragedy, but knowing the whale to be fast, 
 peaked their oars. Stoddard reached for the
 
 154 There She Blows 
 
 line and tossed two flakes from the tub to give 
 play, that he might bring it over the snubbing 
 post in the stern sheets. It coiled through his 
 hands like a serpent, and in the very act of 
 accomplishing his purpose a flake leaped in the 
 air, and, opening like the loop of a cowboy s 
 lasso, dropped over his shoulders. For a sec 
 ond it seemed nothing could save him from 
 being cut in two. By the Almighty s grace 
 the bow oarsman happened to see the fatal 
 loop as it fell. In a heartbeat his sheath knife 
 flashed and the line was severed before it had 
 time to nip. Stoddard cast the loosened coil 
 from his body, and settled back in the stern 
 sheets. 
 
 "I guess you saved my bacon," he said to the 
 bow oarsman. "Now, look to John. I m 
 afraid this cussed Whale of the Cross has fixed 
 him." 
 
 They turned his face to the sky, and found 
 the harpoon he had bent against Sacred Ben 
 had cloven his own brave heart in twain. 
 
 We in the other boats had not been able to 
 get an iron into Sacred Ben. He seemed to 
 have departed. Mr. Stoddard returned to the 
 Avola with poor John s body, and the other 
 three boats waited, hoping the Whale of the
 
 A Whaling Yarn 155 
 
 Cross would reappear, but he must have risen 
 to the surface too far away for us to detect. 
 So we returned also, and arrived in time to eat 
 dinner at the usual hour. 
 
 The Portuguese mourned greatly over the 
 death of the old boatsteerer, and his tragic fate 
 cast a shadow over the whole ship s company, 
 aft as well as forward, but as things turned 
 out we did not have much time to waste in 
 grieving. The starboard watch finished its 
 dinner and turned in when 
 "There she white waters ! There she blows !" 
 I bounced on deck, knowing in my heart it 
 was Sacred Ben again, and sure enough the 
 mate at the masthead called down in a minute 
 to the captain with some excitement: 
 
 "It s that same whale, sir ; cross and all !" 
 "Aye, aye," returned the Old Man, as if 
 not surprised. "Whereabouts does he lie?" 
 "Two miles off. Dead to windward." 
 Uncle Zene nodded thoughtfully : 
 "Keep your eye on him, Mr. Haveron, and 
 sing out every move he makes. I ve got an 
 account to settle with him." Then he faced 
 forward : "All hands on deck !" We were all 
 there. "Rip this main hatch cover off! Both 
 of them! Mr. Stoddard, get down tween
 
 156 There She Blows 
 
 decks with a gang and pick out the best six 
 teen barrel cask you can find. Rig a tackle, 
 and send it on deck. Lose no time." 
 
 The second mate looked mystified, but he 
 obeyed. He, and Morrison, and Jonas, and I 
 were below among the empties in a jiffy, while 
 Fletcher was getting a tackle in the rigging. 
 We selected a sound, new cask, and got it 
 where we could hook on. As it arose above the 
 hatch coamings, and we scrambled out, we 
 found Bungs, tools in hand, awaiting us. The 
 Old Man stood over him while he drove those 
 hoops down until the cask was as tight as a 
 newly-corked champagne bottle. While this 
 was doing, he told Fletcher to let the tackle 
 remain, and directed Morrison to bring five or 
 six fathom of new whale line. He was very 
 much in earnest, and the others watched with 
 deep interest to see the outcome. I smelt a 
 scheme to bedevil Sacred Ben, and began to 
 hope Uncle Zene would himself lower to take 
 charge of the campaign against the tremendous 
 fighter who had killed our shipmate. When 
 Bungs was through the captain harnessed the 
 cask with that line, and ended all with a becket 
 so firmly attached it could not get adrift. He
 
 A Whaling- Yarn 157 
 
 stood off, and surveyed it carefully, and nodded 
 in satisfaction: 
 
 "I am going to get that blasted Whale of 
 the Cross," he said to the attentive officers. 
 "And I don t want to lose any more men, or 
 even a boat doing it ; so I m going to give him 
 this cask to kind of chew on, as you might say. 
 We ll get fast to him if we can and carry 
 the line to this cask, and bend on to it. Then 
 the boats can light out, and he can have his 
 fun pounding the cask. I don t reckon he ll 
 damage it so s to hurt. When he s got some 
 of the ginger out of him, we ll try him with 
 the lance." 
 
 There was rejoicing among the officers over 
 the Old Man s plans, and I saw they approved 
 of his idea. Only Mr. Stoddard looked glum, 
 and he suddenly said : 
 
 "I want to get square on that fellow myself, 
 and how am I going to lower without a boat- 
 steerer?" 
 
 "I ll fix you up, sir," Uncle Zene answered. 
 "I m going down myself, so Mr. Morrison will 
 steer me, and you can take Fayal Joe." 
 
 Stoddard s brow cleared, and we got the cask 
 overboard. As the wind was light, and we
 
 158 There She Blows 
 
 could make better time in the boats, we lowered 
 at once. It was a heavy pull with the cask, but 
 we hitched on tandem. An hour brought us 
 to the neighborhood of Sacred Ben, who gam 
 bolled innocently, as if the burden of John s 
 murder did not weigh heavily on him. The 
 captain now ordered the other three boats to 
 spread and come on the whale from all four 
 points of the compass. The one lucky enough 
 to get fast was to let the line run, and attach 
 it to the barrel as quickly as possible. It was 
 expected to occupy the entire attention of the 
 Whale of the Cross, at least long enough to 
 allow the boats to get to a safe distance. 
 
 We let the cask drift, and started for the 
 whale when the others had gone far enough 
 to make up for our being the nearest. Then all 
 the boats made a "white ash" breeze, and we 
 approached him without any attempt at con 
 cealment. The Old Man told me as we pulled 
 that Sacred Ben was as wise a "rogue" as any 
 elephant that ever bamboozled its hunters, and 
 possibly had a very good idea that we were 
 preparing to attack at the present time. 
 
 "Once in a while," he said, "a whale that 
 has been a good deal hunted gets wise to all 
 the tricks of the game, and if he s vicious into
 
 A Whaling Yarn 159 
 
 the bargain, as the Whale of the Cross appears 
 to be, he s as deadly as a gatling gun. It ll be a 
 good thing for the whole fleet if we can stow 
 this fellow down." 
 
 I could not avoid reflecting that Ben seemed 
 fully as likely to stow us down as we were to 
 perform the function on his behalf, but the 
 captain spoke again, this time to the fourth 
 mate : 
 
 "He s pointing this way, and I m going to 
 take him head on. Stand up, sir, and dart high 
 and far!" 
 
 Of course I could not see, having my back 
 to the whale, but this is what happened. When 
 Morrison got up he was facing Sacred Ben s 
 head, end on. Tom said his mouth was open, 
 showing thirty-two teeth in the lower jaw, 
 each a foot and a half long. (This was an 
 exaggeration, for I afterward measured one.) 
 He was a ship s length distant, but could not 
 see us because his eyes were set in his head 
 relatively as a human being s ears are, and so 
 imbedded in flesh he cannot squint outside his 
 direct line of vision. Stoddard was the same 
 distance on his port side, and Fletcher on the 
 starboard. Mr. Haveron was closer on the 
 port side, and further down towards his flukes.
 
 160 There She Blows 
 
 Uncle Zene gave no order to Tom, but I 
 saw his teeth clinch, and his jaw set hard when 
 the moment came. Then the fourth mate 
 darted, and yelled: 
 
 "All fast, sir!" 
 
 The Old Man gave a heave on his oar that 
 turned the whale boat in a course at right 
 angles to the one we had held, and roared : 
 
 "NOW, blast you, PULL!!!" 
 
 We pulled. I did not know it at the time, 
 but by the most astonishing good fortune, the 
 three other boatsteerers all got their first irons 
 in at the same time Morrison made fast, and 
 there was Sacred Ben apparently in the toils. 
 What follows came as quickly as light travels. 
 His first move was a sidewise slash with his 
 flukes. It caught Mr. Haveron s boat and 
 crumpled it into a handful of sticks. One of 
 the crew, a Flores man, was struck, and I be 
 lieve he never knew what hit him. He was 
 dead as a door nail when we picked him up, 
 and his face was smiling as if he had died in 
 his bed. 
 
 When the Old Man changed the course of 
 the starboard boat, the new one brought us 
 squarely across the line of vision of the mad 
 dened Whale of the Cross, and he seemed to
 
 A Whaling Yarn 161 
 
 act with the intelligent ferocity of a fighting 
 bull dog. I suppose he was not aware of Stod- 
 dard or Fletcher, or perhaps he left them till 
 he had more time. At any rate his next move 
 was clearly directed against us. Simultan 
 eously with demolishing Haveron, he settled 
 in the water, and began milling so as to turn 
 those horrible jaws on the starboard boat, 
 actually gnashing them. Morrison had not 
 taken his thwart when we pulled in response 
 to the captain s appeal. Now he (I heard all 
 this after) cast off the lashing of a lance, and 
 was ready to fight back, undaunted by the dis 
 proportionate size of his adversary. As Sacred 
 Ben came around he sent the steel into his neck 
 as far as it would go for the wooden shaft. 
 In a second he had it back by the warp, and 
 rammed it home again. 
 
 "Hurrah !" shouted the Old Man. "Hurrah, 
 Tom ! He cannot stand the gaff ! He s sound 
 ing!"
 
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN 
 
 THE Captain was right. Sacred Ben was a 
 fighter, but when it came to serving as pin 
 cushion with Tom Morrison s lance as pin, and 
 the jabs penetrating his body eight or ten feet 
 every time, he reconsidered his intention of 
 eating our boat, and made up his mind to go 
 below out of sight a bit, and think up some 
 other scheme. He sounded with the earnest 
 ness characteristic of his disposition, and the 
 line ran out like wild fire. 
 
 The second mate had started for the floating 
 cask the moment he was sure Fayal Joe s iron 
 would hold in the Whale of the Cross, and as 
 we had time to take stock, Uncle Zene saw he 
 was bending his line on to the becket prepared 
 with so much care. When he had secured it 
 firmly, he waved his hand to the captain, and 
 shouted: 
 
 "If he goes much deeper, sir, he ll have to 
 take the cask along!" 
 
 There were only about twenty fathoms of 
 162
 
 A Whaling Yarn 163 
 
 line between the buoy and the whale. It was 
 likely the fun would soon begin. The Old Man 
 cut our line, and Fletcher did the same. Mr. 
 Fletcher was directed to salvage the crew of 
 the "stove" boat, and return to the Avola with 
 them. Mr. Stoddard stood by us to see what 
 Sacred Ben s next move would be. We lay 
 at ease with peaked oars, and kept our eyes on 
 that cask. It floated high on the water, and 
 danced lightly from wave to wave. The becket 
 with the line attached was at the highest point 
 on the very top. In a moment the great cask 
 turned over with a jerk that made the foam 
 fly, and passed out of sight in the depths like 
 the cork on a fish line when a bull head gets a 
 hold. The Old Man s features twisted into 
 a grim smile, and he said : 
 
 "Even Sacred Ben won t take that down far 
 with twenty fathoms of line out, and the den 
 sity of the water increasing with every foot!" 
 
 That put plainly before me what a tremen 
 dous drag it was, and I realized the super 
 human powers possessed by the great sea 
 mammal. Then it burst upon me that we had 
 the Whale of the Cross, sixty tons in weight 
 if a pound, hooked much as a boy catches a
 
 164 There She Blows 
 
 perch. If the hook in the perch s mouth, or 
 the iron in Ben s blubber, did not draw out, 
 we had him sure in the end. 
 
 It was not long reckoned by real time, instead 
 of heartbeats, before the buoy came shooting 
 to the surface with such velocity it showed a 
 foot of sky between it and the sea. The next 
 instant the water broke again, and this time the 
 grim, menacing front of Sacred Ben came in 
 view. He emerged a hundred feet from the 
 cask, and in such a position that it was plainly 
 visible. He made for it as savagely as a ter 
 rier goes for a rat. His nose struck, and 
 pushed it before him. He opened his huge 
 jaws, and engulfed it. It was fairly in his 
 mouth, and he tried to crush it. Enormous as 
 was the power of those jaws, he did not succeed. 
 It was a tough and awkward mouthful, too 
 large for him to get a good grip on, and of 
 such slippery resistance in the smooth, rounded 
 oak staves that his utmost efforts were foiled. 
 
 Sacred Ben realized that his attempts to de 
 stroy this mysterious disturber of his peace 
 were futile, and he seemed to reflect a mo 
 ment we breathlessly looking on at a safe 
 distance before he devised a new scheme. 
 Then he fell back, and milled around until he
 
 A Whaling Yarn 165 
 
 felt the cask with his flukes. He raised this 
 thirty-ton hammer high in air and brought it 
 down upon the intruder on his domain. The 
 cask was undaunted. It was driven ten feet 
 beneath the water, but it bounced back cheer 
 fully with uninjured staves, and as impudently 
 buoyant as before. The Whale of the Cross 
 carefully measured his distance, and let drive 
 again. The impact caught the buoy nearer 
 one end this time, and instead of going under 
 water it turned two or three summersaults 
 with a tremendous splashing. And then it 
 floated as indomitable as ever. Sacred Ben 
 was puzzled, but not at the end of his tether. 
 He tried a new device. If he could not get 
 this queer animal that defied him one way, he 
 would another. It was something like the old 
 trick Hercules used when he found Atlas 
 gained renewed strength with each contact 
 with the earth. Now Ben manoeuvred with the 
 utmost accuracy until he got those flukes fairly 
 under the enemy. They swished upwards as 
 if driven by a mighty engine, and the cask was 
 flung fifty feet aloft like a huge stone from a 
 catapult, but to the bewilderment of the Whale 
 of the Cross it came down without a fracture, 
 and to add insult to injury, landed on the back
 
 1 66 There She Blows 
 
 of his neck. This inexplicable result was too 
 much for Sacred Ben. He gave it up, and 
 sounded again. 
 
 We watched these proceedings with the ut 
 most delight. Uncle Zene actually danced up 
 and down in the stern sheets, and hugged 
 himself in his satisfaction: 
 
 "We ve got him, darn his skin!" he ex 
 claimed. Then he added : "Ain t it great ! I 
 never saw the like of it in my born days !" 
 
 Before long that cask disappeared beneath 
 the wave again, but I thought there was a 
 shade less vim in the jerk that took it down. 
 The captain s vigilant eye noted this as well, 
 and he remarked over my head to Morrison, 
 with a return to his official manner: 
 
 "The exercise is telling on him, sir. He s 
 too big to work as hard as he has for the last 
 twenty minutes without getting tuckered. Like 
 enough you ll get a chance to put that lance 
 into him again the next time he comes up." 
 
 Mr. Stoddard had moved up near us, and the 
 captain directed him to spread out farther, so 
 if the boats got another opportunity they could 
 come on him from opposite sides. He pulled 
 past where he thought the bedevilled whale 
 would rise, and lay watching. Ben did not
 
 A Whaling Yarn 167 
 
 remain under so long this time, which in it 
 self was a sign of approaching exhaustion. In 
 less than five minutes the cask appeared, fol 
 lowed after a short interval by the whale. He 
 was still unconquered, and made directly for 
 the buoy. He tried again to bite it, and man 
 aged some way to get the line in his mouth. 
 I was greatly concerned for a moment, having 
 the idea he might contrive to bite it off, but 
 Tom and the captain did not appear worried, 
 and I perceived directly his teeth were so wide 
 apart it had settled between two of them on 
 the lower jaw. If so small a thing could have 
 embarrassed the entangled monster, this would 
 have done so, but he seemed entirely unaware 
 of it. But it made his attempts to bite the 
 cask less successful than ever, for the line kept 
 getting in the way, and veered it off. When 
 he convinced himself that this attack was of no 
 use, he returned to his flukes again, and be 
 labored the buoy until it really seemed as if 
 he would dash it to pieces, but the staunch oak 
 staves held good. Of course, if the cask had 
 not been in the yielding water the first stroke 
 would have knocked it to flinders. 
 
 Toward the last his blows were obviously 
 given with loss of strength and spirit. Then
 
 1 68 There She Blows 
 
 he ceased, and for the first time since our iron 
 had entered his back, he lay without motion : 
 
 "Pull all !" said the Old Man softly. "Stand 
 up, Tom!" 
 
 With a turn of the blade of his steering oar 
 he pointed the boat s nose at Sacred Ben s 
 broadside, and our oars caught the water. Mr. 
 Stoddard was coming too on the other side of 
 the great body. We were fifty feet distant, and 
 Tom had his lance aloft, when the whale s huge 
 head sank as if drawn down, and his body 
 reared itself on end in a perpendicular dive. 
 It was a tremendous distance to hurl a lance, 
 but the fourth mate did not intend to miss 
 the opportunity. He "pitch-poled" his keen 
 weapon with a bitter impetus that carried it 
 over the intervening space, and lodged it in 
 Ben s belly as he disappeared. The warp was 
 jerked from Morrison s hand and went out of 
 sight with the whale. As we backed water, 
 Morrison stooped, and took another lance from 
 its rack at the bottom of the boat, but the 
 captain said: 
 
 "I don t believe you ll need it! You went 
 home that time. It was a good dart, sir !" 
 
 The fourth mate looked happy, and we 
 waited. Not for long! The trusty old cask
 
 A Whaling Yarn 169 
 
 could scarcely have gone five fathoms deep 
 when up it came, and right after it Sacred Ben 
 spouting blood by the bucketful, and sick unto 
 death. Uncle Zene took one glimpse at him, 
 and observed hastily: 
 
 "I reckon we d better get out of this. He s 
 going in his flurry. Pull for all you re worth !" 
 
 We had hardly reached what I considered a 
 reasonable distance when the last tremendous 
 climax of the day took place. I had thought 
 that whale s strength exhausted! An earth 
 quake could not have been more vigorous than 
 he was for the next two minutes. He lashed 
 the waters in mad fury with his flukes; he 
 churned them into suds with his fins; he 
 actually bit them, gnashing his jaws so we 
 could hear them click together. He flung his 
 colossal carcase from side to side until he beat 
 the summer sea into tempestuous fury. Then 
 all at once and it seemed a miracle to me he 
 rolled over dead as Julius Caesar. 
 
