Читать книгу The Boy Whaleman - George Fox Tucker - Страница 4

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When we were well out at sea the vessel began to pitch and roll so that I found it difficult to keep on my feet. I would find myself in the lee scuppers only to be thrown back again like a piece of rubber. I noticed how the old sailors tipped their bodies to avoid disaster, and I tried to get my sea legs on and partially succeeded. Even then I slid at times, and at last I got hold of a pin and held on. The man who had come to my help in the boat, when the sailors were making fun of me, came up and said:

“You greenies are not much use until you have learned the ropes. We don’t look to you at all the first day out. Now, boy, let me tell you that the chances are you are going to get sick before long, and, if you go down into the close, stuffy forecastle, you’ll be a great deal worse. I’m the first mate, and there’s no objection to your sleeping on deck the first night out. If you do, you may sleep off the sickness and be all right in the morning.”

So he pointed out a place, and I knew then that my friend was Coster Lakeum. Pretty soon I began to feel a little sick. It was a don’t-care feeling, and it made the other sickness—the longing for home—all the more intense. Why did I ever leave my father’s house? Why did I abandon my mother’s love and care? I kept back the tears and I kept out of the way. When night came I stretched out in the place which had been pointed out and began to feel a little better. The air was bracing and the thought of home did quite as much to keep me from sleeping as the tossing of the ship. There was no one now to see the tears which ran down my cheeks. Sleep stole on, and, when morning came, I felt somewhat restored. I looked about for a place to wash in, and for a basin, but saw none. I came to the conclusion that sailors didn’t wash unless they let themselves down into the sea. It was not long before I found out that water at sea was a luxury. It was kept in a scuttle butt by the cabin door, where a drink might be taken, but there was none for washing. The sailors had to depend on rain and the sea. The cook, who was at the galley, called to me, “Come here, Sonny.”

I started, but the ship gave a lurch and down I went. He gave a loud laugh, but there was something in the tone which showed that he wasn’t making fun of me. I picked myself up, steadied my body, and at the right moment covered the distance without further mishap.

“Look here, boy,” he said, “you’re startin’ out rather young, but you must be twenty.”

This touched my pride.

“Why, I am only fifteen.”

“Only fifteen? Well, I suppose you didn’t have a very good home, so you were glad to go to sea.”

“Yes, I had a good home.”

I felt uncomfortable. The cook continued pleasantly, “The sailor’s life is a hard one, but there are bright spots. Let me tell you to do as you are told to do and do your best. Feel a little squeamish, eh?”

“Not very much now, but I did, yesterday.”

“And you will again, if you go down this mornin’ into that old forecastle, so I’ll give you a little breakfast here, if you can hold on with one hand while you use the other. Eat little to begin with.”

He gave me some coffee and a couple of pieces of bread soaked in something. I held the cup containing the coffee in one hand and the hard bread in the other, and, although more than once I thought they would slip from my hands, I managed to make my repast without accident. It wasn’t long before all hands were ordered aft. I was now feeling pretty good, but I pitied the greenies who had passed the night in the forecastle—they looked so forlorn. They had evidently been sick and gave little appearance of being able to work.

We all huddled together and Captain Gamans, who was to be our master for nearly three years, proceeded to address us. The captain was a young man, not over thirty years old, of good size but not of very attractive appearance. He seemed inclined to be somewhat savage. The following remarks he delivered in a sharp, nasal tone:

“See here, you fellows, I’m boss on this ship. I want you to understand you’ll have to work and work hard. There’s no hanging round on a whaler, as some folks think. Whalemen work a great deal harder than merchantmen. Now don’t let me see any wasting of grub. I’ll put the man who does it in irons for a week. The sooner you greenies learn the ropes and to box the compass, the better. If you don’t, no watch below until you do. Competition between the boats is all right, but there must be fair play. Now for the boats’ crews and the watches; and look out for yourselves.”

Lakeum called out sharply, “Fall in line—old hands at one end, greenies at the other.”

