The Deep Sea Hunters: Adventures on a Whaler

Four days after their exciting experience with the U-boat the boys saw the hazy blue mountains of the Azores looming above the horizon, and all through the day they watched with intense interest as the beautiful panorama of the islands was spread before them. But the winds were light and baffling in the lee of the land, and it was daylight the next morning when, at last, the bark dropped anchor in the harbor of Fayal. Here, Captain Edwards was to take on fresh vegetables and fruits, and he hoped also to obtain additional men, for while he had enough for ordinary whaling it was his intention to land parties on several of the far southern islands and to have enough to insure a large catch of sea elephants and a full cargo of oil as quickly as possible, in order that he might return to New Bedford while the high price of oil still prevailed.

As the bark was to be in port several days, the two boys had a splendid opportunity to see the town and the island, and as soon as the port formalities were over, they were pulled ashore in one of the boats with Cap’n Pem accompanying them.

It took some little time for Tom and Jim to become accustomed to the feeling of solid ground under their feet once more, and both were highly amused at the strange sensations they underwent as they walked up the quaint, old street leading from the quay. After many days of constantly pitching and rolling decks, which had become so familiar to them that they seemed perfectly natural and steady, the two boys were surprised to find that the street appeared to roll and toss, and they staggered along like drunken men. Cap’n Pem remarked that they had not got their “land legs” yet and he vowed that many a time, after a long voyage, he had been deathly “land-sick” when he first went ashore.

The picturesque town, with its old world buildings, narrow, steep streets, jutting balconies and brilliant color, fascinated the boys who had never before been away from the States, and they grew wildly excited over the feathery, waving palms, the luscious tropical fruits and the many strange sights which greeted them at every turn. Cap’n Pem, who had visited the islands many times, showed them all the sights about the town and took them on a long jaunt through the lovely island with its neatly kept fruit orchards and gardens, its lofty green mountains, its tumbling cataracts and its rich valleys. Then, at last, the time came to leave, and with a dozen more men added to the crew and with an abundance of fresh fruits and vegetables, live poultry and sheep and with every available cask filled with fresh, spring water, the Hector’s anchor was weighed, the great white sails were spread and the bark quickly dropped Fayal astern.

Heeling to the fresh trade wind, with every sail set, with a smother of foam sweeping past her lee rail and a turquoise wake stretching far astern, the gallant old ship plunged southward, burying her staunch, bluff bows to the catheads in the blue sea, shaking tons of water from her streaming decks as she lifted to the long Atlantic rollers; every sheet, brace and sail straining and her taut rigging humming like harp strings.

“Like ter see one o’ them derned submarines cotch us now!” chuckled old Pem, as the boys, fascinated by the sight, gazed alternately at the great pyramids of canvas and the swiftly passing foam to leeward.

“What’s she making!” asked Tom.

The old whaleman glanced aloft and then astern. “Reckon ’bout ten knots,” he replied.

“And a sub can make over twenty,” laughed Jim. “I hope we don’t see one.”

“Wall, o’ course I ’spose they could cotch us,” admitted old Pem, “but I’ll be blowed if I don’t wisht I’d tried a bomb lance on that there chap back there. Bet I could a-fetched him! Reckon them boats ain’t no tougher than a bull sparm whale.”

“Next time we see one we’ll ask Captain Edwards to lower a boat and let you tackle it with an iron and a lance,” laughed Tom, “but I’ll bet you won’t get a boat’s crew to go with you.”

“Jes’ the same,” argued the old whaleman, “ye got ter admit I saved the ship. Ef I hadn’t a killed that there whale an’ got him ’longside where’d we been, eh?”

Captain Edwards, who had approached unseen, laughed. “I expect one-legged Mike would claim he saved us,” he remarked. “At any rate, he showed the stuff that’s in him and that he can handle men. I’m going to make him bo’sun.”

Cap’n Pem scratched his head. “Derned if I ever heard tell o’ a one-legged bo’sun,” he declared. “Jes’ the same, I never heard tell o’ a peg-legged mate afore, neither. Reckon ye might as well keep it up. Sort o’ got the habit I reckon.”