 Hurrah! We had done it! We had killed 
 Sacred Ben, the Whale of the Cross, and 
 avenged old John! We all cheered. Stod- 
 dard s boat crew, and Fletcher s, which was 
 returning too late for the fray, but not for the 
 rejoicing joined with us, and a wild yell of
 
 170 There She Blows 
 
 victory rent the air that reached over the calm 
 water as far as the bark, and we could hear 
 their hurrahs faintly in response. We pulled 
 to where the cyclopean monster only lately 
 the scourge of the seas was rolling inertly 
 to the heave of the water, and the Old Man 
 reached out, and patted his black side: 
 
 "Tom," he said deliberately, "I put up the 
 job, but you killed him. I call you a whaleman, 
 and if you want to sail with me as mate next 
 voyage I ll sign you on, sure s you re alive!" 
 
 Old Tom did not know which way to look 
 at this public tribute from a man who was not 
 given to this sort of thing, so he made his 
 warp fast to Sacred Ben. The others tailed 
 on, and we started for the Avola, which was 
 coming down to us with to gallant sails set. It 
 was not long before we passed a chain about 
 those flukes that had been so formidable, and 
 put up the tackles to strip the blubber off him. 
 One hundred and thirty-one barrels he stowed 
 down, and was the largest whale killed in the 
 South Pacific that season. 
 
 Two of the foremast hands, they said they 
 were cousins of Portugee John, were detailed to 
 prepare our dead comrades for burial. This 
 undertaking business has always seemed un-
 
 A Whaling Yarn 171 
 
 pleasant, but apparently these men did not 
 mind it. They washed the corpses, and shaved 
 them. They attired the dead men in the best 
 raiment found in their donkeys. Portuguese 
 sailors are a provident lot, and invariably take 
 with them on their voyages a suit especially 
 designed for such emergencies. Poor chaps, 
 it shows their sense of the uncertain nature of 
 their occupation. When the bodies were as 
 neatly togged out as was possible in the nature 
 of things, they were sewn up in canvas the 
 Old Man donated from the sail room, and some 
 old iron castings, kept in the hold for this 
 melancholy purpose, were attached to their feet. 
 Meanwhile the work of cutting in Sacred Ben 
 went on, and it would never have been sus 
 pected that two members of the little community 
 that had lived in such close companionship the 
 past year, lay outstretched in death a few feet 
 distant from the busy laborers. The grim fact 
 of Death is accepted and forgotten on board 
 ship more readily than on the land. Perhaps 
 the absence of womanhood and family relations 
 have something to do with this, as well as the 
 reckless and happy-go-lucky disposition of the 
 average sailorman. At any rate, it appeared to 
 me that the two men alive not ten hours since
 
 172 There She Blows 
 
 had passed away without even a disturbing 
 ripple to remind us of their tragic ends. 
 
 When the glorious, tropical, full moon arose, 
 the Old Man came to the waist and ordered 
 "all hands to stand by for burial." He sta 
 tioned himself by the rail, and the officers 
 ranged themselves opposite. The two chief 
 mourners brought Portugee John on a scuttle- 
 door that had been taken from its place, and 
 rested it, feet foremost, on the rail. We of the 
 crew gathered by the main hatch, and the cap 
 tain read the impressive words of the burial 
 service at sea by the mellow moonlight : 
 
 "We therefore commit his body to the deep, 
 to be turned into corruption, looking for the 
 resurrection of the body (when the sea shall 
 give up her dead), and the life of the world to 
 come, through out Lord Jesus Christ, who at 
 His coming shall change our vile body, that it 
 may be like His glorious body, according to the 
 mighty working whereby He is able to subdue 
 all things unto Himself." 
 
 He lowered the book, and made a slight ges 
 ture to the pall bearers. They tilted the in 
 board end of the plank, and John disappeared 
 into the calm bosom of the sea. There were a 
 few bubbles, and it was ended. The ceremony
 
 A Whaling Yarn 173 
 
 was repeated for the Flores man, and the cap 
 tain whisked about briskly, and said in his 
 usual work-a-day tone : 
 
 "Turn to!" 
 
 As I went back to the try works with Tom 
 Morrison, the fourth mate observed thought 
 fully: 
 
 "After all, we fellows ain t much more ac 
 count than a cockroach. We get scrunched 
 like we scrunch them, and that is the end of it. 
 Sometimes you think you are some punkins, but 
 when it comes down to facts the cockroach is 
 just about as important as we are. Well, I 
 don t reckon he puts in much time worrying 
 about when he s going to be scrunched, and we 
 might as well do likewise. What do you think 
 about it, Ned?" 
 
 "The cockroach is a wise old bird," said I, 
 and we went to work and stopped attempting 
 to dive into mysteries that had puzzled wiser 
 men.
 
 CHAPTER FIFTEEN 
 
 COR several weeks after our capture of the 
 Whale of the Cross we had one of our easy 
 spells. No whales, and nothing else exciting 
 except the rats and cockroaches, which abso 
 lutely swarmed on the old, oil-soaked Avola. 
 The rats were everywhere ; they played around 
 our feet at meal times, and picked up crumbs 
 thrown them like pet poodles. It was nothing 
 unusual for them to run over a leg or arm 
 while one was lying in his bunk, and they even 
 came on deck at night, and foraged for scraps. 
 They were great, hearty, gray fellows, as large 
 as a good-sized kitten, and although they 
 looked very ferocious with their sharp, white 
 teeth, and little, twinkling eyes, we got so we 
 did not mind their companionship, and were on 
 rather friendly terms with them. Nevertheless, 
 they were undesirable shipmates, for in their 
 rapaciousness they ate up a great many useful 
 things. 
 
 The after-gang, that is the officers, were not 
 as easy-going as we perhaps they had more 
 
 174
 
 " IT .S A FLOATER, I THINK," HE REPLIED, " HUT IT S A LONG 
 WAY OFF." 
 
 See Chapter XV.
 
 A Whaling Yarn 175 
 
 property imperilled and there was open and 
 constant feud between them and the rodents. 
 They devised all sorts of plans and ingenious 
 traps for their extermination, but apparently 
 without the slightest effect in reducing their 
 numbers. Fletcher, the negro third mate, de 
 veloped a singular faculty in connection with 
 the animals which made the others regard him 
 with envy and admiration. He was possessed 
 of abnormal quickness of hand and eye, and be 
 came so expert he could reach down like light 
 ning, pick up any incautious rat by the long tail, 
 and slat it fiercely to the deck again. He killed 
 dozens in this way, until they must have become 
 aware of his peculiar gift, for they looked on 
 him with suspicion, and no longer ventured 
 in his immediate vicinity. 
 
 The cockroaches annoyed me more than the 
 rats, although in a way they were not so for 
 midable. They thrived on the diet the ship 
 furnished, and grew to enormous size. It was 
 not unusual to see them nearly an inch long, 
 and they infested every conceivable crack, 
 cranny, and crevice on the Avola. I likened 
 these fastnesses to robbers caves. Here the 
 marauders dwelt in security like the old barons 
 on the Rhine. When they needed supplies, or
 
 176 There She Blows 
 
 desired to put the outlaying communities under 
 tribute they would make savage forays, some 
 times in small parties, and at others in full 
 force. On these latter occasions the forecastle 
 would be literally alive with them. You could 
 not step without crushing half a dozen, with a 
 horrid, repulsive scrunch. And a mashed dead 
 cockroach is even more objectionable than a live 
 one. Its body becomes a greasy, mealy mass, 
 with a penetrating, acrid odor that makes one 
 gasp and flee for fresh air. Several times a 
 day, at irregular intervals, but apparently fol 
 lowing some general command, they swarmed 
 out on us en masse. If we happened to be eat 
 ing they would fill our pots and pans, and at 
 such times they invariably crawled over the 
 small, open-wicked lamp and extinguished it, 
 although the odor of roasting cockroach 
 showed they had not accomplished the result 
 without cost to themselves. Another unpleas 
 ant habit of these pests was that they would, 
 whenever they caught one of us asleep, eat the 
 flesh under our finger and toe nails. I suppose 
 the thinness of the skin there gave them their 
 opportunity. At any rate, for weeks at this 
 period, I never dared turn in my bunk to sleep 
 without putting on gloves and socks, a habili-
 
 A Whaling Yarn 177 
 
 ment that in view of the prevailing tropical 
 heat, was inexpressibly absurd. 
 
 I have described these two features of life on 
 a whaler because of the "smoking ship" festival 
 we celebrated at this time. Early one morning, 
 the Old Man came to the waist as the watch 
 was going below, and sung out : 
 
 "All hands stands by to smoke ship! Pre 
 pare yourselves to remain on deck three days." 
 
 We knew what to expect, and at once 
 brought from below such things as we would 
 need during the picnic on deck. Each sailor 
 selected some spot to be his for the nonce, for 
 ward of the windlass, or on the try works, or 
 on top of the house, and deposited his mattress. 
 Then the real business began. The main 
 hatches were removed, and a gang of men 
 swarmed down into the lower hold and cleared 
 away a space for the great iron deck pot that 
 generally held Slush s supply of firewood. 
 Kindling, plentifully sprinkled with kerosene 
 and tar was put in the bottom, and on it sulphur 
 and similar articles for the purpose of convert 
 ing the air below decks into noxious gas that 
 would asphyxiate the pests. The pyre was not 
 lighted at this stage of the proceedings. The 
 gang adjourned to deck, where the captain and
 
 178 There She Blows 
 
 mate had prepared a number of strips of paper, 
 and tins of molasses. By the aid of these, using 
 the blackstrap as mucilage, every tiny crack 
 that allowed air to penetrate below was care 
 fully closed. 
 
 "Jump down, Ned," said the skipper, "and 
 light that fire. We ll haul you up before it 
 lays you out." 
 
 I took the matches he handed me and put my 
 foot on the point of the tackle hook, holding by 
 the standing part. Down I went, and dropped 
 a blazing match into the charged deck pot. It 
 flickered and burst into a flame, and as I was 
 hoisted again, a trail of stinking smoke en 
 veloped and nearly strangled me before I 
 reached the open air. The hatches were 
 promptly secured, and the crevice overlaid with 
 molasses paper. 
 
 A quarter hour later Jonas called me to the 
 forecastle scuttle and told me to lay my ear 
 against it as he was doing. When I did so I 
 could hear a wild commotion. The rats seemed, 
 from the noise, to be scurrying madly around, 
 and from the soft flip-flip on the inner surface 
 of the door, I knew the cockroaches were 
 swarming in incalculable numbers. 
 
 The life on deck for the ensuing days was
 
 A Whaling Yarn 179 
 
 no hardship either to me or the officers. Then 
 the scuttles and hatches were flung wide to 
 the air, but for an interval no one was per 
 mitted below. When the Old Man judged the 
 poisonous fumes had passed away, we made a 
 rush for the interior of the ship expecting to 
 find the deck everywhere covered with the dead 
 bodies of our enemies. Such was not the case. 
 An occasional one lay in the open, but it was 
 apparent most of the rats had retired to the 
 secret places and died there, gnashing their 
 teeth at Fate, like the ferocious hearted out 
 laws they were. But the deadly vapor had done 
 its work. In twenty- four hours the rotting car 
 cases began to make themselves manifest by the 
 smell, and those of us who had again taken up 
 their quarters below hurriedly brought their 
 bedding once more on deck. It was a week, or 
 longer, before life was endurable between 
 decks, and it seemed to me that a reminiscent 
 stench hung about the forecastle the whole bal 
 ance of the voyage. Perhaps I was mistaken, 
 and got the smell of the dead rats confused 
 with that of the living Portuguese. 
 
 And now an event happened which made a 
 great and pleasant change in my life on board 
 the Avola. The death of Portugee John had
 
 180 There She Blows 
 
 left us short a boatsteerer. In case of emer 
 gency, of course, the Old Man could lower him 
 self, and using the fourth mate to steer him, 
 leave Fayal Joe for Stoddard, as had been done 
 when we lowered the second time for Sacred 
 Ben. The boatsteerer is an important man on 
 the ship as well as in the boat, being actually the 
 petty officer of the watch, and the actual work 
 ing leader in all ship duties. I suppose he cor 
 responds to the warrant officer on a man-of- 
 war. It is the custom in similar cases to choose 
 a fitting substitute from among the crew, and 
 promote him. The advancement takes the 
 chosen one out of the forecastle, for boat- 
 steerers berth and eat in what is called the 
 steerage a compartment aft of the cabin 
 with the cook and steward. In some respects 
 this companionship is not undesirable for these 
 two autocrats virtually control the food sup 
 ply, and have it in their power to share what 
 ever dainties are served at the officers table. 
 
 One memorable afternoon, in the dog watch, 
 the word was passed forward that Long Island 
 Ned was wanted on the quarter deck. I hur 
 ried aft without the least idea of what was 
 about to happen, and found Captain Bourne 
 and Mr. Stoddard awaiting me:
 
 A Whaling Yarn 181 
 
 "Ned," the Old Man began, "Mr. Stoddard 
 thinks you could steer his boat. What s your 
 idea about it?" 
 
 He grinned, and both looked pleasant 
 enough, but I was taken flat aback by the un 
 expectedness of it. Of course I knew it was a 
 compliment, and a very unusual occurrence for 
 a green hand to be thus advanced ; and I fully 
 understood how much more comfortable and 
 happy it would make me. In fact, the only 
 quarrel I had with my life on board was the 
 necessarily intimate association with the riff 
 raff of the forecastle. I turned red as a boiled 
 lobster, and stammered away in my embarrass 
 ment until I was afraid they would think I was 
 trying to decline the berth, but the Old Man 
 cut me short in a moment by saying in his usual 
 decisive way: 
 
 "Get your dunnage and strike aft to the 
 steerage. Take John s bunk." 
 
 "Aye, aye, sir," I meekly answered, but I 
 went forward with a light heart. 
 
 I stood masthead lookout at the main now 
 instead of forward, and either Mr. Stoddard 
 or Mr. Morrison shared the duty. This was 
 very pleasant, for they were intelligent com 
 panions, very different from the ignorant fore-
 
 1 82 There She Blows 
 
 mast hands with whom I had been obliged to 
 herd. While these officers had been friendly 
 enough to me while I was in the forecastle, the 
 difference in our status had made it impossible 
 for us to become intimate. 
 
 The next day after my promotion I was aloft 
 with Stoddard in the morning watch. He had 
 a pair of excellent glasses with which he could 
 sweep the face of the water further than I could 
 see with my unaided vision, though that hap 
 pened to be keen. On this occasion I saw he 
 was regarding something with interest that 
 was invisible to me. I grew curious as he con 
 tinued to gaze, and asked him what he was 
 looking at. 
 
 "It s a floater, I think," he replied, "but it s a 
 long way off, and I can t quite make it out. 
 Whatever it is, it s black and floating high in 
 the water, and there are a lot of birds about it. 
 You take a look through my glasses." 
 
 He handed them to me. When I had the 
 focus right, I could see the object clearly. As 
 he said it floated high above the surface, but I 
 discerned an occasional disturbance in the 
 water thirty or forty feet from the black mass 
 that had first attracted attention. Myriads of 
 gulls hovered around and over the object as if
 
 A Whaling Yarn 183 
 
 feeding. The second mate thought the ripple 
 I noted was the disturbance made by the dead 
 whale s flukes. He hailed the deck and told the 
 Old Man, who was prowling the length of the 
 weather quarter as usual, that he had raised a 
 dead whale about four miles to leeward. 
 
 The news interested Uncle Zene out of all 
 proportion to its importance, it seemed to us. 
 
 "Hard up your helm !" he shouted to the man 
 at the wheel. Then as the Avola began to pay 
 off, he called up to Stoddard: "Give us the 
 course, sir! Point the flying jib boom straight 
 on that dead whale, sir !" 
 
 Mr. Stoddard smiled and sung out, "Steady 
 as she goes!" when we were headed right. 
 Then he added to me : 
 
 "I wonder whether Uncle Zene is calculating 
 on cutting in that fellow. By the way it floats, 
 it s been dead long enough to be blasted, and 
 I ll bet it stinks worse than a bushel of pole 
 cats." 
 
 We were in a fair way to find out. For a 
 wonder there was a humming breeze, which 
 shortly brought us to the immediate vicinity of 
 the floater. The second mate was right. As 
 we came closer a vile stench, that became more 
 appalling as we approached, assailed our nos-
 
 1 84 There She Blows 
 
 trils. It did not daunt Uncle Zene. He or 
 dered away the starboard boat. When it was in 
 the water, he took a short-handled whaling 
 spade from its place in the companion-way 
 locker, and climbed into the stern sheets. Stod- 
 dard had ceased smiling by this time, and was 
 looking curious. 
 
 "I wonder what the Old Harry he s after !" 
 he muttered to me. "What s he going to do 
 with that spade?" 
 
 I could not answer to my own satisfaction, 
 but I watched with increasing wonder as I re 
 flected that acute-witted old Uncle Zene was 
 the most unlikely man in the whaling fleet to 
 put himself to this discomfort without some 
 well-defined object at the end. When the boat 
 neared the dead whale he pulled half a dozen 
 bandanna handkerchiefs from the front of his 
 shirt, and tieing one around his own nostrils, 
 so as to not interfere with his vision, he tossed 
 the others to his crew. We could see they fol 
 lowed his example, and then backed him right 
 up against the floater s distended stomach. 
 The Old Man held his nose with the fingers of 
 one hand in addition to the defense afforded by 
 the wipe, while he dug into the mass of putrid 
 flesh with the spade held in the other. In a
 
 A Whaling Yarn 185 
 
 moment we heard him give a shout of exulta 
 tion. 
 
 He dropped his spade, reached over and 
 lifted out a large chunk of something from 
 among the intestines of the whale, and 
 sank back with it in his lap. Apparently 
 he was almost overcome by the noxious 
 gases, but he signed the men to pull for 
 the ship. In a moment he straightened up, 
 said something to Tom Morrison who was 
 pulling the harpooneer oar, and pointed tri 
 umphantly to the grayish black mass he had 
 taken from the whale s insides. At this point, 
 the second mate, who had his eyes glued on the 
 scene, clapped his thigh with his great hand, 
 reckless of his position at the slings of the 
 main-royal yard a hundred feet above deck, 
 and said to me indignantly: 
 
 "I see what it is, you cussed fool! The Old 
 Man has got a lump of ambergris out of that 
 dead sperm whale, and it s worth twenty dol 
 lars an ounce if it s worth a cent!" 
 
 The Old Man came over the side chipper 
 as a boy, and a moment after hailed us cheer- 
 ily: 
 
 "Lay down here, if you want to see the sight 
 of your lives!"
 