The order was obeyed, but the vessel rolled so that the greenies wobbled about considerably. The mates examined our ribs and arms in order to size up our probable strength and endurance, while the boat-steerers or harpooners stood by and offered suggestions. Then came the selection for the places in the boats, and to my great joy I learned that I was to be stroke oar in the first mate’s boat. I felt grateful to Lakeum and the shipkeeper as well. The few who were not chosen were to remain on the ship when the boats were down for whales. Long afterwards Lakeum told me that selecting a greenie as stroke oar was something of an experiment, but my size, the recommendation of the shipkeeper and the fact that I was brought up in a seaport town and knew something of salt water determined him.

Now came what they called “the picking of the watches.” This was the duty of the first and second mates. There were three watches on our vessel. While those who made up a watch were on deck, the others were at rest or off duty. Between four and eight p.m. there were two short periods called dogwatches. That very day the crows’ nests were built at the mastheads. In each case a pair of crosstrees was fitted to the masthead, upon each side of which was constructed a small platform. This provided a foothold. A couple of padded hoops were secured above at a point a little higher than a man’s waist. With his feet on the platform, his body through the hoops and his arms resting thereon, one could look over the entire ocean, as far as the horizon, in search of whales.

In the late afternoon word came to shorten sail, and several of us greenies were ordered aloft together with the old hands. This was my first taste of the real work of a sailor. When my feet touched the foot-ropes, young and agile as I was, I had considerable doubt about keeping my place. “Tip forward, as the ship goes down and hold on as she comes back, and be quick in knottin’ your reef points,” said an old tar beside me. I managed to hold on, but I was slow and clumsy in reefing. “Green at it, ain’t you? Watch me,” he declared. I was glad when I found myself descending the ratlines and was on deck once more.

That night I slept in my bunk in the forecastle. I recall how close and stuffy it was, how the waves pounded against the ship, how some of the men, presumably the greenies, groaned as if in agony, how I longed for a kiss from my mother and for the little bedroom at home, and how glad I was when at four in the morning our watch was called and I went on deck.

Of all things on the ship the whaleboat was the most important, and few mechanics were more skilful than its builder. This craft was sharp at both ends and was something like the model of an Indian birch-bark canoe. The bow and stern were high out of water. The bow rose above the rail in a Y-shape, and in this was a brass roller for the whale line to pass over. The boat was about thirty feet long, six feet in beam and a little over two feet deep. It was so solidly built that it could ride on a sea which would smash the ordinary boat of a merchantman to bits.

The whale line was about twelve hundred feet in length and was coiled in a large tub. One end of it was taken aft to a post in the stern of the boat called a loggerhead, around which two or three turns were taken in order to bring a strain on the line when a struck whale was going down or, to use the common expression, was “sounding.” The friction caused by the line flying round the loggerhead often set it on fire, and it was necessary to throw water over it. The line was carried forward to the bow, and to it was attached a harpoon. To this line, at some distance from the harpoon, another short warp was attached, with a harpoon secured to the end. The purpose was for the boat-steerer or harpooner to throw the second iron after he had thrown the first or, if this were impossible, to toss the second iron overboard, as otherwise it might catch in a man’s clothing or endanger the other occupants of the boat.

The third day the work on the whaleboats was pushed vigorously. The oars were examined to see if there were flaws, and were then laid in the boats; the whale line was coiled down into tubs, new harpoons were fitted to poles, and these and the lances were placed in the boats. The whaleboat carried a sail, which was set when the wind was favorable, and was then steered by a rudder. At other times it was propelled by five great oars.

The boat also carried a hatchet, a water keg, a keg containing a few biscuits, candles, lanterns, glasses, matches, a compass, two knives, two small axes, a boat hook, waif flags, fluke spades, canvas buckets, a “piggin” for bailing, and paddles. A rudder hung outside by the stern.

