Читать книгу The Deep Sea Hunters: Adventures on a Whaler - A. Hyatt Verrill - Страница 3

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“Oh, Tom!” cried Jim Lathrop, as he dashed into his chum’s den, “what do you think? They’re fitting the Hector out for a cruise!”

“Come on, I don’t believe it. You can’t fool me that way,” replied Tom, tossing aside his book. “What’s the joke? Why the old Hector wouldn’t float—she’s had grass growing out of her seams for years.”

“Honest, they are, though,” asserted Jim. “If you don’t believe it come along and see.”

Grabbing his cap, Tom hurried out with his friend, and the two boys ran down the shady, sleepy streets of old Fair Haven towards the water front.

It was little wonder that Tom was incredulous of Jim’s news, for, to the boys, the ancient whaling bark Hector was as much of a fixture as the village church or the town hall. As long as they could remember the old ship had lain on the mud flat beside the abandoned old whaling docks, her dingy, weather-beaten sides rising far above the rotting stringpieces of the wharf; her spars, gray from countless storms and years of sunshine, sagging and awry; her tattered and frayed standing rigging slack and her deck warped and with open seams. Built nearly one hundred years ago, the Hector had for generations been the pride of the great New Bedford whaling fleet, but, long before either of the boys had been born, she had been towed to her resting place upon the Fair Haven flats and abandoned to the elements.

But to the boys of the village she had been a source of never failing amusement. Upon her decks they had played pirate, buccaneer and whaler by turns. Within her tumble-down deck houses imaginary mutineers and freebooters had massacred innumerable officers. From her broad, stout crosstrees the boys had peered forth at countless treasure islands, and within her dark and musty hold they had languished in chains or had stowed away on imaginary voyages.

Somehow, upon the old ship, the boys seemed actually to live in the stirring days they reacted, for old Capt’n Pem, the dock watchman, had spent many an afternoon spinning yarns of his youthful whaling days while seated on the heel of the Hector’s bowsprit. He had related stories of cannibal attacks, of mutinies, of boats stove in and ships rammed by frantic whales. The boys had listened breathlessly to his accounts of men drifting in open whaleboats for thousands of miles after being towed out of sight of their ships by whales, and as he had served as mate on two voyages of the Hector, the boys had but to close their eyes to see the characters he described and the exciting events in which he had taken part. Moreover, Jim, or, as his friends called him, “Jimmy,” had found the old log of the Hector in the Historical Society’s museum across the river in New Bedford, and the boys had read it word for word and had found it more fascinating than any book of fiction, for they knew every inch of the old bark as they did their own homes. They knew the very yardarm from which a mutineer had once been hung; they could still see the holes made by the bullets of Chinese pirates in the stout cabin door; they searched for and found the very bunk wherein the mate had been pinned down by the spear of a Solomon Island cannibal, and the criss-cross cuts where poor “Crazy Ned” had cut his “baccy” on the fo’c’sle steps were still visible. Tom, too—who was forever reading books on strange, far-away lands—had told the other boys of the places the old ship had touched on its many cruises. He painted vivid word pictures of the desolate Croisettes, of little-known Gough Island and volcanic Kerguelan in the storm-lashed Antarctic. He described the queer penguins and broad-winged albatrosses, the palm-fringed coral isles of the tropics, the swift proas of the Malays, the frozen wastes of the Arctic and the blistering doldrums, until he and his friends could transport themselves at will to any part of the world, or any spot in the seven seas, merely by clambering on to the Hector’s warped old decks and setting sail in make believe on a three years’ cruise.