 1 86 There She Blows 
 
 We were on deck in a jiffy, conscious of a 
 rare and delightful perfume fighting the 
 noisome stench that continued to eat into the 
 wind from the whale. Tom had carefully 
 passed the lump of ambergris to the captain, 
 and it lay before us on the quarter deck as large 
 as a bushel basket. 
 
 "There," said the Old Man. "Look at it! 
 A hundred pounds, if it s an ounce. Ten thou 
 sand dollars at the lowest reckoning!"
 
 THE WOMAN, YOUNC AM) HANDSOME, SEEMED UNCONSCIOUS OF 
 HER BURDEN. 
 
 See Chapter XVI.
 
 CHAPTER SIXTEEN 
 
 HPHESE New Ireland natives made me rate 
 * my swimming abilities very low. We 
 were constantly cruising along the coast of 
 one of this group of islands at that period, 
 and generally within a distance of three or 
 four miles from the beach. It was no uncom 
 mon thing for some of the natives, women as 
 well as men, to swim out to where we lay almost 
 motionless in the light winds that prevailed. 
 They had no purpose in the visit, as they could 
 not carry any thing to barter, but seemed on 
 a pleasure trip, or in mere curiosity to view 
 us at closer range. 
 
 Once a woman appeared who varied the 
 monotony of the performance by bringing her 
 baby, which could not have been, at the out 
 side, six months old. The tiny, brown, laugh 
 ing imp sat perched astride her parent s neck, 
 and in moments of uncertainty clung to her 
 hair. The woman, who was young and hand 
 some, seemed unconscious of her burden, and 
 
 187
 
 1 88 There She Blows 
 
 apparently her action was as natural as it 
 would be for a civilized nurse to carry the 
 infant on her shoulder. When she swam along 
 side I was in the waist preparing to light a 
 new clay pipe. She caught a glimpse of it as 
 I leaned over the rail. I saw by the expres 
 sion of her face how she coveted it, and held 
 it aloft in one hand, and pointed to the baby 
 with the other. She understood like a flash 
 that I meant would she exchange the one for 
 the other. Alas for the sacredness of Mother 
 Love ! She snatched the infant from her neck, 
 and eagerly held it forth, the while she sup 
 ported herself half out of water in some mar 
 vellous manner by the dextrous use of her 
 legs and feet. I laughed, and tossed her the 
 pipe, signing she could keep both. She caught 
 the precious article expertly as a ball tosser, 
 her features radiantly expressing passionate 
 exultation. She was acquainted with its use, 
 for her first action was to blow through it to 
 see if it \vere clear. When this important 
 point was settled, she passed the stem through 
 a hole in the lobe of her ear corresponding to 
 those Christian ladies use for earrings, but 
 much larger. When satisfied of its absolute
 
 A Whaling Yarn 189 
 
 security, she started for the shore with a thrill 
 ing whoop of joy. 
 
 We had now been in these southern waters 
 more than a year and a half, and the bottom 
 of the old Avola had become so foul with bar 
 nacles and sea weed growth that she was 
 almost at the mercy of the winds and currents 
 so far as her sailing was concerned. The mat 
 ter had been discussed among the officers as 
 being of importance, but the Old Man, who 
 kept his own counsel and never spoke till he 
 was ready to act, had not announced his inten 
 tions. 
 
 I was not surprised, however, when he or 
 dered the topgallant sails set at the fore and 
 the main, and the course changed to the north 
 ward. A little later Tom told me we were 
 bound to a small harbor on the Duke of York 
 island, one of the group, to get the bottom 
 scraped by the natives. Incidentally we would 
 replenish our water supply, and lay in a stock 
 of fresh provisions. 
 
 This harbor turned out to be one of the 
 most beautiful places I had ever seen. It was 
 completely land-locked, being approached by 
 a winding passage, with the soundings of
 
 There She Blows 
 
 which the skipper appeared to be familiar, for 
 he conned the bark into her anchorage without 
 hesitation. There was good holding ground, 
 and the cove was not half a mile from shore 
 to shore. Abrupt cliffs a hundred feet high, 
 crowned by trees that went another hundred 
 toward the heavens, surrounded it. It called 
 to mind a pool in a forest, for, except at mid 
 day, the calm water was swathed in shadow. 
 
 As the bark came around the last corner 
 into the cove we heard a tumult of cries and 
 calls from the summit of the cliffs, and before 
 our anchor was down fifteen or twenty natives 
 descended by a trail to starboard of our berth 
 where a ravine pierced the mountain. They 
 dragged canoes from the underbrush at the 
 base of the wall, and in a moment were along 
 side. 
 
 Captain Bourne met the first, who appeared 
 to be in authority, at the rail, and welcomed 
 him cordially. As near as I could make the 
 name out, he called him Luckawarre. It 
 turned out Luckawarre was a chief of emi 
 nence, and mighty potentate, and he certainly 
 was a magnificent savage. He stood six feet, 
 six inches in height, and was a better built 
 man than John L. Sullivan in the palmiest days
 
 A Whaling Yarn 191 
 
 of that eminent pugilist. His features were 
 Grecian in type, and cleanly modelled as those 
 of a college professor. His hair was long and 
 wavy, and hung in natural ringlets on his 
 shoulders. Altogether this Kanaka chieftain 
 I presume he was Kanaka was a perfect 
 specimen of natural Manhood. 
 
 Luckawarre had a few words of English, 
 and quickly made himself at home with all of 
 us, although there was a primitive dignity 
 about him that forbade our taking liberties. 
 One of his first actions was to bring from his 
 canoe a contrivance which seemed to be an 
 empty cocoanut shell with a couple of short 
 sticks protruding from holes in it. It rudely 
 resembled a bird. He carried this contraption 
 forward while the other natives looked on 
 the ceremony with respectful awe, and tied it 
 on the end of the bowsprit. When he returned 
 to the captain he pointed to the symbol, and 
 then to his companions, and said emphatically : 
 "Taboo!" The Old Man nodded as though 
 well pleased, and escorted Luckawarre to his 
 after cabin. I may add that the whole ten days 
 we lay here, not so much as a rope of yarn was 
 pilfered from the ship. Yet I firmly believe 
 those natives would have stolen a red hot stove
 
 192 There She Blows 
 
 if their natural instincts had not been re 
 strained. 
 
 Luckawarre was something of a business 
 man in contradistinction to other natives in the 
 South Seas, and after his understanding with 
 the Old Man, he went right to work. His 
 canoes were sent to the shore: the natives 
 ascended the cliff, and after a while returned 
 with a lot of old cocoanuts. That is, they were 
 dead ripe, and the husk on them was dried and 
 toughened. It appeared these entered into the 
 skipper s plans, for as soon as they arrived the 
 men were set at husking them with hatchet and 
 marline spike. When a number of sections of 
 husk were ready, Luckawarre selected five of 
 his most robust subjects, and the scheme for 
 cleaning the Avola s foul bottom became ap 
 parent. 
 
 Each of the natives took a section of the 
 tough husk, sprang overboard, and disappeared 
 under the ship. Luckawarre himself dived 
 from the dolphin striker, and swam leisurely 
 along the keel. In a few moments, I am afraid 
 to say how many for fear of disbelief, he ap 
 peared at the stern, looking as calm and un- 
 winded as when he entered the water. He 
 swam to the w^aist, seized a rope, and came
 
 A Whaling Yarn 193 
 
 up the side like a monkey, in spite of his bulk 
 and weight. He had inspected the whole bot 
 tom in that trip, and made a definite report of 
 its condition to the captain. Thereafter he 
 confined his efforts to superintending the job. 
 His methods were all right. He made the 
 workers clean up as they advanced along the 
 keel, and if on inspection, he found the work 
 unsatisfactory, he stormed around like an Irish 
 boss to his section hands. It took several days 
 before the work was concluded, and I had the 
 curiosity to swim under the bark myself to see 
 what they had accomplished. I found they had 
 actually scoured the copper bright, and it was 
 probable she never had been so clean since she 
 left the ways. I took an opportunity to tell 
 this to the captain, and he smiled quietly, and 
 said: 
 
 "Yes, Ned. I knew it would be all O. K. 
 This man Luckawarre did the same thing for 
 me when I was here five years ago in the 
 Naponsett. That nigger s a Man !" 
 
 We had to go a long way out through the 
 passage to get our fresh water, and when the 
 stream was reached, to ascend it some distance 
 to a deep pool. One day when the ashore gang 
 were up there filling the casks, one of the For-
 
 194 There She Blows 
 
 tuguese sailors, named Silva, and I were act 
 ing as boat keepers. We had the four boats 
 tied together, and anchored, he in one, and I 
 in another. I had been sitting thoughtfully 
 when I was suddenly awakened to things about 
 me by a heavy splash. When I looked around 
 Silva had disappeared. We were in ten or 
 twelve fathoms of water, and I remembered 
 that this man could not swim a stroke. J was 
 lightly clad in undershirt and drawers, and the 
 water was clear as crystal in the intense sun 
 shine. I caught sight of him in an instant, 
 and as he was some distance away with an 
 other boat intervening, I leaped overboard and 
 swam to him instead of trying to rescue him 
 with a boat hook. It turned out one of the most 
 foolish things I ever did in my life. I took him 
 by the scuff of the neck as he bobbed above 
 the water, saying: 
 
 "Lay over on your back, Silva. I ll get you 
 out all riglit." 
 
 The fellow was mad with terror, and instead 
 of following my directions, he twisted about, 
 and had both arms around my neck before I 
 realized what he was at. He had me so I 
 could not strike him, or get a hold that would
 
 r A Whaling Yarn 195 
 
 do the slightest good, and it came over me like 
 a flash that this fool would probably succeed 
 in drowning both of us. There we were, two 
 cable s lengths from shore, and not a soul in 
 sight. As I thought, and it is marvellous how 
 much one can think at such moments, Silva 
 hugged tighter than ever, and he was strong 
 as a bear. I had struggled fiercely as he at 
 the outset, and then I had an idea. I lay 
 quiescent in his grasp, and filled my lungs with 
 a huge inhalation as we sunk in the clear water. 
 Down we went! thirty feet forty fifty! 
 Still the crazy Portuguese hung on to me like 
 grim death. Now the water was growing 
 darker overhead, and my ears began to ache. 
 But owing to that full breath of air with which 
 I had packed my lungs at the last moment, 
 I was not so greatly distressed. Still we sunk, 
 and now Silva s grip, which had grown tighter 
 the first part of our downward journey, began 
 to relax. Pent up as it was, my heart bounded 
 exultantly, and in another instant I cast his 
 arms from about me with an effort that took 
 most of my remaining strength. Hurrah, I 
 had outlasted him, and was free! I side 
 stepped at least that term describes the nature
 
 196 There She Blows 
 
 of the motion I made to get out of his imme 
 diate vicinity, and shot to the surface like a 
 cork. 
 
 The first thing I did when I reached the top 
 of the water again was to climb into the nearest 
 whale boat. Ten seconds later Silva reap 
 peared. I had the boat hook by this time, and 
 twisted the prong into the neckband of his shirt 
 without caring much whether I gashed the 
 flesh or not. He was half dead with exhaus 
 tion and terror, and had swallowed a lot of 
 water into the bargain. If he had gone down 
 the third time it would have been the end. 
 When I had him fairly on the boat hook, I 
 held him up a bit so he could regain his breath, 
 and reasoned with him. I am forced to con 
 fess my didactic discourse did not seem to im 
 press him much, and I finally hauled him in 
 over the stern so he would not upset the boat. 
 He lay down in the bottom, and shivered, and 
 wept, and called on all the saints in the cal 
 endar, and possibly he would have been doing 
 it yet if I had not shook him up roughly, and 
 told him I d give him a hammering that would 
 make him wish he was drowned again if he 
 didn t quit his nonsense. 
 
 A month after, when he knew I was short
 
 A Whaling Yarn 197 
 
 he brought me a pound of prime ship s tobacco 
 and would not take any pay. So you see there 
 is gratitude even in a Portuguese shellback. 
 
 Before we went to sea, the Old Man paid a 
 visit to Luckawarre at the native village. It 
 was about two miles distant from the cove. I 
 was lucky enough to go along at the invitation 
 of the chieftain with whom I had become very 
 good friends. We followed a narrow but well 
 travelled trail through the forest, and came to 
 a valley scooped out of the upland, where in a 
 natural wooded park was the village of a score 
 or two huts. The central dwelling was Luck- 
 awarre s residence. It was more commodious 
 than the others, and to our wonder, roofed 
 with corrugated iron. The chief was elated 
 over our surprise and admiration, and managed 
 to make us comprehend he had secured the 
 roofing from a Dutch trader who had wan 
 dered into the cove, and been attacked by some 
 unruly subjects during his absence. Fortu 
 nately he had returned in time to put a stop to 
 the fight. In exchange for this and other ser 
 vices the grateful German had presented him 
 with the iron, which he happened to have on 
 board. 
 
 The huts were made of flimsy material, the
 
 198 There She Blows 
 
 walls being only of wattled or woven rattan 
 attached to the upright posts which supported 
 the roofs. The other dwellings were thatched 
 skilfully and efficiently with grass, and as they 
 had only to protect themselves against a 
 straight downpour, they were safe enough 
 from the rain, which seemed the element they 
 feared. The air circulated as freely through 
 the houses as it did outside. 
 
 That day I had my first feed of pig and 
 breadfruit baked together in a Kanaka oven, 
 and it was unexpectedly good. The prepara 
 tion of the dish is as follows: The native 
 simply digs a pit, preserving the top sod intact. 
 Then a number of large cobblestones are 
 heated and dropped red hot in the hole. A 
 quantity of well-wetted leaves are thrown on 
 top the stones. The pig is stuffed with bread 
 fruit after his entrails are removed, enveloped 
 in moistened leaves, and put on top. Then the 
 turf is carefully fitted on, and it is left until 
 ready to eat. When taken from the pit, the 
 steaming flesh is deliciously cooked, and the 
 skin and bristles come off at a touch. The 
 breadfruit is an addition to the dish, although 
 it is not really much like bread. It resembles 
 more a boiled suet pudding.
 
 A Whaling Yarn 199- 
 
 We ate on small wooden trenchers which 
 the women placed at intervals on the tiny lawn 
 in front of Luckawarre s door. Bananas and 
 oranges were laid beside the trenchers much in 
 the same way a piece of bread is put on the 
 napkin at a civilised dinner table. Beside the 
 pig and breadfruit, which appeared to be the 
 piece de resistance, we had some other viands 
 which were unfamiliar to me. One was called 
 poee-poee, and is, I have heard, their real sub 
 stitute for bread. It is prepared with the 
 breadfruit as a base, but is fermented before 
 considered fit to use. In this condition it will 
 keep, even in the tropical climate, a consider 
 able length of time. We had one course of 
 raw fish, so fresh they were nearly alive. They 
 were consumed by those who indulged with 
 a sauce of sea water. A cup of cocoa shell, 
 full of salt water, was placed on each trencher, 
 and the natives alternately dipped and ate. 
 
 Altogether it was a bit of out-of-the-way 
 experience, and I returned to the Avola think 
 ing myself fortunate to have had it.
 
 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 
 
 WHEN we bade goodbye to Luckawarre 
 and left the Duke of York Island, our 
 course lay to the northward. It was Captain 
 Bourne s intention to cruise in leisurely fash 
 ion, for one is apt to raise whales anywhere 
 in these seas, between the north shore of New 
 Guinea and the southern skirts of the Solomon 
 group. At that time the great island of New 
 Guinea was almost unexplored, and its in 
 habitants had a reputation for inveterate 
 savagery that prevented any but the foolhardy 
 from closely approaching its shores. In addi 
 tion the natives were reputed to be cannibals. 
 I cannot refrain from giving the hardy 
 American whaleman most of the credit for 
 opening these lesser known islands of the 
 South Pacific and introducing their inhabitants 
 to the doubtful benefits of a higher civilization. 
 As long ago as the "forties," when whaling 
 was one of the important industries of the 
 world, and the American fleet of hundreds of 
 
 200
 
 A Whaling Yarn 201 
 
 vessels from Nantucket, New Bedford, Prov- 
 incetown and Sag Harbor covered the seas 
 of every portion of the globe, these hardy and 
 intrepid men followed the sperm whale into its 
 favorite fastnesses among the South Sea 
 islands. If the masters needed fruit and 
 vegetables or fresh water, they did not hesitate 
 with nervous tremors over dangerous possi 
 bilities ; they anchored in the nearest convenient 
 harbor, and wheedled, or I am sorry to record, 
 bullied the savages into giving them the needed 
 supplies. In this way mainly the islanders be 
 came acquainted with the great Winged Canoe 
 and the White Man. The contact resulted in 
 the deterioration of the weaker brown race. 
 The rough sailors introduced contagious dis 
 eases among their darker-skinned brothers 
 that mournfully weakened their less resistant 
 stamina, and brought moral standards that 
 corrupted their innocent minds. But the mis 
 sionary followed, and when he came he found 
 the worst evils he was called to combat were 
 those inoculated by the Caucasians who had 
 preceded him. 
 
 We only sighted the New Guinea coast sev 
 eral times, but one day it chanced we were
 
 2O2 There She Blows 
 
 becalmed in plain sight of the shore. Mr. 
 Fletcher was at the masthead, and after a time 
 he hailed: 
 
 "Below there! Captain Bourne?" 
 
 The next moment Uncle Zene stood on the 
 main hatch, craning his neck to gaze aloft : 
 
 "Aye, aye, sir. What is it?" he asked. 
 
 "There is a nigger out here between us and 
 the shore. Seems to be swimming for the ship. 
 But he s holding one hand in the air, and 
 there s a bunch of something in it that glitters 
 yellow like gold." 
 
 "How far off is he?" 
 
 "Nearly a mile," returned the third mate. 
 
 "We ll wait for him," concluded the Old 
 Man, with a smile. 
 
 As we were drifting without steerage way, 
 the captain s decision was a wise one. When 
 the swimmer approached near enough for Mr. 
 Fletcher to get a more accurate view of the 
 object of his curiosity, he called down with 
 some disappointment in his voice: 
 
 "I believe that s a bird he s got in his hand ! 
 I can see two long feathers running back from 
 its yellow body." 
 
 "Aye, aye," returned the Old Man, calmly. 
 "No doubt he s swum off with the dried skin
 
 A Whaling Yarn 203 
 
 of a bird of paradise. I ll give him a plug of 
 tobacco for it." 
 