The ordinary whaler carried four boats on the davits—three on the port side and one aft on the starboard side. Some whalers carried a fifth boat forward on the starboard side.

The first mate’s boat was the one aft on the port side. This was the one to which I was assigned. It was called the “larboard” boat. And now it is to be noted that no whaleboat ever had a name. It even did not have painted on it the name of the ship to which it belonged.

On the fourth day the weather was mild and the sea calm. In the morning the order came to lower the boats. The lookouts were in the hoops at the mastheads, but there were no whales in sight. The truth is, the greenies needed practice and training to prepare them for the encounter with whales. Lakeum said to me:

“Did you ever handle an oar?”

“Oh, yes,” I said. “I can not only handle an oar but I can do two things which my father told me most merchantmen can’t do. I can swim and sail a boat.”

“You may have to do both before this voyage is over,” was the reply in rather a stern tone.

Each boat carried six men. If, when in pursuit of whales, the wind were favorable, the sail was set; if light, oars were used together with the sail; if not favorable, the oars alone were used.

And now we were not to seek whales, but have our first practice in the imaginary pursuit. I had the stroke oar, which was nearly fourteen feet long. If this were regarded as heavy and clumsy, what would one say of the steering oar held by Lakeum, which was twenty feet long? When the boat was lowered, we scrambled into her and took our places. Another man and I were the only greenies in the mate’s boat, and it turned out that he had never handled an oar before; as for myself, I was only used to light oars of moderate length. The sea looked very calm from the ship’s deck, but when we had pushed off, we found that our great whaleboat was tossed about considerably, and this made rowing more difficult. I was anxious to do my best and I think Lakeum was aware of it, but he gave suggestions and orders in a tone which made me realize that he was my master.

The mate always helps the stroke oarsman. As Lakeum steered with his left hand, he pushed with his right hand on the handle of my oar. The other greenie blundered more than I did and in such a way as to interfere with the others. The men made him the object of their ridicule, but Lakeum told them to be quiet. Take it all in all, some progress was made that morning, and we returned to the vessel with an appetite for dinner.

This suggests the food that was served to us. There were three messes,—cabin, steerage and forecastle. Meals were served at seven-thirty A.M., at noon, and at five P.M. As to the forecastle, the food was dumped in bulk into large pans and carried from the galley to the forecastle, where the men ate it from small pans. For drink we had tea and coffee sweetened with a kind of molasses. We had salt junk and also hard bread which was improved by soaking it to flabbiness, frying it in pork fat and deluging it in black molasses. Lobscouse, a favorite dish, was a mixture of hard-tack, meat and potatoes. Duff was made of flour, lard and dried apples. It was boiled in a bag and served with molasses.

We ate our food in the forecastle while sitting on benches in front of our bunks. Sometimes the meat was divided into as many parts as there were men. Then, as the carver asked, “Who’s this for?” a man who had turned his back called another man’s name and the portion was given to him. This was repeated until all the men were served. Now let me say that during the voyage I never saw among the men a single act of selfishness or greediness. Often those who are uneducated and have had no social advantages are, in their relations with others, the most considerate and gentlemanly.

That afternoon the first vessel was sighted since leaving port. The captain was out with his glasses, and I heard him say, “It’s a whaler, and I know the managing owner’s streamer at the mainmast. The vessel’s the Rhoda, for she’s due about now and has made a splendid voyage according to the last report.” I asked one of the old hands how you could tell a whaler in the distance, irrespective of the owner’s flag, and he said, “Always by the boats. Can’t you see with your naked eye the three boats hangin’ at the davits on the port side?” This held good the world over. A whaler was always known by her boats.

While the whaler was a small vessel, she carried three or four times as many men as a merchantman of the same size, because a large number of men was necessary when whales were pursued and captured. Besides the captain there were generally three or four mates or officers, four boat-steerers or harpooners, a cooper, carpenter, blacksmith, steward, cook, cabin boy, four shipkeepers or spare men, and sixteen to twenty seamen. Sometimes the same person was carpenter and cooper and often there was no blacksmith, the work of sharpening irons and so forth being done by others. On many whalers there was no cabin boy. On the Seabird there was neither blacksmith nor cabin boy, and a man named Jonas was both carpenter and cooper.