And, best of all, the boys’ parents encouraged them, for they all were of old whaling stock and had almost as much fondness for the old Hector and the past glories of the whaling fleet as did the boys. Moreover, the boys’ fathers were not slow to notice that, by playing about the old bark and listening to Cap’n Pem’s yarns, the boys were absorbing a vast amount of useful knowledge of the sea and of seamanship, as well as of foreign lands and people. They had learned to climb aloft, to run up the ratlines and to man the yards like real sailors, and they acquired a full command of nautical terms, orders and phrases. And in this old Cap’n Pem had been their instructor. He had shown them how to knot, splice and bend ropes; he had made them repair the rotting ratlines and footropes; he had insisted that they must be “proper sailor men” in their play; and, in order to teach them how to swing and square the yards, clew up the sails and otherwise “navigate” the old hulk, he had helped them rig braces, halliards, clewlines and other running rigging from odds and ends stowed in his cozy little home at the head of the wharf. Under his tutelage the boys had learned how to box the compass, how to steer, how to give orders for trimming sail, and both Tom and Jim had gone a step farther and had learned how to “shoot the sun” and work out latitude and longitude.

Often, the old seaman would take a part in the boys’ fun himself; sometimes as captain, at other times as able-bodied seaman, which he always took as a huge joke, remarking with a chuckle that, “I’ve seen a mighty queer lot o’ timber a-callin’ o’ theirsel’s sailors; but I’ll be stowed if I ever seen a wooden-legged A. B. afore.”

But despite his wooden leg, Cap’n Pem managed to get about as lively as any of his young friends, and he would tail on to a brace and roar out some deep-sea chantey with the boys joining in the chorus, with as much vigor and heartiness as though the Hector were once more plowing her way through blue seas instead of being high and dry on a mud flat.

But neither Cap’n Pem nor the boys had ever dreamed of the Hector going to sea in reality. From her opened seams, grass and weeds were growing luxuriantly; within her hold the tide rose and fell exactly as it did outside and, as the old salt vowed that New Bedford whalers were built to last forever, the Hector seemed doomed to be a permanent landmark at the end of the elm-shaded street.

So, as the two boys hurried to the dock, Jim found it hard work to convince Tom that they were about to lose their wonderful playground.

“I just went down to see if you or any of the fellows were there,” explained Jim, “and I found a whole crowd of workmen. They had a truck full of rope and tackle and paint and tar and everything. Some of them were on board and others on the dock and they’d already taken off a lot of the old rigging and were tearing the grass and stuff out of the seams. Cap’n Pem was there too and I asked him what they were doing and he chuckled and said, ‘Didn’t I tell ye, Jimmy, a New Bedford ship weren’t never too old to go a-cruisin’? They’re a-fittin’ of the Hector fer a v’yge.’”

“I’ll bet he was just jollying you,” declared Tom. “Perhaps they’re going to fix her up and take a movie of her, just as they did on the Viola, you know. Perhaps that’s what Cap’n Pem meant—a movie voyage. Why, Jimmy, the Hector couldn’t go to sea.”

“Well, we’ll soon know,” replied Jim. “Look at that now! They’re taking down her yards.”

The boys had now reached the dock, and sure enough, as Jim had said, a crowd of laborers were busy on the wharf and on the Hector, and the sound of hammers and axes, of loud orders, and the creak of tackle blocks awoke echoes which the dock had not heard for generations.

Already nearly all the yards of the old ship had been taken down and were laid upon the dock where men were planing and cutting them; the grass and weeds had been removed from the cracks in the planking and men were busy cutting and tearing out the old caulking. The ragged shrouds were being taken off and, on a hanging stage under the bowsprit, carpenters were working on the massive stem.

“Gosh! It does look as if you’re right,” admitted Tom, as the two boys stopped, and with wonder, gazed upon the bustling scene. “Oh, there’s Cap’n Pem! Let’s go and ask him all about it.”

Approaching their old friend, the boys plied him with questions.

“Sure, they’re a-fittin’ of her out fer a cruise,” he avowed, seating himself on one of the yards. “Reckon ’iles so almighty sky high—what with this ’ere war an’ all—that old man Nye jest couldn’t resist the temptation o’ fittin’ out fer a cruise.”

“Where’s she goin’?” he continued in answer to the boys’ queries.