 A few minutes later the darky came along 
 side. He was a different type from any I had 
 previously seen. He appeared to have some 
 infusion of negro blood, for his skin was nearly 
 black, and the lineaments of his face coarse 
 and fleshy. His hair was the most noticeable 
 thing about him. It was wonderfully lux 
 uriant, and kinked into tight little coils that 
 covered his head to such a thickness I doubt 
 if you could have fitted an empty bushel basket 
 over it. 
 
 This queer specimen had swum the whole 
 distance from the shore with one hand. In 
 the other fist he held aloft what the captain 
 assured us was the dried skin and feathers 
 of a bird of paradise unknown save in New 
 Guinea. It certainly was beautiful. 
 
 The Old Man found the native was some 
 thing of a trader himself, and had a notion of 
 the value of his merchandise. He finally gave 
 up two plugs of tobacco with a sigh for what 
 was undoubtedly worth fifty or sixty dollars, 
 and I carefully hoisted it on deck with the 
 scoop net. 
 
 We examined the captain s purchase with
 
 2O4 There She Blows 
 
 great interest, for none of us had ever seen 
 anything like it before. The body of the bird 
 when alive could not have been larger than 
 that of a robin or jay. The head and neck 
 were covered with short, thickset feathers, re 
 sembling velvet pile, with the bright golden 
 color above, and a brilliant emerald green be 
 neath. From under the shoulders on each side 
 a dense tuft of golden orange plumes sprung. 
 These were two feet in length, and the captain 
 told me he had heard they can be erected at 
 will by the live bird, so as to enclose the greater 
 part of the body. The two central tail feathers 
 were nearly three feet long. Mr. Stoddard 
 voiced the opinion of the rest of us when he 
 remarked : 
 
 "That fellow has got the peacock beaten to 
 death." 
 
 We saw more of the Solomon islanders than 
 we did of the New Guinea natives. They were 
 not at all backward at making our acquaint 
 ance whenever they had the opportunity. One 
 time, when the Avola was drifting between 
 two islands of the group, a whole flotilla sur 
 rounded us. The Captain was cautious in his 
 dealings with these fellows, and it was evident 
 he thoroughly distrusted them. All the mus-
 
 A Whaling Yarn 205 
 
 kets were charged, and men on whose courage 
 he could depend stationed at every place where 
 they might slip aboard. 
 
 These islanders had rudely built boats as 
 well as canoes, and some of them were 
 equipped, like ancient galleys, with two banks 
 of oars on their double decks. The largest had 
 a sort of dais amidships on which sat a very 
 corpulent man who was evidently supreme 
 chieftain. I perceived when they came closer 
 that he suffered from some disease which had 
 swollen each of his legs to the size of his body. 
 A large percentage of the visitors were afflicted 
 in the same way. The Old Man said the 
 disease was a form of elephantiasis, and was 
 common in this particular group. He added 
 that the Solomon islanders were murderous 
 brutes, and inveterate eaters of human flesh. 
 He had known cases where the wrecked crews 
 of ships had been captured by these cannibals, 
 and eaten. 
 
 In spite of the shadiness of their character, 
 it turned out to be lucky for us we met them. 
 Their object turned out to be to sell fifteen or 
 twenty hogs they had brought off in their boats 
 with their feet firmly tied. They were of good 
 size, mostly weighing over two hundred
 
 2o6 There She Blows 
 
 pounds. The captain bought them gladly, and 
 reasonably. Ten or fifteen inches of old hoop 
 iron did the trick. A sort of pen was hastily 
 constructed forward of the windlass, and the 
 grunters were hoisted over the rail and de 
 posited there. When the bands that confined 
 their legs were cut their powers of locomotion 
 were not greatly improved, for we discovered 
 their hooves had grown so long they turned up 
 at the ends, and they clattered about the deck 
 after the manner of a cat shod in walnut shells. 
 They could not get any foothold. The ex 
 planation was that their food had been so 
 abundant and easy to procure they did not 
 have to dig and root after the manner of their 
 less fortunate brethren in temperate climes, 
 and their toe-nails had not worn down as Na 
 ture intended. 
 
 One of the fattest was killed that day, the 
 cooper officiating as butcher. We revelled in 
 that fresh pork, and every man, forward and 
 aft, had all he wanted to eat. We were none 
 of us disposed to be hypercritical after eigh 
 teen months of salt junk, but the truth is, that 
 meat was so strongly impregnated with cocoa- 
 nut oil, the fruit having been about their sole 
 diet, that no one but sailors and sailors a
 
 A Whaling Yarn 207 
 
 long time out of port at that could possibly 
 have held it down. By the way, we also laid 
 in a stock of the ripe nuts to feed the pigs as 
 long as they lasted, and splitting those nuts 
 for their meals became one of our principal 
 occupations. 
 
 One of the animals was a little fellow, that 
 is, it did not scale more than sixty or seventy 
 pounds. It was black, and sleek, and of a com 
 panionable disposition. Jonas adopted her, for 
 she was of the softer sex, and in a short time 
 she became a general favorite, and was allowed 
 the run of the deck. Somebody christened her 
 Jinny. She remained true to Jonas, who was 
 her first love, but would come trotting along at 
 the sound of her name like a pet dog. We 
 acted as chiropodists in her behalf, and 
 trimmed her feet so she got around without 
 trouble. In the night watches she would 
 snuggle up to Jonas, poke her black nose affec 
 tionately under his arm, and go off to sleep 
 like a baby. 
 
 The Old Man was downright reckless with 
 that fresh pork. Pig after pig was slaughtered 
 by Bungs, and it was dished up day after day, 
 roasted, fried, boiled, hashed until I was down 
 right sick of it, and yearned for an honest bit
 
 208 There She Blows 
 
 of salt horse. At last the time came when 
 there were no more occupants of the pen for 
 ward of the windlass. Jinny did not mourn 
 her compatriots, and nuzzled around the deck, 
 and thrust her nuzzle into our horny hands as 
 trustingly as if it never occurred to her that 
 she was destined to eventually go the way they 
 had gone. It made us all sad to contemplate 
 it, and we awaited with trepidation the order 
 to come from the Old Man. I think he sensed 
 the general feeling for little escaped his obser 
 vation, and once I saw him look on with a 
 quizzical smile when he caught Stoddard rub 
 bing her back and she appreciatively humping 
 herself. 
 
 At last one day the edict went forth. We d 
 had a steady diet of salt food for a couple of 
 weeks, and if it had been any other animal 
 than the beloved Jinny we should have re 
 joiced. 
 
 "Slush," the Captain said tersely, "kill the 
 black pig to-day, and let us have some fresh 
 pork." 
 
 As soon as he had given the order he re 
 tired to his after-cabin, probably to be out of 
 hearing of comment. We were all too cast 
 down to protest. Tears positively stood in
 
 r A Whaling Yarn 209 
 
 Stoddard s big gray eyes, and almost brimmed 
 over. Jonas could not control his voice to say 
 what he thought. Undoubtedly, it appeared 
 to him in the light of a cruel and uncalled-for 
 slaughter. I had just observed that the last 
 cocoanut had been fed to Jinny that morning, 
 and on reflection I was forced to agree in the 
 captain s evident opinion that it would not pay 
 to feed a pet pig on ship s stores. I noted 
 after a bit that Jonas had recovered his speech, 
 and was going from man to man of the watch, 
 and giving each an earnest talk. Then he 
 came aft to where Stoddard, and Morrison, 
 and I stood by the main hatch, and said to the 
 second mate: 
 
 "The starboard watch wants to speak to the 
 captain, sir." 
 
 The officer stared at the old Yankee a mo 
 ment, and then nodded ; but he said : 
 
 "It s no use, Jonas. He won t do it!" 
 
 Mr. Stoddard went aft, and leaned over the 
 open skylight by the binnacle : 
 
 "Captain Bourne," he said with formal re 
 spect, "the starboard watch wishes to speak 
 with you." 
 
 "The foremast hands?" inquired Uncle 
 Zene s voice from the after-cabin.
 
 2io There She Blows 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Tell the ring leader if he shows up on my 
 quarter deck I ll knock his fool head off. And 
 have Bungs slaughter that pig at once." 
 
 His tone was very crisp, and Stoddard went 
 forward in a hurry. What he said I don t 
 know, but no deputation loomed up aft, and 
 inside of two minutes Jinny was a corpse. The 
 Old Man never mentioned the matter again, 
 but that was his way. She made pretty good 
 pork. 
 
 Now ensued a period when we did not see a 
 spout for two months. We were on the Caro 
 line island cruising ground, and generally out 
 of sight of land. Scrimshawning was the 
 favorite occupation during our leisure. The 
 word is a difficult one to give an exact defini 
 tion, but old whalers understand it to mean 
 the manufacturing of any trifle, trinket, or 
 curio out of materials they have accumulated 
 during the voyage. Embellishing whale s 
 teeth with India ink, pricked in the ivory with 
 infinite patience and exactitude, and mounting 
 them in pairs is one thing they all do, or have 
 a try at. A pair of teeth, carefully mated as a 
 team of carriage horses, is selected. The 
 roughnesses are laboriously taken off with
 
 A Whaling Yarn 211 
 
 emery paper, and they are rubbed and oiled 
 until polished like a billiard ball. The tooth is 
 now ready for the picture, and a design is 
 selected with anxious care and pricked in, 
 sometimes in colors. Time is of no account 
 in this labor, and the minuteness of the decora 
 tion is supposed to add to its merit. A sailor 
 will sometimes put in the spare time of his 
 whole voyage in thus scrimshawning a nice 
 pair of teeth. And when he goes ashore his 
 boarding master steals them, or he sells them 
 to the blind pig for a half pint of New England 
 rum. 
 
 Canes from the jawbone of a whale were also 
 considered desirable as objcts dc vcrtu. This 
 bone is always saved, and is very dense and 
 close grained, and takes a high polish. It is 
 also elastic, and almost unbreakable. The 
 amount of labor that goes to the making of the 
 elaborate designs in vogue among the old shell 
 backs is truly formidable, but I have seen them 
 with mimic sea serpents entwined the whole 
 lengths, or with intricate knots patiently 
 wrought on as heads or knobs. Jonas was es 
 pecially skilful in this handicraft, as it deserves 
 to be called, and had a set of tools for the work. 
 He even did inlaying with admirable results.
 
 212 There She Blows 
 
 He had gotten hold of a slab of ebony at one 
 of the places we had stopped, or from some 
 ship we had gammed, and he made a cane of 
 this inlaid with ivory and sandalwood, that I 
 believe would have brought a hundred dollars 
 from a connoisseur. This shrewd old Yankee 
 was different from the ordinary shellback, and 
 had never lost his birthright of taking in 
 telligent care of number one. He told me he 
 sold everything he made to a man "down east" 
 at the end of his voyage, and had sometimes 
 received from that source as much as his lay 
 amounted to. Blood will tell.
 
 SUDDENLY WE HELD OUR BREATH, AND LISTENED AS 11 OUR 
 SOl LS DEPENDED ON OUR HKARIM .. 
 
 See Chapter XVIII.
 
 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 
 
 PHESE Caroline islands among which we 
 * were cruising are not unknown to those 
 who go down to the sea in ships, and have in 
 time played their part in history. For instance, 
 the Confederate privateer Shenandoah started 
 in to demolish the whaling industry of New 
 England during the war of the Rebellion. She 
 cruised through the South Pacific, burning and 
 sinking the blubber hunters where ever she 
 could find them. Among other places she 
 visited in her search was Middle Harbor on 
 Ascension, the main island of the group. Here 
 she unluckily found a dozen whaling vessels, 
 who had heard of her depredations on the fleet, 
 and taken refuge in this secluded place, hoping 
 to escape. They were burned to the water s 
 edge, and the crews compelled to take to the 
 shore. In some cases the whalemen made their 
 home among the natives for years, and others 
 were rescued from time to time by passing 
 vessels. 
 
 Apropos of the Shenandoah, the Old Man 
 213
 
 214 There She Blows 
 
 related an incident where her captain was out 
 witted by a Nantucket man known as Captain 
 Nye. I have forgotten the name of his ship, 
 but it was sighted and chased by the privateer. 
 Nye he was known in the fleet as "Stinker 
 Nye," from his habit of picking up dead whales 
 at once hoisted a yellow flag, indicating 
 there was smallpox on board, and lay to. The 
 Shenandoah dashed fiercely in until her officers 
 were able to distinguish the ensign flying at 
 the gaff. Then her captain called a consul 
 tation of her officers, and they decided it not 
 worth while to investigate too closely into the 
 truth of that marine announcement. Nye 
 rummaged his flag locker, got down his signal 
 book, and began to appeal to the Shenandoah 
 for aid in his extremity. Instead of giving it, 
 the Confederate hauled his wind and showed 
 the stern of the privateer to the whaler. Nye 
 made straight for Nantucket, and it is on rec 
 ord that he reached his home port with a ship 
 full of sperm oil that brought war prices. 
 
 Captain Bourne was tired of inaction, and 
 could not understand why he did not see 
 whales. The cruising ground \vas the best in 
 the world, and he said he knew they were all 
 around us. His statement was confirmed by
 
 A Whaling Yarn 215 
 
 our seeing pieces of squid one of the principal 
 foods of the sperm whale afloat in the water 
 from time to time. The Old Man prowled up 
 and down like a caged hyena, and sniffed the 
 breeze to windward a hundred times a day. 
 He wound up by putting us all on edge like 
 himself. The whales finally made their ap 
 pearance, and in an entirely unexpected way 
 at least to me. 
 
 One night we had the middle watch, and 
 Morrison and I were yarning in the star-light 
 at the vice-bench. Unless you have experienced 
 one you can Have no idea of these starry nights 
 in the South seas. The whole firmament is 
 aglow with stars, and their twinkling reflec 
 tions mirror themselves in the calm, slow- 
 heaving wave. The light is soft and far-reach 
 ing, while the world is filled with dimness and 
 mystery. The creaking of a yard at its slings 
 as it swung idly, or the ripple of a swell as it 
 gently broke on our hull, were the only sounds 
 that marred the stillness. 
 
 Suddenly we held our breath, and listened 
 as if our souls depended on our hearing aright. 
 The noise which had interrupted our conver 
 sation sounded like a sigh as it struck our ears 
 again. But what a sigh! It made the night
 
 216 There She Blows 
 
 quiver. After an interval it came again, and 
 this time it seemed to me I detected a wheeze 
 that resembled steam struggling from a valve. 
 By this time Mr. Stoddard had come softly 
 from the quarter deck, and stood at my elbow. 
 His face was alive with excitement, and his 
 lips parted to speak. In such moments he had 
 an amusing habit which I was familiar with 
 of verbally abusing the person nearest by. 
 He said to us with deep earnestness: 
 
 "You cussed, infernal fools! That s a 
 whale!" 
 
 I was about to suggest we call the Old Man, 
 when he came out of the companion way in 
 his pajamas to take, after a fashion of his, a 
 look at the night. Before we could get to him 
 with our story; in fact, before we had time to 
 start, he had caught a sniff of the night air 
 and stiffened like a pointer dog when it scents 
 a covey of quail. The next moment that brob- 
 dignagian, sobbing sigh came again, and 
 nearer than before. He cast a quick glance 
 around, as though to assure himself of the 
 general condition of things, and came to us 
 with the swiftness of a bullet. His face was 
 radiant, and he held down his excitement with 
 difficulty :
 
 A Whaling Yarn 217 
 
 "Get forward among the watch, Ned ! Tell 
 em if they make a sound that would wake a 
 humming bird, I ll I ll blast em, I ll kill 
 em ! Get the port watch on deck ! And pass 
 the word for the boat s crews to stand by to 
 lower after whales. Make em understand 
 silence is necessary." 
 
 Tom started aft to rout the officers of the 
 port watch out, and Bungs, and the cook, and 
 steward from the steerage, while I went for 
 ward. It was a weird experience. All hands 
 swarmed up without a sound. Needful orders 
 were given in whispers. Not the end of a rope 
 was allowed to fall harshly on deck. Even the 
 boat tackles were slushed by the captain s 
 orders to forestall their squeaks. 
 
 In the meantime the sound of the spouting 
 whale became perceptible to all, and shortly it 
 was evident there were a number probably a 
 school of them, and close at hand; although 
 the facility with which sound travels over calm 
 water made their exact position a matter of 
 uncertainty. But not for long. All in a mo 
 ment the sea about the Avola was alive with 
 black forms of the mammals. They brushed 
 the ship at times with their bodies, and once I 
 held my breath as the hump of one scraped
 
 218 There She Blows 
 
 along the keel, and made the whole fabric of 
 the vessel tremble. It is probable they thought 
 the hull one of themselves, for they displayed 
 no signs of uneasiness. They almost covered 
 the ocean as far as I could see. Then came 
 a moment when there were none in the im 
 mediate vicinity, and the Old Man, who had 
 been awaiting such an opportunity to get the 
 boats in the water, gave the word to lower. 
 Stoddard took my place in the bow as we left 
 the ship, and said: 
 
 "We won t use the iron to-night, Ned. I ll 
 do the work with the lance !" 
 
 I comprehended that our mission was simply 
 to kill all we could, and not attempt to make 
 fast to any. In my heart I cordially approved 
 this plan, for it seemed to me that being 
 dragged about by a furious whale in the midst 
 of this school was about as promising a form of 
 suicide as could be devised. It did not take us 
 long to get at the work. The crew sat on the 
 gunwales, and handled their paddles without 
 even rippling the water, and we were among 
 them again. One thrust forth a great snout 
 close by the stern, and I found myself gazing 
 square into his eye. I suppose he did not see 
 me, or sense what I was, but in my bewilder-
 
 A Whaling Yarn 219 
 
 ment I certainly expected to see his expression 
 change. 
 
 A grunt, such as you would expect from a 
 mastodon, attracted my attention, and I saw 
 Stoddard had jabbed his lance into the vitals 
 of one of the monsters. He did the same to 
 another, and a third. To my surprise, beyond 
 an involuntary shudder, which may be de 
 scribed as a wince, and the invariable grunt, 
 they took their death wounds silently, and as 
 if they did not understand what was happening. 
 I imagine the explanation lies in the fact that 
 they have absolutely no nervous system, and 
 little sense of physical pain in their tremendous 
 frames. 
 