Day after day, the wind held steady and the bark tore on under full sail with never a hand laid to sheet, brace or tackle, and day after day, the drilling of the men continued, until it seemed to the boys that there could be nothing more for them to learn. They had been taught the running and standing rigging; they had been forced aloft until all but one or two could straddle the royal yards or cling to the swaying, heaving footropes “with their toe nails” as Mr. Kemp put it; and when all this had been mastered, they were kept busy at splicing, making chafing-gear, serving and parcelling, taring down and a thousand and one other jobs on deck. And in this work, the wooden-legged bo’sun, Mike, proved himself invaluable. For while he could not go aloft, yet, he seemed to know everything else about a ship even better than old Pem himself. Then one day, the truth came out, and while talking with the boys, for whom he had developed a great fondness, he divulged the fact that for many years he had served in the navy, and that he had lost his leg in the battle of Manila on Admiral Dewey’s flagship.

“Knowed he was a sailor man all the time,” declared Cap’n Pem when the boys told him the news. “Couldn’t fool me! Jes’ as soon’s I seed him grab a han’ spike, I knowed it.”

“Well, what’s dumb Pete?” laughed Jim, “and one-eyed Ned? I suppose you’ll say you knew they were sailors, too!”

“Nope,” chuckled the old whaleman, “never will be. Dunno what Pete wuz, but he’s a fust class blacksmith now. Reckon Ned wuz a sojer.”

Several times, whales were sighted and boats were lowered in chase, for the Hector was out of the track of regular trade and the captain had little fear of meeting hostile U-boats, but luck seemed to be against the whalemen and no catch was made.

“Ain’t a mite s’prised ’ile’s so high,” declared Cap’n Pem. “Never did see sparm whales so skittish—git gallied soon’s we lower away. Reckon they’re skeered o’ the war.”

“Been shot at too much,” vouchsafed Mr. Kemp. “Every chaser an’ destroyer that sighted a whale took pot shots at ’em, thinkin’ they might be subs.”

But whatever the reason, the whales proved so universally shy that at last the skipper vowed he’d not lower for another, even if it scratched its back against the bark’s planking, and gave all his attention to hurrying towards his distant goal.

The Cape Verde Islands had been left far astern, the bark for several days had been drifting almost motionless upon a polished, oil-like sea with idle sails flapping and tackles creaking as the ship rolled to an invisible swell, and the boys’ observations told them they were nearing the equator. Then one morning, they noticed that something mysterious was going on among the crew. They gathered in little knots and conversed in low tones and more than once the men approached Mr. Kemp, or the one-legged bo’sun, and after a few words, went away grinning.

“What are the men up to?” Tom asked their old friend, Cap’n Pem. “If they weren’t so good-natured and didn’t talk to Mr. Kemp and old Mike I’d think they were planning a mutiny.”

The old whaleman chuckled. “Don’t ye go askin’ too many questions,” he replied. “Reckon ye’ll know long ’bout day arter to-morrer.” And despite teasing and questioning, the old man refused to say anything more. The boys then turned their attention to the bo’sun and Mr. Kemp, but with no better results, and every time they started to go forward Cap’n Pem or the second mate found some reason for calling them aft.

They were still wondering about it, and watching the crew from the break of the after deck, two days later, when muffled cries and grunts were heard and the crew rushed forward and peered over the rail. The next moment, a weird figure appeared clambering up the bark’s side as if he had just emerged from the sea. A long, tow-colored beard descended to his waist, his long hair fell over his shoulders, his blue togalike gown was dripping water and covered with bits of seaweed, while upon his head was a golden crown and in one hand he held a three-pronged spear.

“Gosh!” exclaimed Jim. “Who on earth is that?”

“Derned if ’tain’t old Father Neptune hisself!” cried Cap’n Pem who stood near. “Reckon he’s come aboard ter ’nitiate ev’ry one what’s never crossed the line afore.”