“Gosh hanged ef I know! Any seas mos’ likely. Ain’t nary one o’ the chaps here as knows nothin’ ’bout it. Jest had orders ter overhaul the ol’ Hector an’ git her ship-shape an’ ready fer sea. Jake Potter’s gang ’tis. Ain’t seed Jake or I’d know more erbout it.”

“But aren’t you surprised?” asked Tom. “When Jim told me, I wouldn’t believe it. Why, it don’t seem possible. How on earth can that old hulk float?”

“Surprised?” chuckled the old salt. “Say, son, time ye git as ol’ as I be an’ been to sea fer a matter o’ forty year, ye won’t find nothin’ to surprise ye. ’Sides, what’s so surprisin’ ’bout a good ship goin’ t’ sea after a bit o’ rest? Float? Course she’ll float. Why, boys, I’ve been a-cruisin’ fer sparm in the western ocean an’ jammed in the ice in Behring Sea fer five years in a ship what was jes’ punk ’longside o’ this ’ere Hector. Float! Why, bile me down fer blubber, if she ain’t a floatin’ long after these ’ere new-fangled, sawed-timber jimcracks o’ ships what the gov’ments a-buildin’ of has been scrapped fer a hundred year. Why, boys, don’t ye know the ol’ Hector well enough to know she’s jes’ as sta’nch an’ sound as the day she was built? Long’s her timbers ’re sound an’ her keel an’ garboard strake’s not rotten, she’s all right; an’ I’ll bet my wooden leg ’gainst a chew o’ baccy thet she’s as sound as a trivet to-day.”

“But won’t it cost more to fix her up than to build a new ship?” asked Jim.

The old skipper shook his grizzled head. “No, sirree,” he declared. “Ships is mighty costly these days, an’ ’sides, where ye goin’ ter find any one thet knows how ter build a proper whale ship? Why, blow me, ye can’t find a man what knows a blubber-hook from a fluke-chain nor a clumsy-cleat from a scrap-hopper outside o’ New Bedford. Course she’ll need a bit o’ tinkerin’, few new planks an’ riggin’; a bit o’ caulkin’, and like as not, some new spars. But shucks, that ain’t much. Reckon’ they’ll have her all fine an’ dandy an’ ready fer sea inside a month.”

“But how are they going to caulk her and fix her here in the mud?” inquired Tom. “Won’t they have to tow her over to the dry dock?”

Cap’n Pem roared with merriment.

“Bless yer heart, no!” he cried when he could control his laughter. “Didn’t ye ever see a ship hove-down? But o’ course ye haven’t. Why, they’ll jes clap a tackle on to her mastheads and heave her down till they git to her bottom, easy as eatin’ pie.”

“Well, I’ll like to see that,” declared Tom. “I should think it would pull the masts out or crack her wide open.”

“Nary a mite,” the captain assured him. “Whale ships is made fer hard work an’ knockin’ about, not fer looks. Course there ain’t many o’ these ’ere schooners nowadays what’ll stand fer it; but ye jes wait an’ see how the ol’ Hector takes it.”

For the rest of the afternoon, Tom and Jim, in company with a number of boy friends who joined them, stood upon the dock watching with interest, and not without pangs of regret, the rapid dismantling of the bark.

“Reckon ’tis kind o’ hard on ye kids,” remarked Cap’n Pem, when one of the boys expressed his sorrow at losing the old ship. “Durned if I don’t hate ter have her go myself. Kind o’ like losin’ of an ol’ friend. Jest hope I’ll be spared ter see her comin’ hom’ ag’in. Bet she’ll be full up and with a shark tail on her jibboom.”

Not until the laborers knocked off work did the boys turn from the dock towards their various homes, and by then, the Hector had been stripped bare of her rigging; huge pieces of rotten wood had been cut from her stem; planks had been torn from sides and decks; her cabin and galley had been ripped out; and, as Tom remarked, she looked more like a wreck than ever.