 At any rate we had been fully five minutes 
 in among them, and the second mate had lanced 
 at least five, more or less effectively, before 
 there was any sign of their waking up to the 
 situation. Of course, the other boats were 
 somewhere, doing the same work, though I did 
 not attempt to keep track of them, having, it 
 seemed to me, plenty to do in handling that 
 steering oar so the boat was not hoisted on the 
 hump of some inadvertent whale. Mr. Stod 
 dard had caught sight of a large cow a little 
 distance away, and we were trying to get her
 
 22O There She Blows 
 
 into a position where he could kill it, when 
 there suddenly came a change. It seemed as 
 if the whole school simultaneously awoke to 
 their danger and as nearly as I could make 
 out, just as Stoddard made his dart three of 
 the wounded animals selected the moment to 
 go into their flurries. 
 
 Imagine fifty, or perhaps a hundred whales, 
 averaging forty tons in weight, confined in a 
 limited area, plunging and rolling around like a 
 school of porpoises. That is what these were 
 doing, only theirs was mad terror instead of 
 frolic. I stood at the steering oar expecting 
 annihilation every second, and the men, paddle 
 in hand, stared stupidly at the commotion. 
 Stoddard was the only one that kept his head, 
 or imagined there was a possibility of escaping 
 the peril surrounding us. His voice was hard 
 and tense, and made us leap to obey : 
 
 "Avast paddles! Pull all! Ned, lay her 
 head straight for the bark !" 
 
 He set the example by dropping into the 
 harpooner thwart, and pulling like Hercules 
 himself. I perceived the bulk of the school were 
 on the side away from the ship, and there was 
 a bare chance we might be able to get through 
 without running into one of them. Of course,
 
 f A Whaling Yarn 221 
 
 such a collision would be accidental, for the 
 attention of the whales was not directed to us. 
 There was no attempt at caution on our part. 
 It was no longer necessary. Every man pulled 
 as hard as he knew how, and I simply held the 
 boat straight. Several times we shaved their 
 bodies by a hair s breadth, and once I thought 
 we were surely gone. A large cow I took her 
 to be the one the second mate had last lanced 
 was lying directly across our path. I was pre 
 paring to double her flukes when she sprung 
 into her flurry, and shot with the speed of a 
 locomotive straight at us. The whale boat had 
 good way on, and I gave it a heave with the 
 long steering oar that turned it at right angles 
 to the course we had been pursuing. I nearly 
 ran on another s hump, but my diversion, and 
 the fact that the wounded cow was beginning 
 to swing in the circle that seems to be a law of 
 their death struggle, saved our bacon by the 
 narrowest margin imaginable. The next mo 
 ment we reach the Avola, and the shipkeepers 
 had the tackles overhauled ready for us to 
 hook on. 
 
 The others had also arrived at the conclusion 
 that the bark was preferable as an abiding place 
 to an open boat at this time, and, in fact, they
 
 222 There She Blows 
 
 had come aboard before we had. Captain 
 Bourne s heart appeared to be filled with joy, 
 for this "run in" with a school of whales in 
 the night was the rarest kind of thing in the 
 way of luck, and it looked as if we had taken 
 advantage of it to the utmost without a single 
 casualty. He questioned each of the officers 
 minutely to gain an idea of the probable results 
 of the raid. The first mate claimed he had 
 lanced four, and felt sure of three of them. 
 Fletcher said he had certainly killed two. Tom 
 Morrison was willing to bet on three he had 
 struck giving up the ghost, with a possible 
 fourth. That left us on top of the heap, for 
 Stoddard asserted five out of the six he had a 
 chance at were as good as in the try pot. Uncle 
 Zene counted them up on his fingers: 
 
 "Thirteen you re sure of! That s an un 
 lucky number, but I reckon we ll have to take 
 our risks. Between all you ain t sure about, it s 
 apt to foot up more. If it don t, it will be less. 
 I kinder hate to count chickens before they re 
 hatched, but I m going to this time. All hands 
 lay aft to splice the main brace !" 
 
 When Uncle Zene did a thing, he did it roy 
 ally. He brought out a demijohn from his 
 private stores, and every man on board had a
 
 A Whaling Yarn 223 
 
 jolt that made his hair twitch. It was by this 
 time beginning to show glimmers of dawn in 
 the east, and in a few minutes the sun sprang 
 full-dazzling into the sky. The mastheads 
 were already aloft, but the Old Man mounted 
 the rigging to the main top himself with his 
 telescope swung over his shoulder. He in 
 tended to look up and count those dead whales 
 himself. No one ventured to forestall him. 
 After a bit he snapped his glass shut, and 
 started for the deck. 
 
 "Fifteen dead whales in sight!" he an 
 nounced. "Lower away all, and string them 
 alongside. Slush, give each crew a chunk of 
 beef or pork, and plenty of hard tack. No 
 breakfast this morning. It s the biggest cut- 
 ting-in I ever had, and we ve got to work sharp 
 to save the blubber." 
 
 I did not realise at the beginning what a job 
 we had before us, but the officers evidently 
 did, and they sprang at the work like tigers at 
 raw meat. Not a second was lost, and the crew 
 was driven to its fullest capacity. Two of the 
 boats stretched out to gather the more distant 
 carcases, and the other two attended to those 
 nearer by. As fast as we brought one to the 
 Avola it was secured, and we veered off after
 
 224 There She Blows 
 
 another at top speed. Fortunately ten of our 
 victims lay within a quarter mile of the ship. 
 The other five had spread out in their dying 
 convulsions, and were at different points of 
 the compass, though within a mile and a half 
 radius of the bark. The outlying boats got 
 them together by the time we had brought the 
 nearer ten alongside. As there was little 
 chance of the Avola sailing down to those five 
 in a light wind, and towing ten more, the four 
 boats joined forces, and managed to yank them 
 to the hawse hole by noon. 
 
 "Dinner, the port watch !" sung out the Old 
 Man, as we came aboard. "Mr. Stoddard, get 
 your tackles aloft, and see all clear to start cut 
 ting in. It s all hands on deck until this blubber 
 is housed!" 
 
 The lucky port watch went below for its 
 meal, and we of the almost famished starboard 
 gang got the tackles up, and the cutting stage 
 rigged. By that time the port watch was back, 
 and we had an opportunity to devour our salt 
 horse. Twenty minutes were all that were al 
 lowed, and Stoddard stood at the scuttle as the 
 last second expired. Pans were stowed away 
 unwashed, and the men were at the windlass 
 before he had a chance to open his lips. He did
 
 A Whaling Yarn 225 
 
 not need to, for they saw he meant business, 
 and the burly second mate was not a good man 
 to keep waiting when important work was 
 going forward. 
 
 Uncle Zene had his sleeves rolled up, and 
 was the first man on the cutting stage with a 
 spade. The Old Man could work too, and in a 
 jiffy he had a section spaded loose, and called 
 out: 
 
 "Hook!" 
 
 There were three other boatsteerers, and all 
 pretty lively fellows, but Long Island Ned was 
 the first down on that whale, hook in hand : 
 
 "All ready, sir!" I said, as I passed it 
 through the hole in the blubber. 
 
 "Heave away!" he called to the windlass 
 hands. 
 
 "Make a noise there! Let us know you re 
 on deck!" he added. 
 
 At this Jonas piped up with : 
 
 "Oh, a bully boat, and a bully crew," 
 Chorus : 
 
 "High-o-o, high-o-o!" 
 Jonas : 
 
 "And the captain, he s a bully, too !"
 
 226 There She Blows 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 "High-o-o, high-o-o, hay!" 
 
 I don t know whether Jonas had any inten 
 tion in his chantey, but I certainly agreed if it 
 was meant to describe Uncle Zene.
 
 CHAPTER NINETEEN 
 
 THAT affair of oil was like a battle. The 
 officers sprang at their work, and urged 
 the crew on with a fierce alacrity that made the 
 dullest foremast hand move with some of the 
 spirit that drove the after gang. Whale after 
 whale was stripped of its blubber, and its car 
 case turned adrift as another was warped up 
 under the cutting stage. The Old Man and 
 brawny Joe Stoddard, the latter now stripped 
 to the waist, leaned over the life line and cut 
 and hacked with incredible fury, and the tackles 
 creaked with the weight of the ascending blan 
 ket strip, while the windlass brakes went clink- 
 clank to the chantey of Jonas. 
 
 "Two blocks!" 
 
 A boatsteerer was there like lightning; the 
 boarding knife severed the strip, and while it 
 swung inboard the next one started to the mast 
 head to the tune of clink-clank. There was too 
 much blubber on hand and in sight to pursue 
 ordinary methods. The main hatch was 
 
 227
 
 228 There She Blows 
 
 broken open, and the blankets went below until 
 we had more time to attend to them. This 
 desperate battle was being fought out for the 
 purpose of getting that oil-bearing coat off the 
 whales, and where it would not blast. 
 
 All count of time was lost. The bell did not 
 tap unless one of the officers happened to think 
 of it. Eight bells, the beginning of the dog 
 watches was not even announced, and I don t 
 believe a soul thought of it. At four bells, six 
 o clock, we had four stripped. Their heads 
 were moored astern. We had not room for 
 them on deck, and anyhow their more unctuous 
 blubber would not blast like the tougher en 
 velopment of their bodies that resolved itself 
 into india rubber through the action of the sun 
 and air. 
 
 "Supper, the starboard watch!" yelled Slush, 
 coming from his galley laden with the grub 
 kids for the forward gang. 
 
 "Supper, captain," announced the little stew 
 ard, politely. 
 
 The Old Man handed his spade to the first 
 mate. He had wielded it five weary hours with 
 a cunning and energy that would have knighted 
 a hero of old who so worthily did his devoir on 
 the field of battle.
 
 A Whaling Yarn 229 
 
 All night we toiled, and not one of the ship s 
 company closed an eye in sleep. The crew were 
 still cheerful and in good condition, while the 
 after-gang, upheld by a higher energy, had not 
 abated a jot of their superb vigor. 
 
 When we ate breakfast nine of the whales 
 were cut-in. The ship was a reeking, bloody, 
 greasy shambles; the air was filled with rav 
 enous, screaming sea birds, and the number 
 less sharks in the sea fought over the feast we 
 were providing as fierce curs wrangle over a 
 bone. 
 
 Twenty minutes for breakfast, and we 
 turned to. I began to feel that it would not be 
 unpleasant to sit down and rest, but I looked 
 at Uncle Zene, who momentarily unoccupied, 
 paced the quarter with the swift intensity of a 
 young athlete, and told myself I was only lazy. 
 
 There being almost no wind the wheel was 
 lashed amidships, and saved a man for the real 
 work. Only one masthead lookout went aloft, 
 and he at the main. Everything was con 
 centred on getting that blubber aboard. Eleven 
 whales cut in at noon, and the four that 
 bobbed in the sea awaiting our ministrations 
 looked to be the biggest of the whole bunch. 
 But there was not a word of grumble, though
 
 230 There She Blows 
 
 perhaps all did not move so alertly as at the be 
 ginning. And then came a thunder bolt out 
 of a clear sky ! 
 
 "There she blows ! There she blows ! There 
 she blows !" from the masthead. 
 
 "What do you make of em, sir?" hailed 
 Uncle Zene. 
 
 "A school of sperm whales a mile and a half 
 on the port bow, sir !" 
 
 "Aye, aye." The Old Man considered the 
 news a moment. Then, "Lower away the waist 
 and starboard boats !" 
 
 Thank heaven mine was the waist boat! 
 Anything to vary the monotony, but I could see 
 we were laying up more trouble for ourselves, 
 and if we were to add a few more dead whales 
 to those four already lying by the Avola, it was 
 an even chance if we d ever get through the 
 job of cutting them in and trying them out. 
 But Stoddard seemed to have taken a fresh 
 hold on life as he gripped the steering oar, and 
 he called to me with a grin : 
 
 "This will take six months off the length of 
 the voyage, you blasted fool! The girls of New 
 Bedford have got hold of the old Avola s tow 
 rope, I guess." 
 
 I hadn t thought of taking this view of it,
 
 A Whaling Yarn 231 
 
 and it did hearten me some. We pulled away 
 after the school as if we had slept our usual 
 time the night before. A change of occupation 
 is mighty recuperative, and then the second 
 mate s steel gray eyes had a glint in them that 
 made one feel he was apt to do something un 
 comfortable if we did not meet his expectations. 
 
 We reached the whales, and so did the star 
 board boat. They were tame and easy to get 
 at, and Stoddard and Morrison were the very 
 men to take advantage of their opportunities. 
 The result was that long after midnight we 
 came alongside the Avola with a fresh bunch of 
 six to take the place of those the shipkeepers 
 had disposed of during our absence. The fires 
 had been started while we were away, and the 
 roar of the flames, and clatter of the mincing 
 machine were added to the clink-clank of the 
 never-ceasing windlass brakes. 
 
 Slush gave us something to eat, and we went 
 to work again. We had now been at it with 
 out a break nearly thirty-six hours, and my 
 muscles ached, and the small of my back felt 
 as if somebody had been hammering it with a 
 belaying pin. As I was young and strong, it is 
 probable most of my shipmates felt somewhat 
 as I did, but I failed to see any indication of the
 
 232 There She Blows 
 
 fact in the mien of the after-gang. Their jaws 
 were set pretty tight, and when they spoke they 
 evidently meant what they said, but they 
 worked with a fiercer determination than ever, 
 and scorned to hang out any signals of distress. 
 Uncle Zene carried the banner. There was no 
 need for him to do a lick of work, and if he had 
 seen fit he could have been in his bunk and 
 asleep, but he was here, and there, and every 
 where a hand could help, alert as a boy, and a 
 cheerful grin on his withered phiz that some 
 how put heart into each one it confronted. 
 And when there was no place for him to lend a 
 hand, he skipped up and down that quarter of 
 his like a six-day pedestrian, and I d back him 
 with my lay to have beaten the most of them 
 out. 
 
 We pegged along somehow the balance of 
 the night. There was a big copper of strong 
 coffee kept hot in the galley, and at intervals 
 Slush served it to the poor fellows at the wind 
 lass. It helped them out some, but they were 
 nearly at the end of their endurance. These 
 strong, muscular seamen were giving up. The 
 spirit which sustained the Old Man, and 
 through him, the whole after-gang, was not in
 
 A Whaling Yarn 233 
 
 them. When their physical strength failed, 
 they had no reserve of nerve force to fall back 
 on. 
 
 Nevertheless the whales now only four left 
 had to be cut in, and there was no one else to 
 do it. At daybreak those dagoes hung over 
 the windlass arms with their faces white and 
 drawn, and although brave old Jonas who 
 was not one of them in make-up started in 
 with a chantey that would wake the dead, they 
 failed to respond. Uncle Zene plunged into his 
 after-cabin, and reappeared with a demijohn 
 and a tin cup. This was something he kept for 
 emergencies. It was a fiery rice brandy that 
 would eat a hole in a stove lid. He gave each 
 man at the brakes a brimming cup it must 
 have held a half pint. They took it gratefully, 
 and without winking. In a moment the potent 
 spirit coursed through their veins, and put some 
 vim in them, but the dose had to be repeated 
 more than once. They were nearly dead with 
 fatigue and want of rest. At the last Stoddard 
 came forward, and shook them up. Two that 
 fairly went to sleep on the brake-handle he 
 seized, one in each strong fist, and knocked 
 their heads together until they screamed, and
 
 234 There She Blows 
 
 begged for mercy. When he did let up they 
 went to work as if they were thoroughly re 
 freshed. It did more good than the Old Man s 
 alcohol, for the portion allotted those two in 
 vigorated all the rest. He made them work as 
 a horse does under the lash. 
 
 At noon that day the last carcase was cast 
 adrift. We had been at the task sixty hours 
 on end without a wink of sleep, or a moment s 
 rest. When the cook staggered to the fore 
 castle scuttle with the mess kid for the watch, 
 the captain said : 
 
 "The port watch eat, and turn in four 
 hours!" 
 
 But the kid stood where Slush left it, and 
 those men tumbled head first into their bunks, 
 greasy clothing and all, and were snoring be 
 fore they had pulled their legs after them. We 
 of the starboard gang had four more weary 
 hours of it, so the crew ate the dinner scorned 
 by the others who could get the more needed 
 sleep, and tried to believe it was a square 
 deal. 
 
 Our turn came at last, as all things do. The 
 port watch stumbled on deck at eight bells 
 (four o clock) more dead than alive. They 
 had not had half their sleep out, and did not
 
 A Whaling Yarn 235 
 
 realize that what they had, did them any good 
 until they moved around, and got their be 
 numbed faculties again awake. 
 
 Morrison and I took the try pots when we 
 turned out later, and we kept the fires going 
 so fiercely it was all we could do to ladle fast 
 enough into the cooler to keep the oil from 
 scorching which I believe would have been 
 a capital offense if Uncle Zene or the second 
 mate had found it out. The hands were busy 
 with short-handled spades getting the blanket 
 strips into horse pieces, and the mincer was 
 working like the fly wheel of a high pressure 
 engine, reducing them to food for the try pots. 
 
 The Old Man was below hitting his pillow, 
 and though every one on deck was industrious 
 as the proverbial ant, it really seemed a peace 
 ful scene in contrast with what we had passed 
 through. Now Bungs functions became im 
 portant, and he began to earn the eightieth 
 lay he had signed for. He was setting up 
 casks as deftly and busily as though his life 
 depended on it. The minute he had one 
 hooped and tightened up it was filled from 
 the cooler, and rolled one side, and up-ended 
 so as to occupy less deck room. He had to 
 keep close watch on these filled casks, for hot
 
 236 There She Blows 
 
 oil is about the most confounded, penetrating 
 fluid any one ever attempted to confine in a 
 wooden receptacle. The first thing he knew 
 two or three would begin to dribble a drop 
 or two down the interstices between the staves. 
 This was as significant as a crack in a dam, 
 and he would spring on it with his hammer and 
 caulking iron, and a bunch of flag apparently 
 dried bulrushes and the way he d walk into 
 it was a beautiful sight to see. These great 
 casks always littered the decks three or four 
 days after an affair of oil, on account of this 
 unfortunate proclivity; and even after they 
 were stowed away, maybe in the lower hold, 
 they were still liable to spring a leak, and give 
 us a tremendous job to shift their bulky, un- 
 ihandy weight to get at the recreant one, which 
 was always in the most inaccessible place. 
 
 But I am getting away from the story of 
 this one particular affair of oil. Oh, how the 
 Avola did smell to heaven the morning of the 
 fourth day after we had that star-light frolic 
 among the whales ! Not one of those blanket 
 strips, of which a goodly store still remained 
 between decks, would have been allowed within 
 the limits of a self-respecting community on 
 land. But thanks to our hurricane work in
 
 A Whaling Yarn 237 
 
 getting them under cover they remained work 
 able, and the spading, mincing, and trying out 
 went on as relentlessly as Fate. After all, we 
 had the best of it now. We were beginning to 
 feel as if there were a prospect of our really 
 getting rested after a time, and were standing 
 oil watches, six hours on, and six hours off. 
 I began to feel chipper, and then 
 
 "There she blows! There she blows!" 
 