Of the four boat-steerers, I shall mention only the one on our boat. He was a Portuguese from St. Michaels, and his name was Manuel—a broad-shouldered, stalwart fellow, with a long, powerful arm. And he was also a fine fellow—kind-hearted and good-natured. We had several other Portuguese in the crew, natives of the Azores, one or two blacks from the Cape Verdes and also one Kanaka from the Hawaiian Islands.

One member of the crew deserves especial mention. His name was Israel Kreelman, a native of Vermont. He was getting along in years and had followed the sea since his sixteenth year. He had never got above the berth of seaman, for while he did his work faithfully and well, he was not qualified for any higher position. Kreelman seemed to me, at first, rather austere, but in time I found him generally kind and companionable, and he took a real interest in me. I have spoken of the hard-looking American seaman who talked to me savagely and jostled me the first day out. His name was Jake, and in a few days everybody was afraid of him. He talked little, and when he did he was profane and abusive. I think it was just a week to a day from the day of sailing, when an event occurred which nearly ended in a tragedy.

Jake was ugly as usual and had some words with the fourth mate. He was cautioned in an emphatic tone. He did not seem inclined to retort, but directed his abuse against the food served to the men, which he called slush.

Jake partly lost his balance, and the captain seized him.

“There’s the coffee,” he said, “the captain and officers get the best of it in the cabin. Then they add water to what’s left, and this is what the boat-steerers and others get in the steerage. Then they add more water to what’s left and that’s what we get in the forecastle. It’s nothin’ but the captain’s slops.”

There was some truth in Jake’s remarks, but the language used might have been more moderate. The captain was standing near by, and his face flushed rapidly.

“Look here, Jake,” he exclaimed, “let me hear no more language of that kind. If I do, I’ll put you in irons.”

“You’re a coward. You couldn’t hurt a fly.”

Before the captain could move or reply, Jake whipped out a knife and made a lunge for him. I thought the knife was going into the captain’s shoulder, but by a quick movement of the body he escaped. Jake partly lost his balance, and the captain seized him. The vessel was pitching and the outcome was uncertain. The captain seized the wrist of Jake’s right arm, and just then Lakeum grabbed a marlinespike and knocked the knife out of Jake’s hand. The men struggled fiercely for a moment, when Jake slipped a little; this put him at a disadvantage, and down they went, the captain on top. They say you mustn’t strike a man when he’s down, but it may be that it depends on the man and the circumstances. At any rate, the captain gave Jake an awful mauling, and when he let him up and the mates took him away to put him in irons, his face looked like jelly. For several days everything went on smoothly and everybody seemed subdued. The only comment was made to me by Kreelman.

“Boy,” he said, “I’m a common sailor and will never get any higher, but there are always two sides to a case. I’ve seen captains and officers do some awful cruel things, and when I was younger, I’ve suffered myself. But in this matter the captain was right. Jake’s a bad man. I didn’t like him from the first. What they want to do is to get rid of him, and they’ll do it, too. Keep your eyes open.”

“How will they do it?” I asked.

“Never mind, keep your eyes open.”

I had heard of hanging men at the yardarm, and I assumed that, when Kreelman said they would get rid of Jake, he meant they would take his life in some way. I was uneasy and distressed. However, I had little time for reflection, as I was constantly kept at work.