As Jim lingered to talk with Tom before the latter’s home, Mr. Chester drove up in his car, and instantly the two boys told him the wonderful news of the bark.

“Yes, boys, I heard about it,”’ he replied. “Mr. Nye was in the office to-day to see about outfitting. He’s fitting the Hector out for a voyage to the South Shetlands for sea elephant oil. Come in and have dinner with us, Jimmy, and I’ll tell you both all about it.”

“Gosh, that’s way down by the South Pole,” exclaimed Jim as the two boys followed Tom’s father into the house. “Say, Tom, what are sea elephants? You never told us anything about them.”

“I don’t exactly know myself,” admitted the other. “Seems to me I did read something about them in some book; sort of a giant seal, I think, but I don’t understand how a whaler can go after them for oil.”

Tom’s father, however, soon explained all about sea elephants, the gigantic seal-like creatures with trunklike noses, which dwell in the Antarctic seas and upon the desolate islands there.

Formerly, Mr. Chester told them, the sea elephants congregated in herds of countless thousands upon the shores of the South Shetlands, Kerguelan, the Croisettes and other Antarctic islands, but as they were stupid creatures and had never seen men, they fell an easy prey to whalers who killed them for their blubber. So rapidly were they slaughtered that they would soon have become as extinct as the Dodo or the Great Auk, if the European governments, who owned the islands, had not taken steps to protect them and prevent hunting them.

“Then how can the Hector go after them?” asked Tom.

“Because, owing to the war, there has been such a shortage of oil that the British government has given permission to hunt them under special license,” replied Mr. Chester.

“Do you really think the old bark ever will get there?” asked Jim.

“I haven’t a doubt of it—unless she’s sunk by a submarine. Those old ships were built to last forever, as Captain Pem says, and Nye’s had the Hector looked over and her timbers and most of her planking are sound. It will be a far more difficult matter to find a crew than to get the bark into seagoing shape.”

“Golly, wouldn’t that be a dandy cruise to take!” exclaimed Tom. “Just think of seeing penguins and albatrosses and sea elephants and icebergs and everything!”

“Yes, and think of really going whaling on the old Hector!” cried Jim.

“Sea elephanting, you mean,” laughed Tom. “Say, father, will they call the crew ‘sea elephant men’?”

“They’ll do considerable whaling too, I expect,” laughed his father, “and no matter what a whaleman does he’s still a whaler—even when they went to Africa after slaves in the old days and never hunted whales.”

“Then ’twould be all the more fun—if they hunted whales, too,” declared Tom. “Gee, I do wish we could go along. Couldn’t we go as part of the crew or something, Dad? You always said we’d ought to go on a real cruise, you know.”

“Nonsense,” said Mr. Chester. “You two boys would be a nuisance, and besides, even if Nye would let you go, and I didn’t object, and the captain gave his consent, your mother and Jim’s parents would be worried to death. The ship might be sunk by a submarine, and she’ll probably be away for a year or more and where we never could hear from her. Besides, you’d be sick and tired of the trip before it really began. You don’t realize what a whaling cruise is like. Go over and see Nye to-morrow and he’ll tell you a few truths that will make you change your views about a whaling life being a lark.”

“Well if we don’t, and Mr. Nye will let us go, and Jimmy’s folks will let him go, and the captain will sign us on, then will you let me go?” teased Tom.

“There are altogether too many ‘ifs’ in that,” laughed Mr. Chester, “but I’ll make a bargain. If Nye and his skipper are fools enough to let you two go and all the other ‘ifs’ are eliminated I’ll give my consent on one condition, and that is, that old Captain Pem is the mate.”

“Hurrah!” cried the boys in unison.

Mr. Chester chuckled.

“I’m perfectly safe in making that bargain,” he declared. “There’s about as much chance of a wooden-legged mate on a whaler as there is of the Hector coming back with a load of ambergris!”