 The Old Man was certainly hooked up dif 
 ferently from the rest of us. He was on the 
 head of a cask in the waist in a twinkle, and 
 bellowing cheerfully to Mr. Haveron, who had 
 raised them: 
 
 What do you make of them, sir ? It sounds 
 like more luck!" 
 
 "Three sperm whales dead ahead. Three 
 miles off!" 
 
 "Keep em in sight, sir, and sing out ! We ll 
 crawl up on em a bit. Stand by your boats, 
 the port watch!" 
 
 That left us of the starboard draft shipkeep- 
 ers, and sticking to the stinking blubber. The 
 other task was preferable, but I was not a free 
 agent, so I fired up. It seemed the easiest 
 thing in the world to kill whales at this period. 
 We sailed right up on those three, and Haveron
 
 238 There She Blows 
 
 and Fletcher lowered, and in half an hour each 
 was fast to a fifty-barrel cow. Uncle Zene was 
 all smiles, and out came the cutting tackles 
 and staging again, and by noon we had them 
 alongside, and were at work on them. 
 
 And the next day before we had hoisted the 
 last junk aboard we had raised them again, 
 and the rain of good fortune continued. Two 
 days after we got into a school. This time all 
 four boats lowered, and we killed five. Stod- 
 dard said it was easy as eating pie, and he 
 ought to know, for he was a Yank. For my 
 part, it wasn t pie to me. I was getting pretty 
 sick of whaling as an every day occupation. It 
 was like the old times of a week back, when we 
 got the fluke ropes of those five through the 
 hawse hole. But when old Jonas started up 
 
 "I m agoin to Looseyanna 
 For to hug my Maryanna !" 
 
 There was a perfect sea howl of a chorus, 
 and every man of us realised that all this hard 
 work was bringing us nearer home rapidly. 
 
 What I have given you is the history of the 
 first week of one of the most successful catches 
 ever made in the South Pacific in a given time. 
 We continued on week after week until forty-
 
 A Whaling Yarn 239 
 
 three days had elapsed, and during that entire 
 period we had whales alongside or blubber on 
 deck, and the try pots sizzling. Three times 
 a week on an average, we raised whales. At 
 the end of the season I call the six weeks the 
 season we had stowed down seventeen hun 
 dred and sixty-five barrels of sperm oil. We 
 were worn gaunt as grey-hounds, but fairly 
 happy at that, for on the fiftieth day from the 
 night we reckoned time, that of the Star-light 
 Massacre, the Old Man came on deck, and said 
 to the first mate : 
 
 "Set every thing alow and aloft, sir, and 
 square away for Middle Harbor."
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY 
 
 T ONAS had told me shortly after we left 
 ^ New Bedford that it was just as well for 
 us we were drafted into the starboard watch 
 instead of the port, which was headed by Mr. 
 Haveron the first mate. He was a man of 
 domineering temper at the best of times, but 
 during the six weeks past he had allowed his 
 heat of mind to influence his actions to a greater 
 degree than ordinarily. The intensity of the 
 work, which had more or less set all our nerves 
 on edge, had soured him so he could not always 
 control himself. 
 
 For some reason the mate and I had never 
 been friendly. Luckily we had not much to do 
 with each other, for except during the dog 
 watches when all hands were on deck, I never 
 came in contact with him or under his author 
 ity. Latterly however, it seemed to me that 
 he had begun to single me out to pick on. 
 I had fallen in the habit of yarning, during the 
 night watches, with Stoddard or Morrison on 
 
 240
 
 A Whaling Yarn 241 
 
 the weather quarter deck. This was not ex 
 actly in accordance with whaleship etiquette, 
 for strictly speaking, the boatsteerer s station is 
 amidships, and he is only supposed to be on the 
 quarter when called there by duty. Haveron 
 had seen me there on several occasions when 
 he had come on deck during his watch below, 
 and each time he scowled in a way that made 
 me perfectly aware how he felt in regard to 
 my taking the liberty. But it seemed to me 
 that if Stoddard and Morrison permitted the 
 privilege it was none of his business, so I kept 
 right on. 
 
 It was the same night we bore up for Middle 
 Harbor that the unexpected climax came. I 
 had been yarning with Tom by the binnacle, 
 and had started to go forward. As I reached 
 the mizzen rigging the mate, who had come 
 on deck while my back was turned to the cabin 
 companion-way, ran up behind me, and gave 
 me a violent shove forward. I stumbled over 
 the iron ring bolt at the corner of the main 
 hatch, and went down on my face. I heard 
 an inarticulate roar of rage as I fell, and recog 
 nized that I had been attacked. I also bumped 
 my nose against the coaming of the hatch so 
 the claret spurted. Altogether when I leaped
 
 242 There She Blows 
 
 to my feet I was not so calm as usual. 
 Haveron sprung at me again before I was 
 fairly steady on my pins, and grabbed me 
 fiercely by the throat. I could see by the moon 
 light that his face was red with fury as he 
 yelled : 
 
 "You infernal foremast scrub, I ll teach you 
 to keep your own place!" 
 
 If the affair had come up more gradually 
 no doubt I should have acted with greater dis 
 cretion, for I was perfectly aware that under 
 no circumstances is it permissible on board ship 
 to resist a superior officer. But as he began to 
 dig his thumb into my windpipe I forgot every 
 thing else in the desire to get even with him, 
 and swung in my right fist with a round arm 
 blow that caught him on the edge of his cheek 
 bone under the ear. He went over as limp as 
 a dish rag, and his skull smacked hard against 
 the same ring bolt as I had encountered in the 
 first instance. Then he rolled over and lay 
 with his face to the sky, and his arms out 
 stretched. 
 
 The suddenness of his collapse startled me 
 and springing forward I knelt beside him in 
 sudden contrition, as Morrison and Stoddard 
 came running to the scene.
 
 A Whaling Yarn 243 
 
 "You cussed fool!" exclaimed the second 
 mate. "You ve killed him." 
 
 Morrison lifted the prostrate man s head, 
 and felt the jagged wound in his skull the iron 
 had made. Finally he said : 
 
 "He s all right. Knocked out, that s all! 
 And served the crazy loon right. He was dead 
 wrong." 
 
 "Belay your jaw tackle!" warned Stoddard 
 in a swift whisper. "The old man is coming." 
 
 I arose to my feet, my anger all gone, and 
 stood like a culprit awaiting condemnation. 
 Uncle Zene saw at once something was amiss, 
 and was among us like a flash. He took one 
 glance at Haveron s white face, and turned on 
 us like an old lion: 
 
 "What does this mean ?" he demanded as he 
 looked from one to the other. "Who has been 
 man-handling my chief mate ?" 
 
 His voice was ominous, and I could perceive 
 the fingers of his right hand digging into the 
 palm. It was a good deal like stepping up to 
 the rack, but I managed to twist my lips into 
 the answer: 
 
 "I struck him, sir. He " 
 
 He had me by the throat as quickly as a wild 
 cat, and his thumb began to bore in the sore
 
 244 There She Blows 
 
 spot Haveron had already made. The next 
 moment Stoddard and Morrison, wrought upon 
 by their loyalty to me, did an unprecedented 
 thing. They disregarded the sanctity of the 
 captain s person, and seized his arm to free me 
 from his fell grip: 
 
 "Let him explain, captain!" pleaded Stod 
 dard. 
 
 "The darn fool deserved all he got, and 
 more!" spluttered Tom, husky with earnest 
 ness. 
 
 The Old Man looked from one to the other 
 in utter amazement. Such a happening as this 
 had never come to him in all his years of sea 
 faring. His chief mate knocked out and the 
 second and fourth officers, both of whom he 
 knew by long association to be loyal and up 
 right men, endeavoring to save the offender 
 from paying the penalty. 
 
 At this critical moment Haveron gave a faint 
 sigh, and opened his eyes. The Old Man 
 glared at me inquiringly again, and loosed his 
 hold of my windpipe, for which I was devoutly 
 thankful. 
 
 "Bring some water," he said curtly to Tom. 
 
 Morrison handed him the brimming dish 
 from under the scuttle butt in an eye wink,
 
 A Whaling Yarn 245 
 
 and the captain dashed it sharply in the mate s 
 face. It brought him fully to his senses, and 
 he rolled over and stiffly arose to his feet blink 
 ing at Captain Bourne. Then his eyes caught 
 my face. The blood dashed back to his cheeks, 
 and he cried: 
 
 "You miserable forecastle scum, I ll kill you 
 for hitting me!" 
 
 His fist shot out. I was watching the chang 
 ing expression of the captain s face, and re 
 ceived the vicious blow on the cheek, but it was 
 the effort of a spent man and did not even 
 stagger me. I side-stepped while Uncle Zene 
 caught him by the shoulder, and said sharply: 
 
 "I am in charge of the deck, Mr. Haveron. 
 Control yourself, and explain this matter." 
 
 Haveron gazed uncertainly into the Old 
 Man s face which had regained its usual ex 
 pression of cheerful authority. After a mo 
 ment he regained his self-mastery. He turned 
 again toward me with an expression of deadly 
 malice, and started in: 
 
 "This Long Island Ned hangs out on the 
 weather quarter most of the time in the night 
 watches, and I am sorry to say the second and 
 fourth mates seem to like it. If this goes on 
 you will have him trying to bunk in the after
 
 246 There She Blows 
 
 cabin with you, sir. I found him at the sky 
 light to-night when I chanced to come on deck, 
 and gave him a shove to send him amidships 
 where he belongs. He struck me before I had 
 an opportunity to defend myself, and I think 
 he must have had a brass knuckle on his fist 
 from the hole he made in my head." 
 
 This was a pretty specious story; but now 
 he had had time to think Uncle Zene was far too 
 sagacious to swallow it whole. He glanced at 
 Stoddard and Morrison with a look of inquiry. 
 Honest Joe s features were devoid of signifi 
 cance as those of a marble statue. It was evi 
 dent the second mate did not intend to allow 
 himself to be drawn into the matter any further 
 than he had already gone. 
 
 "I was aft," he said shortly. "I do not know 
 anything about it." 
 
 The captain turned to Tom. Morrison was 
 mad all through with a generous anger on my 
 behalf. Perhaps the fact that he had never 
 gotten along well with Haveron had something 
 to do with it also. So he looked Uncle Zene 
 squarely in the eye, and spoke: 
 
 "Ned was aft yarning with me, sir. He 
 often does, and I don t see the harm. As he 
 was going forward the mate came up, and
 
 A Whaling Yarn 247 
 
 pitched into him from behind before Ned knew 
 he was there. He shoved Ned so he went 
 down and cut his face. As Ned got up they 
 locked horns, and Mr. Haveron got it good 
 in the ear. He went down, and his head struck 
 the ring bolt. There weren t no knuckles used, 
 sir." 
 
 My eye never left the Old Man s face, and I 
 saw its tension relax. Nevertheless I was bit 
 terly surprised when he said to the fourth mate : 
 
 "Bring me a pair of handcuffs from the foot 
 of my bunk in the after cabin. Mr. Haveron, 
 return to your berth. I ll stand the middle 
 watch, and you may have all night in to rest 
 up." 
 
 Tom went off with less blitheness than usual 
 to obey the order, but the mate stood in his 
 tracks looking disappointed and rebellious : 
 
 "Go below, sir!" 
 
 This time Captain Bourne s tone was as im 
 perative as the snapping of a gun lock. Hav 
 eron slowly turned on his heel, and walked aft. 
 Morrison was coming out of the companion- 
 way as he entered it, and the two glared at 
 each other, but passed in silence. 
 
 "Hold out your hands !" said Uncle Zene to 
 me as he received the cuffs. "On a ship of
 
 248 There She Blows 
 
 mine no one can strike my officer, and get away 
 without punishment." 
 
 The humiliation of being bound like a com 
 mon felon was so great that in spite of my 
 genuine liking and respect for Uncle Zene I 
 hesitated a breath before obeying. Like light 
 ning came the crack of the whip again : 
 
 Tut out your hands!" 
 
 I mumbled: 
 
 "It is not fair, Captain Bourne." * 
 
 And then I felt the cold iron encircle my 
 wrists. The touch seemed to set my heart on 
 fire, but I never dreamed of resisting the look 
 in his steady gray eyes: 
 
 "I ll never forgive you for doing this to me," 
 I said bitterly as he snapped the catches. 
 
 "I ll have to scrape along somehow even if 
 you don t, Ned," he replied cheerfully. 
 
 As I could not see that my presence was 
 needed any longer on deck, I retired to my bunk 
 in the steerage and chewed the bitter cud in 
 a wounded and indignant frame of mind. The 
 injury was too recent, and I was too sore to 
 see the affair from the Old Man s viewpoint. 
 If I had been able to, I might have recognized 
 that he could not range himself against his chief 
 mate, and expect to maintain discipline on
 
 A Whaling ,Yarn 249 
 
 board the Avola. I could only see the injus 
 tice of administering humiliating punishment 
 to me when I was not to blame, and had simply 
 defended myself against unwarranted attack. 
 
 I sat on my donkey, and tried to think the 
 matter out fairly, but the more I turned it over 
 in my mind the madder I got. I wound up 
 finally by coming to the most foolish conclusion 
 I could by any possibility arrive at. I resolved 
 to desert from the Avola in Middle Harbor 
 where, barring accidents, we would arrive the 
 next day. 
 
 Some time before, Jonas who had been there, 
 told me that there was a resident missionary 
 stationed on Ascension, the island on which 
 Middle Harbor was located. Also he said a 
 supply schooner called the Morning Star was 
 maintained by the Methodist Mission society, 
 and made the round of the different missionary 
 stations in the south seas annually to look after 
 the needs of the teachers stationed in these wil 
 dernesses. I could either ship on, or stow 
 away in this craft, and go in her to Honolulu, 
 her home port. 
 
 At this point I recalled that the money due 
 me on my lay must be nearly a thousand dol 
 lars. It seemed a pity to lose this important
 
 250 There She Blows 
 
 sum, but I reflected that perhaps I could collect 
 it by legal process from the owners of the ship ; 
 for was I not driven to desert by injustice and 
 violent oppression ? 
 
 I had been fiddling with my handcuffs as I 
 pondered over these things, and my wrists be 
 ing unusually large and bony, and my hands 
 comparatively small, I discovered that with the 
 loss of a little cuticle I could slip off the iron 
 rings. This heartened me considerably, and 
 I removed them. On second thought I put 
 them on again to avoid detection. The pro 
 cess proved so painful I made up my mind not 
 to disturb them again until they came off for 
 good and all. 
 
 At four o clock in the morning when the star 
 board watch came on duty again Tom Morrison 
 slipped down into the steerage. I was mighty 
 glad to see him, but I daresay I was not very 
 demonstrative, for I had decided not to disclose 
 my plans, and to act on my determination to 
 desert the ship as soon as I found an oppor 
 tunity. The fourth mate was full of sympathy 
 though he did not seem to understand why I 
 so bitterly resented being ironed. 
 
 "Why," said he, "they put me in a cell every 
 time they get a chance at me when I am on
 
 A Whaling Yarn 251 
 
 shore, and generally they have to put the cuffs 
 on before they are able to get me there. You 
 needn t take it so, Ned. The Old Man just had 
 to do it! I d let em iron me down to a ring 
 bolt and keep me there all day for one chance 
 to land on Haveron s mug as hard as you did. 
 That was a dandy swing of yours!" 
 
 Altogether the warm-hearted fellow cheered 
 me up, but I clung to my determination to leave 
 the ship. He told me that we would get into 
 the Harbor by noon if the wind held, and then 
 reluctantly left me alone. 
 
 The little steward brought my breakfast and 
 told me Mr. Haveron was on deck as lively as 
 a cricket, although his head was bandaged and 
 his jaw so swollen he could scarcely talk. This 
 was some consolation, and I drank my coffee 
 with relish. 
 
 Just before eight bells I heard the shrill hail 
 of "Land Ho" come down from the masthead, 
 and not long after dinner there was a bustle 
 and commotion overhead. I knew we were 
 entering the harbor, and preparing to come to 
 an anchor. The rattle of the cable and plunge 
 of the mudhook soon followed, and the steward 
 came to tell me we had arrived in port. 
 
 Shortly Stoddard made his appearance with a
 
 252 There She Blows 
 
 friendly grin on his big face and announced 
 that the captain said I could come on deck if I 
 wished, and that the irons would be taken off 
 the next morning. I was glad of the oppor 
 tunity to get a glimpse around so as to get 
 my bearings in the daylight, but I thought to 
 myself : 
 
 "The irons will come off before that, and 
 there ll be no to-morrow morning for me on 
 the Avola."
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 
 
 CAYAL JOE had the anchor watch from 
 midnight until morning. I waited until 
 he had struck the bell four times for two 
 o clock, and when I stole on deck ten minutes 
 after he was nodding comfortably on the car 
 penter s bench aft of the try-works. I crept 
 cautiously over the head of the ship and grasp 
 ing the cable, noiselessly lowered myself to the 
 surface of the water. My dunnage consisted 
 of a pair of dungaree trousers and a hickory 
 shirt, fastened on my shoulders with a piece of 
 spun yarn. 
 
 It was dim starlight, and the bay was warm 
 as new milk. I struck out in the direction of 
 the shore with confidence and swam leisurely 
 along until, on looking around, I found I could 
 no longer see the hull or even the spars of the 
 Avola. Then the situation suddenly became 
 complicated and serious. 
 
 The bay is a large one, five or six miles long 
 by two or three broad, and we had anchored 
 
 253
 
 254 There She Blows 
 
 in the widest part on account of the holding 
 ground being reputed better there. From the 
 ship to the shore on the line I had intended to 
 take was not more than a mile; but now I 
 vividly realized I had nothing to guide me to 
 the land, and that in the darkness I might 
 circle around for hours until exhausted, or even 
 go out to sea through the passage we had 
 entered. 
 
 The thought terrified me and very naturally 
 I began to forge ahead faster, and tire myself. 
 In a few moments, however, I regained my 
 presence of mind. I turned on my back and 
 forced myself to consider the situation calmly. 
 My thoughts ran something as follows : 
 
 "I am in a bad box, and had better have re 
 mained on board the Avola, but I cannot go 
 back for it will be easier to find the shore of 
 Middle Harbor than the ship. I know nothing 
 of the tides and currents, and they may be 
 sweeping me to sea at the present moment. 
 Ha!!! The land breeze!" 
 