We had several days of pleasant weather and each day we took to the boats, and the greenies began to show great improvement in handling the oars. The thirteenth day from home was a memorable one. I supposed that the vessel was well on her way south, but a great surprise was in store for me. It was a beautiful morning, and it was not far advanced before a hazy outline appeared in the distance. As we approached, it grew more distinct, and I was so surprised and bewildered that I didn’t even think of seeking information. Soon the object developed into a huge mountain, rising right out of the sea—in fact from six to seven thousand feet in height. It was evidently at one end of an island. Before long the vessel was put in stays. Then came the order to lower the larboard boat. The greenie who belonged in the boat was told to remain on the ship, and then Jake appeared in the custody of the mates, and was told to take the greenie’s place in the boat. Jake’s face was covered with scabs and scars, and he didn’t appear so bold and defiant as he did before his encounter with the captain. Lakeum steered for the shore, which wasn’t over five hundred yards away, and I wondered what it was all about and particularly where we were going. My curiosity increased when on our arrival Lakeum shouted, “Twenty minutes shore leave.” The men scrambled out of the boat—Jake, despite his beating, the most agile of all. In a minute Lakeum and I were alone.

“Aren’t you going with the boys?” he asked.

“No,” I said, “I’d rather stay here. Will you tell me where we are?”

“Where do you think?”

“I haven’t any idea.”

“Well, young man, this is one of the Azores. They call it Pico, and that mountain rising right out of the sea is one of the most wonderful things in the world.”

I wanted to ask why we were there, but I knew that that was none of my business. Lakeum helped me out.

“There are two reasons why we are here. You’ve noticed that we’ve had no second mate. We are going to have one in a few minutes. It is no uncommon thing now for a Portuguese to ship in New Bedford sometime ahead, and then go over to the Azores in the packet to see the folks and wait for the ship. This is our case. Mr. Silva’s his name and he must live pretty near here, for our captain had his instructions just where to put the ship in stays. Now then, don’t you see how Mr. Silva’s helped us out?”

Lakeum, usually rather serious, laughed heartily.

“Puzzled again? Well, just hear me. Don’t you see this is the way to get rid of Jake?”

“He’ll come back, won’t he?”

“Come back? We’ll never see him again, and we never want to. As a rule we don’t want a man who’s in debt to the ship to desert, but this man is dangerous, and nobody’s safe when he’s around. We are only too glad to get rid of him. We’ve given him a chance, and he’s taken it already.”

“Why didn’t the captain put back to New Bedford when the fracas was over and have Jake arrested?”

Again Lakeum laughed.

“Why, boy, that would never do. Some of us would be called as witnesses, and the rest would disappear. The voyage would be broken up and the owners would be the losers. When the captain gave Jake his licking he gave him his judge and jury and everything else.”

We were at a little landing, and a road led up from it into the island. On each side of the road was a wall made of large blocks that looked like brown stones. Lakeum told me that these blocks were pieces of lava, that the island was volcanic and that there were on it many extinct craters. For the first time I saw oranges on the trees, and it seemed to me as if I had entered into a new world. Pretty soon down the road came a cart driven by a boy. In it was a man seated on a chest. The cart was unlike any I had ever seen. It was a crude affair, and the wheels were of solid wood. Lakeum greeted the newcomer as follows:

“Well, Mr. Silva, I never saw you before, but there’s no need of an introduction. I know who you are. I’m Lakeum, the first mate. Let’s get your chest aboard.”

Silva showed a row of dazzling teeth and Lakeum continued, “I gave the men leave. There they are up the road, coming this way. They’ll all be here in a minute, except one.”

Silva showed his teeth again and said, “Hard ticket, eh? Got a good poundin’, did he? But he’s better off. The ship must stand it. He’s spent the money the outfitter let him have—spent it before he came aboard, and he has got on a new suit, such as it is, and it ain’t cost him nothin’.”

Silva grinned again. Then the smile vanished, and lowering his tone he said, “I feel almost like desertin’, too. I come back here to get married, and I’ve just left my little wife. I’ve been married only two weeks. She wanted to see me off. I couldn’t stand it. It’s a hard life we whalemen lead.”

Though a boy, I was touched by the brave fellow’s words. All the men showed up but one, and Silva took his place. As we pulled for the ship I knew that it would be many months before we should again pull for the shore.