Following close at Neptune’s heels came two other figures, one, a huge black man bearing an immense wooden razor, the other dressed as a woman wearing a crown and carrying a trident. Surrounded by the crew Neptune approached the after deck, where Captain Edwards had now joined the boys and the mates, and addressing the skipper, declared that he had come aboard to initiate those who never before had crossed the equator, and asked the captain’s permission to proceed with the ceremony. While he was speaking, a number of men had appeared, all dressed in grotesque costumes, and had placed a huge tub of water, a chair and a pail on the deck. Immediately the fun began. Seizing one of those who stood nearest, two of Neptune’s retinue dragged him to the chair and held him firmly in place despite his struggles, while a third liberally plastered his face with the thick flour paste from the pail. Then the negro with the razor stepped forward and with slashing strokes, “shaved” the protesting initiate, whereupon his chair was abruptly tipped up and he was tumbled headlong into the tub of water.

Every one roared with laughter, in which the spluttering victim joined, and Neptune’s assistants started for the next man. But the crew were now prepared and ran and dodged about the decks and up the rigging until one slipped and fell, to be immediately pounced upon and carried to the “barber.” With all their attention centered on the comical sight and almost choking with laughter, the boys had failed to notice two men who had stealthily approached, until they were suddenly grabbed, and with loud shouts of glee from their captors, were carried to the deck.

They had already noticed that those who protested and struggled the most received the greatest attention from the barber and so, wisely deciding to make the best of it and take their turns good naturedly, they submitted without resistance. Partly owing to this, and partly to the fact that they were mere boys and belonged aft, they were treated to a mere dab of the paste brush and a single stroke of the razor and were carefully ducked only to their ears in the tub.

As nearly all members of the crew were “greenies” who had never been to sea before, it took several hours to capture and initiate all, but at last it was over and Neptune’s “daughter” handed each one a card bearing the name of the bark and the date, and certifying that the holder had been duly initiated and enrolled by Father Neptune.

Captain Edwards then ordered refreshments served all around, the decks were cleared, and throughout the day, the men frolicked and skylarked to their hearts’ content while those on the after deck roared with laughter at their antics or applauded vigorously as some one started a chantey or a whaleman’s song to the music of a violin and a concertina with all hands joining in the chorus. The boys vowed it was as good as any vaudeville show they had ever seen. Even Captain Edwards dropped his accustomed dignity and gravity to join in the hilarity, and calling to the mate, cried out, “Give ’em a real good whaleman’s song, Pem. Fun’s over at eight bells and it’s pretty near that now.”

“Blowed ef I will,” replied Cap’n Pem. “Ain’t sang a derned word fer years. Give ’em one yerself Hen.”

“All right, Pem,” laughed the skipper, “I’ll give ’em one if you’ll give ’em another. That’s fair. Go ahead, Pem, yours first.”

“Wall,” muttered the old whaleman, “reckon ef the Cap’n tells me to, I’ve gotter do it.” Walking to the break of the deck, he raised his hand, cleared his throat and commenced to roar out the words of a famous old whaling song. Instantly the men were hushed and motionless, listening to his deep, bass voice as he sang:

Amid the uproarious applause that followed, Cap’n Pem beat a hasty retreat and the Captain rose and stepped forward.

“My turn now, boys,” he shouted, “and then the fun’s over,” and with his words ringing far across the silent tropic sea, he sang:

Deafening were the hand clappings and shouts of approval that followed, and then, as the eight silvery notes of the bell pealed out across the waves the one-legged bo’sun leaped forward.

“Three cheers for the foinest cap’n phwat iver sailed a whaleship!” he cried. Rousing were the huzzas that followed, and once again the Irishman raised his voice. “An’ three more for our fri’nd Misther Potter phwat saved the barrk—a foine, brave whaleman aven if he has a wooden lig! An’ three toimes three fer Misther Kemp, phwat makes ye into foine sailor min—aiven if he bates the loife out o’ yez to do it. An’ three more for thim b’yes—the foine thurrd an’ fourth mates!”

“And now, men, three times three for the Hector, a full cargo and a short voyage!” cried the skipper, as the lusty cheers died down. And never were more heartfelt hurrahs heard upon a whaler than those which responded to his words.