 Sure enough, that was my infallible guide. 
 I had heard that it came up with the sinking 
 sun, and blew freshly all night. I raised my 
 body as high out of the water as possible, and 
 it blew coolly on my right cheek. I set my face
 
 A Whaling Yarn 255 
 
 to it, and lunged ahead with renewed assur 
 ance. 
 
 Then came doubt; it might change! Well, 
 the hazard must be taken. Then something 
 splashed in the water close at hand. My heart 
 leaped to my throat, and paralysis chained my 
 limbs. A shark? My God! But the terror 
 passed, and the sound did not recur. 
 
 However, if a man wants to realize how 
 helpless and timid he is when all the props of 
 Civilization are removed, and he is brought 
 naked close to the inexorable face of Nature 
 solely dependent on himself, I advise him 
 to try a similar experience to mine that 
 night. 
 
 It seemed a lifetime, but I was probably no 
 more than a half hour in the water. Where 
 I at last struck the shore I found myself on 
 a ragged coral reef, all sharp points and saw 
 edges. My feet were toughened by going bare 
 footed on the ship, but I speedily found I had 
 made a grave error in not bringing a pair of 
 shoes. Limping was my best gait, but I made 
 the best speed I could force out of myself ; for 
 it seemed to me expedient to be out of sight 
 of the Avola by daylight. I knew that the 
 shore would be searched by keen eyes the min-
 
 256 There She Blows 
 
 ute my absence from the berth in the steerage 
 was discovered. 
 
 At last, with the abruptness peculiar to these 
 latitudes, the sun leaped above the horizon. 
 My good fortune had brought me into a deep, 
 winding cove leading inland from the bay. It 
 was densely wooded to within a hundred feet 
 of the coral reef, and effectually screened me 
 from the observation of any one on the Avola. 
 
 While I was satisfying myself that I was 
 safe so far as the ship was concerned I heard 
 a call from the upper end of the cove, and a 
 native came out on the shore a quarter of a 
 mile away, and made signals to me with his 
 hand which I did not comprehend, but saw were 
 friendly. I awaited him, and as he came closer 
 recognized him as a man who had been on 
 board the day before when I had come on 
 deck by the captain s permission. In fact he 
 had been consulted by the Old Man as to where 
 to let go the anchor. He spoke a little Eng 
 lish, as many Ponapians did, and eked out his 
 meaning with wonderfully significant gestures. 
 
 Ono, as he called himself, at once grasped the 
 idea that I was a runaway from the whaleship, 
 and I gathered from him that desertions from 
 visiting ships had occurred before within his
 
 A Whaling Yarn 257 
 
 experience. At all events he was very friendly, 
 and displayed a disposition to be helpful. He 
 said he lived only a short distance away, and 
 invited me cordially to come with him. I 
 gladly accepted what I interpreted to be an 
 offer of hospitality, and followed him half a 
 mile inland to a grove where by a stream of 
 water his habitation stood. It was a large hut 
 with grass-thatched roof, and walls and parti 
 tions made of wattled screens of rattan or split 
 bamboo. This gave free admission to the air, 
 and protected the interior from the gaze of 
 rude curiosity. Unpretending as it was, a 
 dwelling more suited to the requirements of 
 the climate could not have been devised. 
 
 Another man and two women in the house 
 were greatly surprised to see me appear with 
 Ono, but he explained to them in the Kanaka 
 tongue, and it wound up by all of them em 
 bracing me with affectionate earnestness. 
 This was not disagreeable, for the women were 
 good to look upon. 
 
 After an excellent breakfast of baked pig 
 and fruit, for which my swim and walk had 
 given me a famous appetite, Ono and I held 
 a consultation. I had entire confidence in him 
 by this time, and we had become so well ac-
 
 258 There She Blows 
 
 quainted that by the aid of the English he 
 knew, the Kanaka I had picked up aboard ship, 
 and his wonderfully expressive sign language 
 we were able to understand each other well. 
 
 It appeared Ono was a progressive Ponapian. 
 He knew the functions of pilots, and wished to 
 qualify himself to act as one to the occasional 
 vessels that visited the island. He was ac 
 quainted with the soundings, tides, currents, 
 and rocks of the harbor, but lacked technical 
 knowledge in the management of large craft. 
 This he aimed to get through me, thus enabling 
 him to extend his sphere of usefulness, and 
 demand full pilotage fees from the incoming 
 skippers. 
 
 The upshot of the conference was that he 
 gladly agreed to assist me conceal myself until 
 the Avola left Middle Harbor, and I on my 
 side contracted to return the obligation by 
 coaching him to a point in practical seamanship 
 which would make him capable of conning a 
 ship into the bay and bringing her to an anchor 
 in her berth. 
 
 The arrangement suited me famously, and 
 we had no trouble in a speedy agreement. He 
 thought it wise, in view of the probability of 
 Captain Bourne making a search for me ashore,
 
 A Whaling Yarn 259 
 
 to send me to a village some fifteen miles in 
 the interior of the island, where he had a 
 brother living. He assured me of the best of 
 treatment while I remained away, and immu 
 nity from the danger of recapture. On the de 
 parture of the Avola I was to return to his 
 home, and live with him until I had taught 
 him the elements of seamanship. 
 
 I thought it wise to start at once on our 
 journey, for it was possible that a boat s crew 
 looking for me might turn up at any moment. 
 My feet were very sore but one of the women 
 anointed them with palm oil, while the other 
 manufactured a pair of rude sandals for me 
 out of some thick, tough green leaves she 
 plucked from a neighboring tree. These min 
 istrations refreshed and comforted me, and I 
 took the trail with my head up, and in the best 
 of spirits. 
 
 Our path led through dense thickets and 
 tropical forest, and towards the end we as 
 cended a sharp elevation that brought us out 
 on top of a mountain twelve or fifteen hundred 
 feet in height. From the crest of this the 
 prospect broadened, and beneath lay as beau 
 tiful a valley as that made immortal as the 
 abode of Rasselas. Thickets of orange trees,
 
 260 There She Blows 
 
 the broad-leaved banana, and the mango with 
 its burnished foliage and grapelike clusters of 
 green fruit, dotted its tranquil surface. The 
 central point of the picture was a tiny native 
 village over on the farther side of this Happy 
 Valley. From our stand it resembled a group 
 of toy houses except that it had not that stiff 
 regularity in which toy artists seem to revel. 
 Close to it, from the left, came bounding down 
 the steep side of the cliff a lovely cataract, dash 
 ing and splintering its silvery column of water 
 when it struck the base, into a million particles 
 of spray which glittered and shone in the air 
 like a diamond shower. 
 
 This was in front. As we looked back over 
 the miles we had come, we could see the fierce 
 tropical sunshine lying on the violet and gold 
 bosom of the broad Pacific Ocean. Sentiment 
 does not cut much of a figure in my make-up, 
 but I certainly thought this a cut above life 
 on the Avola. 
 
 And then Ono led me down to the village, 
 and introduced me to his brother Tarnki. He 
 was a pleasant looking savage, but had abso 
 lutely no English at his command. However, 
 he soon understood the situation, and what he 
 lacked in language he made up in good will.
 
 A Whaling Yarn 261 
 
 Ono returned at once to the sea shore to keep 
 an eye on the ship, and throw possible pur 
 suers off the scent, and I settled down to life 
 in this home in the wilderness. 
 
 If I should survive to the age of the patri 
 archs of the Old Testament, I can never forget 
 the ten days I spent in this Ponape village. 
 Tarnki was an elderly man, and had a daughter 
 who contributed greatly to the attractions of 
 the sojourn. She was a brown-skinned maiden 
 of sixteen or seventeen years with a slim figure 
 as perfect in proportion as a Grecian statue, 
 and twinkling hands and feet of surpassing 
 delicacy of mould. Her hair hung in wavy 
 ringlets on her shoulders, and her glorious eyes 
 were at one moment full of diabolical mischief, 
 and the next tender as a fawn s. 
 
 To be sure our conversation was limited at 
 the beginning because we neither could com 
 prehend a word the other said, but the progress 
 we made in the interchange of thought was 
 truly astounding. Before three days had 
 passed I had told her all my troubles, and she 
 understood and bestowed on me a vivid sym 
 pathy that made me forget them. We spent 
 most of our hours in alternately teaching each 
 other Kanaka and English idioms. By the end
 
 262 There She Blows 
 
 of the week she could conjugate the verb To 
 Love in all its moods and tenses as perfectly, 
 and as fervently as I could myself. 
 
 Tarnki gazed serenely on this idyl, and 
 seemed to approve. Lona that was her be 
 witching name and I were soul mates, and I 
 contentedly laid my plans to pass the rest of 
 my existence in the Happy Valley. We even 
 selected the spot where we should build our 
 habitation. I recall there was a full moon on 
 the night when we selected the site, and Lona 
 lay in my arms with her head on my breast. 
 As she lifted those wide dark eyes to mine, I 
 forgot all civilization and even the old father 
 and mother awaiting my return in America. 
 
 I have related this episode of my early life 
 with perfect frankness, and as I look back upon 
 it I can only acknowledge that I must have 
 been temporarily insane at that period. Of 
 course the girl was beautiful and I was fresh 
 from a long and monotonous voyage, and ting 
 ling with what I held to be the injustice with 
 which the captain had treated me in the affair 
 with Mr. Haveron; but after all that was no 
 excuse for my making such a sap-headed ass of 
 myself as I proposed to. 
 
 Luckily I was saved from myself by an en-
 
 A Whaling Yarn 263 
 
 tirely unexpected turn in the course of events. 
 On the morning of the ninth day after I left 
 the ship a man whom I did not know arrived 
 from the coast with a message from Ono to 
 Tarnki. It seemed both important and excit 
 ing, for Tarnki at once summoned Lona and me 
 from our philandering to a conference. After 
 a deal of trouble, with the aid of Lona they 
 managed to make me understand that the 
 Avola had left port, but seemed to be lying 
 off shore. Ono had heard that Captain Bourne 
 had sent for the chief of a tribe living on the 
 other side of the harbor, with whom Tarnki s 
 brother was not on friendly terms, and offered 
 him the unheard-of bribe of a whole box of 
 plug tobacco if he would send out his young 
 men to find and capture the runaway sailor, 
 Long Island Ned, and deliver him to the ship. 
 Ono felt certain the search was already under 
 way, for a number of the most enterprising 
 and active natives were absent from the rival 
 village. Consequently he was very much con 
 cerned for my safety, and besought Tarnki to 
 exercise the utmost vigilance to safeguard me 
 from recapture. I am free to admit the news 
 worried my prospective father-in-law more 
 than it did Lona and me. In the first place
 
 264 There She Blows 
 
 I had considerable confidence in my own 
 prowess, and had no idea that even half a dozen 
 of the natives would have any show with me 
 if it came to a scrap, and secondly I doubted 
 the Old Man s detaining the Avola for the sole 
 purpose of getting hold of me again. 
 
 I was wrong, and it was not long before I 
 found it out. The very next morning I went 
 to a pool in the stream a quarter mile distant 
 from the hut to take my usual morning bath. 
 Lona was to meet me after my plunge, and we 
 planned to return by a roundabout trail that 
 would afford a pleasant stroll. 
 
 After I came out of the water I walked down 
 the trail to where the other crossed it at right 
 angles, and waved my hand gaily to my brown 
 sweetheart who was awaiting me at the point 
 of intersection. It was the last time I made 
 any gay gestures for several days. 
 
 When I was about twenty yards from where 
 Lona stood some one leaped upon my back, 
 and at the same instant passed a sinewy arm 
 slippery with cocoanut oil around my neck. 
 Before I had time to realize the situation sev 
 eral natives slipped out of the thicket lining 
 the path, and had me around the waist and by 
 the ankles. I gave one a tremendous kick in
 
 A Whaling Yarn 265 
 
 the pit of the stomach, and although I nearly 
 broke my unprotected big toe in the effort, I 
 was overjoyed to see him fall back roaring with 
 pain. I managed to strike one of the others in 
 the mouth and knock some of his white teeth 
 down his throat, and then I went down with 
 the whole bunch on top of me. 
 
 Of course I fought and struggled to the best 
 of my ability, but those despised natives were 
 astoundingly strong, and every one seemed to 
 be freshly smeared with oil, and their carcases 
 were as greasy as the pigs boys try to catch 
 in Irish fairs. I could not get hold of them, 
 and they hugged me so closely that my fists 
 were useless. The upshot was that in two 
 minutes they had me tied fast, hand and foot, 
 so tight that the cocoa husk twine cut into my 
 hide until it brought the blood. 
 
 As they raised me panting and breathless to 
 my feet I saw Lona with the tears running 
 down her cheeks, and wringing her tiny hands 
 helplessly. When she met my gaze she gave 
 a scream that woke the echoes of the hills, and 
 sped down the trail to the village swiftly as an 
 arrow in its flight. That was the last time I 
 ever saw the dear girl.
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 
 
 THOSE savages certainly were experts in 
 * the line of business they had adopted. 
 First they loosened the cords which bound my 
 ankles until I had sufficient liberty to take a 
 free stride. Then they put two arrangements 
 I may call halters, for lack of a better name, 
 around my neck. One of them took an end 
 and started toward Middle Harbor; another 
 took the second and trailed on behind. They 
 had me! There was no doubt of the fact. If 
 I bolted ahead, the one behind yanked me up. 
 And if I hung back the husky devil in front 
 nearly jerked my head off. If I tried it side- 
 wise, they both pulled at once and it hurt sorely. 
 It was a pretty bitter pill to swallow, but I 
 made up my mind I had better accept the situa 
 tion with the best grace possible. So I smiled 
 on my captors, and conversed with them to the 
 best of my ability. This change in my de 
 meanor pleased them, and as soon as they be 
 came convinced that I would give them no more 
 
 266
 
 A Whaling Yarn 267 
 
 trouble they took the lashings off my ankles, 
 and the halters from my neck, with the result 
 of greatly increasing my comfort. 
 
 There was evidently no chance of escape, and 
 I resigned myself to my fate. What chiefly 
 troubled me was the consideration of what 
 would happen when I got on board the Avola 
 again. It was not so much the idea of the 
 punishment I might receive for deserting the 
 ship. I could stand that, but I had a notion 
 that Stoddard and Morrison would withdraw 
 their friendship because I had been so mad as to 
 run away. Of course I anticipated being 
 broken from my rank as boatsteerer, and sent 
 back to the forecastle. This, I reflected, would 
 please Haveron and give him a chance to abuse 
 me all he wished. In any case, I determined 
 the first mate should not get off so easily the 
 next time he tackled me. 
 
 Ono had told me the Happy Valley was 
 fifteen miles from the Harbor, but it seemed 
 double that distance on the return journey. I 
 had adopted the native dress, and had no cov 
 ering on my shoulders when I was captured. 
 The sun burned them painfully and they were 
 one huge blister at the end of a couple of hours. 
 Everything comes to an end, however, and
 
 268 There She Blows 
 
 about one o clock we arrived at the point of the 
 headland by the entrance to the bay. 
 
 There \vas the Avola, sure enough, in the 
 offing making short stretches under easy can 
 vas. It was apparent to me at a glance that 
 the captain was awaiting a signal from the 
 shore. The leader of the band who had me 
 in charge at once set about making a fire on 
 the crest of the little promontory, and when 
 he had the flames blazing merrily he dumped 
 a quantity of wet leaves on them. There was 
 little wind, and a tall column of dense smoke 
 arose in the air. 
 
 The next instant I could see the bow of the 
 Avola veer towards the shore, and her courses 
 and to gallant sails were sheeted home as she 
 swept in towards the headland. She was not 
 more than three miles off, and when she had 
 covered half the distance they let her nose come 
 up in the wind and laid her aback. Then a 
 boat was lowered, and started for the shore. 
 
 As it neared the land I could see that the 
 Old Man sat in the stern sheets, and Tom Mor 
 rison was pulling the harpooneer oar. A wave 
 of something that was almost contrition and 
 tenderness swept over me as I recognized their 
 rugged, sea tanned faces, and of a sudden I
 
 A Whaling Yarn 269 
 
 knew that these brave and loyal men were the 
 kind I wanted to pass my life among, and that 
 the last week of my life had been only a crazy 
 dream. 
 
 Then the boat was run up on the beach, and 
 Uncle Zene waded out, and came directly to 
 where I was standing with my wrists bound. 
 He grabbed a sheath knife from Tom s belt 
 the fourth mate alongside him and said as he 
 severed the cords: 
 
 "Ned, my boy, I m glad I ve got you again !" 
 
 "So am I, captain," I answered in a husky 
 voice. 
 
 "Ha! Well, you re not such a cussed fool 
 after all !" he exclaimed, but his tone was almost 
 affectionate. 
 
 Tom could restrain himself no longer. He 
 caught my limp hand in his great fist, and 
 shouted : 
 
 "I ought to punch your head, you Long 
 Island jackass, but I ll wait till I git you on 
 board ! Did you think the Old Man was going 
 to let you beach-comb all your life on this 
 blasted island, and never see New Bedford no 
 more?" 
 
 This nearly broke me down, and I could only 
 blink at them without a word to say for myself.
 
 270 There She Blows 
 
 Then Uncle Zene took charge of matters 
 again : 
 
 "Mr. Morrison," he said in his quarter deck 
 manner, "let the crew of the boat have an hour s 
 liberty, but keep them in hail. Ned and me are 
 going to have a chat." 
 
 He led the way to a clump of cocoa palms, 
 and sat down on a projecting root. I followed 
 in silence, and stood before him heartily peni 
 tent and ashamed of myself: 
 
 "Now, Ned," he began, "we re ashore, and 
 we ll play you re free and just as good a man 
 as I am. On board ship, the captain has got 
 to be the captain, and sometimes he does things 
 he wouldn t under other circumstances. But 
 he can t stop to explain his actions, or avoid 
 hurting people s feelings. Once in a while a 
 lunkhead comes along that can t understand 
 this, and he is liable to suffer some, for dis 
 cipline must be maintained aboard for the good 
 and the safety of the whole ship s company. 
 What s your idea about it?" 
 
 "I was dead wrong, captain," I mumbled. 
 "Put the irons on again! I ll wear them as 
 long as you say so without a murmur." 
 
 "I wish I could get out of it, Ned," he re 
 marked thoughtfully. "But I reckon I ll have
 
 A Whaling Yarn 271 
 
 to do that very thing. I ain t going to break 
 you. Mr. Stoddard won t let me! He says 
 he won t lower if I do." 
 
 The dear old boy grinned whimsically as he 
 told this last, and then added: 
 
 "The captain s job ain t so easy some 
 times !" 
 
 I did not speak. I couldn t, and after a 
 pause he resumed: 
 
 "One word about Mr. Haveron. He has his 
 faults as a man. We all have, but he s a good 
 officer. You must not come into collision with 
 him while this voyage lasts. If you do, you ll 
 get the worst end because I shall be behind 
 him. Chew that, Ned, and swallow it down- 
 even if it does taste nasty." 
 
 It gagged me a bit, I am free to confess, in 
 spite of my unusual humility of mind. But by 
 this time I had about come to the point when 
 I could have laid my neck on the block if the 
 Old Man had said so, and I finally raised my 
 head, and replied: 
 
 "All right, sir, I ve got it down. You shall 
 not have any reason to complain of me." 
 
 His face softened, and I saw that he was 
 satisfied. 
 
 "Well, then, that s settled," he concluded,
 
 272 There She Blows 
 
 taking out his pipe and plug of tobacco. "Got 
 any terbacker left?" 
 
 "I ve been smoking this Kanaka stuff three 
 days," I answered, greedily taking the extended 
 plug. 
 
 "I am going to put the bracelets on you as 
 soon as we go down to the boat, and you will 
 have to stand it three days. Now go and see 
 Morrison and Jonas." 
 
 This was his last word, and was accom 
 panied with an amicable grin. I went down 
 the trail after the others with my heart singing 
 with joy. After all, it was no humiliation to 
 wear handcuffs for a man like Uncle Zene. 
 And I had not the remotest notion that he was 
 going to let me be abused by the chief mate. To 
 think of staunch old Joe Stoddard standing up 
 for me like that ! When I met Tom, who was 
 waiting the conclusion of our talk a couple of 
 ship lengths away, he caught me in a hug a 
 polar bear would have envied, and growled : 
 
 "Well, you blasted son of a sea cook, I m 
 gladder to have you back than if we had an 
 other thousand barrels of oil under the 
 hatches." 
 
 In all this time I had not once remembered 
 forlorn Lona. Now when Tom and Jonas de-
 
 A Whaling Yarn 273 
 
 manded an account of my adventure since I had 
 been away from the Avola, she came to my 
 mind for the first time. I had the sense not 
 to tell my shipmates of what a sentimental idiot 
 I had been. They possibly would not have 
 comprehended my feelings in the matter, and 
 much less sympathized with them. But they 
 were vividly interested in my account of the 
 circumstances of my capture by the natives, and 
 were so wrought up by the indignity of the 
 tying and haltering that I had some difficulty 
 in preventing them from pitching into the sav 
 ages then and there, and showing them the 
 error of their ways. 
 
 It proved to be a fact that a box of tobacco 
 had been put up as the reward for my recap 
 ture, and I saw it formally delivered over to 
 the chief before we left. It came out of the 
 captain s private stores, and I paid him for it 
 later on. He was complimentary enough to 
 tell me it was more than he would give up for 
 most green hands, but he reckoned, on the 
 whole, I was worth the price. It was grati 
 fying to me to know exactly how much I was 
 valued at. 
 
 Before the hands were summoned to shove 
 the boat into the water, the Old Man produced
 
 274 There She Blows 
 
 a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. I held 
 out my wrists with very different feelings from 
 those I endured the first time he had put them 
 on me, and actually smiled genially into his 
 face as he clicked them fast. I knew he was 
 grieved at the necessity, and I am sure he felt 
 ashamed in the depths of his honest heart. 
 
 The short pull to the ship was soon over, and 
 as we came alongside the first mate stood at 
 the rail to receive us. Uncle Zene observed 
 affably as he stepped aboard: 
 
 "I ve got him, sir." 
 
 Mr. Haveron gazed into my eyes with a face 
 hard as marble when I followed, and sourly 
 replied : 
 
 "He was just as well ashore!" 
 
 I never turned a hair though I saw it was 
 evidently to be war to the knife on his part. 
 The Old Man looked at him rather closely, but 
 said nothing as he went below. Shortly the 
 steward came up, and spoke to the mate. Al 
 though it was his watch on deck the latter went 
 down the companion-steps. In ten minutes he 
 returned looking red in the face and discom 
 posed. I observed all this from the carpenter s 
 bench where I was standing, and divined that 
 Uncle Zene had been having a heart to heart
 
 A Whaling Yarn 275 
 
 talk with him in the after cabin. I never heard 
 the substance of their conversation, but for the 
 whole of the period I remained on the Avola 
 the chief mate never spoke to me again except 
 to give me a needful order. Whatever had 
 been the Old Man s argument in my behalf, it 
 had been adequate. 
 
 Stoddard told me that night the captain had 
 decided to leave the Carolines, and put in to 
 Singapore to discharge our oil and refit for 
 another year of sperm whaling. 
 
 The next morning the captain called the crew 
 aft and lined them up on the lee quarter deck. 
 He gave me a lecture before them all on the 
 enormity of resisting an officer, and the equally 
 heinous crime of desertion. He concluded his 
 talk by saying that the fact that I had always 
 been a willing and faithful man before induced 
 him to pardon my transgressions. Then he 
 unlocked the cuffs, and I was free.
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 
 
 OUR course lay a little north of west, and 
 took us through the very heart of the 
 South Pacific. Until we came into the China 
 sea we made land every day or two. We did 
 not see any more whales during the passage, 
 so that wonderful run of luck stopped as ab 
 ruptly as it had descended on us. All hands, 
 from the Old Man the whole way down the 
 line, were in the blithest spirits. And no won 
 der ! We had only hauled out from New Bed 
 ford dock two years before, and here we were 
 with twenty-four hundred barrels of oil in the 
 hold. Ordinarily a ship was not doing so ill 
 if she gathered twelve or fourteen hundred in 
 three years, and rightly enough, for even then 
 the enterprise would pay about cent per cent 
 to the capital invested. Those shrewd old 
 Yankees did not pursue their arduous calling 
 entirely on account of the romance involved in 
 it. The pecuniary side appealed to them. 
 
 Twenty- four hundred barrels! Every man 
 on board had his mind concentred on the 
 
 276
 
 A Whaling Yarn 277 
 
 mathematical problem, more or less intricate 
 to those unaccustomed to dealing with such 
 high matters. This is the way it was figured 
 out aft. Thirty-one an a half gallons to the 
 barrel made our cargo amount to between sev 
 enty-five and seventy-six thousand gallons. 
 Roughly speaking thirty per cent, of this was 
 head oil, or contained a large proportion of 
 spermaceti, making it more valuable. When 
 we had left home, body oil had been quoted at 
 $1.25 per gallon on a rising market, and with 
 no probability of its ever going below that fig 
 ure again. Here was over a hundred thou 
 sand dollars gross without even counting the 
 added value of that head oil. 
 
 And Uncle Zene on the fifteenth lay! Je- 
 whillikens! Didn t he have a right to feel 
 good ? Even the most humble of the foremast 
 hands would possibly earn three or four hun 
 dred dollars for that two years work. My 
 own lay had been increased to the eightieth 
 the day I was nominated Stoddard s boat- 
 steerer. After the expenses of the voyage 
 were paid back to the owners, together with 
 the interest on their investment, I was entitled 
 to a clear one-eightieth of all there was left. 
 Perhaps eight hundred dollars ! And then, by
 
 278 There She Blows 
 
 Jove! There was the ambergris Uncle Zene 
 had excavated! It might come to an entire 
 thousand! And so on. Every man on the 
 ship, I have no doubt, was wrapped up in the 
 same kind of arithmetic. 
 
 It did not prevent the routine of the ship 
 from going on. It rather oiled the wheels, 
 so to speak. We were bound into a civilised 
 port, at last, and the Avola had to be dressed 
 in her best suit of clothes. The officers went 
 at their task with their usual energy, and the 
 staunch old bark was overhauled from stem to 
 stern with all the scrupulous thoroughness that 
 pertains to New England housekeeping. 
 
 Our poor, stained, dinted decks were holy 
 stoned from morn till dewy eve, until they were 
 smooth as satin, and white as snow. The in 
 board paint was scrubbed with strong lye until 
 our finger nails were burnt off, and the paint 
 had disappeared. Then it was repainted, a 
 virgin white, and thereafter woe to the unlucky 
 devil of a foremast hand whom any officer 
 caught accidentally or otherwise defacing or 
 smutting its pure surface. 
 
 Then came the spars. No paint on them 
 for ours ! That slack method of doing things 
 might appeal to the Lime-juicers, but a Yankee
 
 A Whaling Yarn 279 
 
 skipper when he goes into port, wants his poles, 
 from the biggest to the most tiny, to be scraped 
 clean as a willow whistle, and shine with slush. 
 So the boatswain s chairs were overhauled, and 
 more manufactured for the exigencies of the 
 occasion. For a time you could not raise your 
 eyes without seeing men suspended aloft in 
 all sorts of adventurous positions, and all 
 scraping for their lives. After the scraping 
 came the slush, and the cook one of whose 
 perquisites it was watched the diminishing 
 contents of the slush barrel with a thunder 
 cloud on his bent brow. 
 
 After the spars more or less resembled a 
 malacca cane in polish, the old, patched cruis 
 ing sails came down one by one, and were 
 replaced by new ones that looked like a snow 
 bank in the air, and made us walk proudly 
 because of our connection with this new Avola. 
 Some we cut, fitted, and sewed ourselves, for 
 your true sailor is a Jack of many trades, and 
 unlike the landsman, an expert at all. 
 
 As nearly as I can remember the passage 
 took four or five weeks, and I grew impatient 
 of its length. At the last came a day when 
 the wind entirely failed, and we drifted without 
 steerage way. Apparently this happening had
 
 280 There She Blows 
 
 been anticipated. The paint locker was ran 
 sacked, and the officers busily mixed oil, white 
 lead, and pigment until they had sufficient in 
 readiness for their purpose. Stages were 
 hung over the rail, and a dozen brushes were 
 at work making the outer garment of the vessel 
 as spick and span as those we had already 
 operated on. Many willing hands make light 
 work. It did not take long, and before the day 
 was over, the Avola was such a fine lady it 
 was a wonder she did not blush at her reflection 
 in the water. 
 
 "Land ho!" 
 
 This long-winded wail came from Jonas at 
 the fore-royal in the morning watch the very 
 next day. The Old Man was walking the 
 quarter, and Mr. Stoddard stood at the waist 
 in charge of the deck. He looked up with 
 interest, and the captain stopped to say: 
 
 "That is the southermost point of India, sir. 
 We re to the northward of our course, but we ll 
 soon raise the island of Singapore, and if the 
 breeze holds we ll lie at anchor in front of the 
 city to-night." 
 
 In a short time we began to perceive we 
 were in the vicinity of a large port. Little 
 steamers, bigger ones that plied to distant
 
 A Whaling Yarn 281 
 
 places, craft of every description under sail, 
 from the clumsy Chinese junk to the trim Bal 
 timore-built American clipper, and the hundred 
 different types of oriental small craft, scooted 
 by us with immense activity, or lay quietly at 
 anchor. 
 
 We sailed proudly ahead, conscious of our 
 good looks, for the Old Man intended to berth 
 well in. The port captain, or some such gold- 
 braided dignitary, boarded us, and the ex 
 change of ceremonious greetings on the deck 
 concluded, as I judge marine interviews usually 
 do, with the clinking of glasses in the after 
 cabin. 
 
 That Singapore official remained with us 
 until we let go the mud hook, and he had an 
 opportunity to see how a crew that had worked 
 together two years handled an old-fashioned 
 bark. I don t know much about the navy, 
 though I hear they re mostly plumbers and gas 
 fitters that do the work of the ships, but they 
 would have to hustle to strip the canvas off 
 in a more shipshape way than we did under the 
 eyes of Uncle Zene, and that Singapore swell. 
 
 The Old Man went ashore with the port 
 captain. He said he d be back in an hour or 
 so, and bring any mail there might be for the
 
 282 There She Blows 
 
 ship. In the meanwhile sampans manned by 
 coolies swarmed about the Avola laden with all 
 sorts of things for sale. The keen rascals had 
 scented the fact that we were likely customers, 
 and tempted us with offers of every thing they 
 could think of that was desirable to men off a 
 long voyage. I had not seen the smallest coin 
 of real money for two years, but now it was 
 surprising to see the quantity produced from 
 the tills of donkeys, or other secret places, and 
 in a jiffy those Chinamen in the sampans were 
 doing a thriving business forward and aft. 
 One chap had a boat rigged as a butcher shop, 
 and I sprung myself for what I suppose was 
 buffalo beef, though it looked somewhat like a 
 sirloin, and I was hungry, and in the mood to 
 take chances. There were also outfitting boats 
 with a selection of "store clothes," but I decided 
 to hold my horses, and buy what I needed in 
 that line ashore, though it would be necessary 
 to descend on the city looking like a pauper s 
 scarecrow. My decision was probably wise. 
 
 Captain Bourne returned at the time he had 
 set. He had a bundle of mail in his hand as 
 he came over the rail, and his gear was pretty 
 well oiled. As his eyes met mine there was a
 
 A Whaling Yarn 283 
 
 certain significance in the gaze I did not under 
 stand until later, but it prepared me for some 
 thing unusual. He called the ship s company 
 into the waist, and distributed the letters. The 
 very last one he handed to me, and said quietly : 
 
 "When you have read that, Ned, come to the 
 after cabin. I want to see you." 
 
 I knew the handwriting at a glance. The 
 letter was from my Uncle Frank, and for a 
 moment I feared to tear it open, thinking of 
 all the possibilities of those two years I had 
 been out of the world. I went into the vacant 
 steerage, and read it. My father had fallen 
 from a scaffold six months before, and received 
 injuries which made it impossible for him ever 
 to work again, at his trade. He had been a 
 moderately prosperous carpenter, and fortu 
 nately owned his home. He had always hith 
 erto been able to look after himself and mother, 
 and I had not contributed to the household 
 expenses in five or six years, or since I came 
 of age. Now they needed me, and said good 
 old Uncle Frank: 
 
 "Don t let your heels slip in getting home, 
 and bring what money you have along, for it s 
 scarce this side of the water."
 
 284 There She Blows 
 
 He had written through Woodward Broth 
 ers, on the off chance of catching me at Singa 
 pore. 
 
 My mind was made up before I reached the 
 last page. I would ask Captain Bourne to dis 
 charge me here, and advance what he was able 
 on my lay. That amount, and it ought to be 
 a fairish lump, could go by mail. I would ship 
 as able seaman, thank the Lord I could qualify, 
 on any vessel I found going to a port near 
 home. That would land me there with cash 
 in my pocket, and I would buckle down in 
 earnest to look after the old folks. I proceeded 
 to the after cabin, letter in hand. 
 
 "I know all about it, Ned," said the Old 
 Man. Your uncle told the whole trouble to 
 Mr. Woodward, and the latter has written me 
 to do what I think best about it. I ve got the 
 matter arranged shipshape in my head. In the 
 first place, you will go ashore with me to-mor 
 row, and I ll give you a draft on Woodward 
 Brothers for one thousand dollars. That will 
 be on account of your lay. If it happens to 
 turn out less, you and I can fix it up. You can 
 send that home to the Dad. Shut up! You 
 wait a minute! The Queen, Captain Havi- 
 land, is waiting here to pick up a crew to run
 
 A Whaling Yarn 285 
 
 down to Padang, on Sumatra, to load coffee for 
 New York. I met Captain Haviland at my 
 consignee s, and told him I had just the man 
 he wanted to sail third mate with him. He 
 needs one." 
 
 He ceased talking, and looked inquiringly at 
 me as if he had been discussing some ordinary 
 matter in an ordinary way. I was gulping, 
 and trying to find a steady voice to tell him 
 what I thought about his way of doing things. 
 He saw my emotion, and gently shoved me to 
 the companion-way steps: 
 
 "Go and turn in, Ned," he continued, "you 
 want to do a little thinking about this news. 
 Stand by to go ashore with me in the morning, 
 and we ll see the consul, and get your dis 
 charge. Then we ll fix the other matters up." 
 
 I shook his hand silently, and went to my 
 bunk. I was somewhat stunned by the sud 
 denness of the affair, but I got some sleep after 
 all, and turned out the next morning in pretty 
 good shape. 
 
 We went ashore at the appointed time, and 
 as it was still too early to find the consul, we 
 called at the shipping office, where we met Cap 
 tain Haviland. He was a red-headed, well- 
 set-up man, with a deep blue eye that looked
 
 286 There She Blows 
 
 as though there might be trouble at the bottom 
 of it. There was, as I found later but that s 
 another story. He wanted me all right, and I 
 agreed to sign up with him. 
 
 Then we went to the Consul, and I got my 
 discharge. Here it is: 
 
 I, the undersigned, master of the Whaling 
 barque "Avola" of New Bedford of 373 tons, 
 register, owned by Woodward Brothers, here 
 with certify that Edward Hall mariner (green 
 hand, and afterward boatsteerer), who was 
 duly shipped at New Bedford, Mass., on the 
 2oth day of November, 1870, and who was duly 
 discharged by reason of mutual consent, by and 
 before A. G. Spader, U. S. Consul at Singa 
 pore, is entitled as his share or lay, according 
 to Shipping Articles signed by him, the said 
 Edward Hall, to first one two hundredth, and 
 later to one eightieth of twenty four hundred 
 (2400) barrels of Sperm Oil caught from No 
 vember 2Oth, 1870, to this day, less the sum 
 of eighteen dollars ($18.00) for fitting and dis 
 charging ship, and I request that the owners 
 of the said barque "Avola," of which I am 
 Master, pay to him, the said Edward Hall, the
 
 A Whaling Yarn 287 
 
 value of the share due him as above stated, 
 less the eighteen dollars as stated. 
 
 ZENAS E. BOURNE,, 
 Master of the Whaling barque Avola. 
 SINGAPORE, INDIA, October 5th, 1872. 
 
 I freely and fully accept the settlement of 
 my lay and share as above stated by Zenas E. 
 Bourne, Master. EDWARD HALL. 
 
 The above acknowledgment and settlement 
 was signed, and settled before me, the under 
 signed, Consul of the United States of America 
 at Singapore, and the dependencies thereof on 
 the fifth day of October 1872. 
 
 A. G. SPADER, 
 
 U. S. Consul. 
 
 THE END
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
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