They made a very fine and uneventful passage to the islands, arriving off Honolulu in the early dawn of a perfect day, and working into the harbour, where four other whaleships were lying at anchor, in the usual easy seaman-like fashion of those ships. The vessel was moored smartly, and the order given to furl all sail, and in carrying out this order an incident occurred which brings into my story for a little while a man who has not received any but cursory mention and that not by name—Mr. Allan the third mate. He was a jovial stocky little man of great vivacity and good temper, who interfered with nobody and made no trouble as long as the work went on all right. Being in the other watch he had never had much to do with C. B., and regarded him as an amiable sort of crank.
Now it chanced that in the rush to get the sails furled C. B. found himself side by side with Mr. Allan on the main topsail yard, tugging furiously at the sail to get it furled before their rivals forrard, in the usual emulation seen in these vessels at sail furling. Now C. B. being so long and Mr. Allan so short, only about five feet four, the latter could only reach from the foot-rope, and sprang upwards from it grabbing at the sail and missing his hold. He was sliding backwards from the yard with a despairing yell when C. B., letting go the sail, made a grab at his left arm, caught it, and turning, held the whole weight of his body as it fell. The wrench was terrible, and C. B’s stout sinews cracked, but exerting all his great strength he drew the third mate upward until he placed him on the foot-rope again in safety, when they both lay gasping across the yard and looked at each other.
When they had recovered their breath they finished furling the sail, being hopelessly beaten of course by the fellows forrard. But when they reached the deck Mr. Allan held out his hand to C. B. saying, “Put it there, young man, I reckon I owe you a life or so.”
C. B. was about to reply, when Merritt with his dangerous grin on came between them and said—
“Now, Mr. Allan, what’s you doin’ with my chum?”
“Oh, don’t bark,” replied Allan laconically, “nobody’s kidnappin’ your chum. But I s’pose you haven’t any real objections t’ a fellow saying thank ye for having his life saved, have ye?”
“No, but we’ll let it go at that,” snarled Merritt. “When I’ve got a chum I don’t want no partners in him, ’n I won’t have ’em neither, see. You can thank all ye want to, but no chummin’.” And he turned away.
C. B. looked bewildered from one to the other, and then went on with his work, with a deep sigh of despair at his inability to comprehend this peculiarly selfish form of affection.
He could see, however, that it behoved him to be careful in his intercourse with others, no matter how friendly they might be, not that he felt the least fear of Merritt, but that he realized to the full that the latter’s love for him had humanized and made gentle a nature essentially savage and morose. He felt in a very special measure responsible for Merritt, having an indefinable idea that he might one day be able to hail him not only as a chum but as a brother Christian. Not that C. B. had ever attempted to proselytize; he had absolutely none of the missionary spirit except that he always did live before his fellows as seeing Him who is invisible, and the example of such a life often preaches louder than any amount of spoken words. And his heart had greatly rejoiced when on several occasions during the night watches Merritt had asked him in a casual off-hand sort of way to tell him what Christianity really was.
But I am forgetting altogether that the ship is at anchor in the harbour of Honolulu, and that C. B., in a strange port for the first time in his life, became carried away, quite bewildered by the wonderful scene on deck. For the ship was overrun by both Kanakas from the shore and visitors from the other ships, all manner of island produce for sale was being continually hoisted on board, and all round the ship, like so many dusky mermaidens, disported a very shoal of girls, forbidden to come on board by the captain’s stern orders. That gentleman, however, seeing how impossible it was for his men to work under the present conditions, and being moreover of a very kindly disposition, gave orders that as soon as the decks were cleared up work should cease for the remainder of the day, so that the men should be able to enjoy the change without breaking any rules or getting into trouble. Then he called all officers and boat steerers aft and gave them stringent orders to watch that no women or liquor were allowed on board, as he didn’t want any gratuitous trouble. Also to keep a good lookout that nothing of small portable size was left lying about for the natives to steal, and especially that no rope under any pretence was flung to a boat, since it is a frequent trick of theirs played upon unwary seafarers to haul as much of a rope flung to them as possible into a canoe and then—cut it off as high up as they can reach—which of course causes serious trouble the first time the rope is let go, if it is, as usual, a portion of the ship’s running gear.
These orders required a great deal of energy and watchfulness to carry out, but nobody seemed to take them seriously except C. B., and in consequence he was kept extremely busy, especially as to his slight annoyance he was continually being addressed in the Kanaka tongue by natives who looked upon him as one of themselves, though not full blood. For the Pitcairn Islanders, handsome as they undoubtedly are, do show and probably always will show, both in complexion and feature, a striking resemblance to the stock from which their maternal ancestors were derived, and this by a well-known peculiarity is far more pronounced in the case of males than of females. Now C. B. hardly knew a word of Kanaka, for he had not fraternized at all with the natives on board, having been early advised to keep his place, so when these dusky Hawaiians smilingly saluted him with “Aloha,” to which he cheerily responded, and then went on to talk to him, his blank stare of non-understanding and his vigorous pantomime to that effect puzzled them beyond measure.
It was evident that they did not believe him at first, by their scornful looks. They took him for a renegade, a half-breed ashamed of his parentage, which is indeed an unpardonable offence in their eyes, they having a vigorous hatred of all forms of snobbery, until presently mixing with the Kanakas forward, they heard such an account of C. B.’s goodness, his prowess as a fighter and his ability as a whaleman, that they changed their minds concerning him, and were ready to accord him supernatural honours. He, of course, noticed the deference they paid him, the instant obedience to his lightest word, the anxiety to please him manifested on every side, but ascribed it to their innate kindliness, to everything in fact but its true reason. It was not until they began to bring him tribute in the way of presents, fruit, eggs, fowls and vegetables, that he began to wonder whereunto all this was tending, and as he could make but little headway through his want of knowledge of the language he hunted up Merritt, who spoke the language very well, and asked him if he could ascertain the reason.
Merritt held a palaver, which, by the way, is a West African native word that has passed into our language, and then did what C. B. had never deemed him capable of, burst into a perfect roar of laughter. To C. B.’s puzzled inquiry as to the cause of this sudden hilarity, he presently replied, wiping the tears of merriment from his eyes, in allegory and parable—
“Boys oh! boys, get sticks and beat the natives. By the great hook block ef this don’t beat heavin’ the anchor through the hause-pipe. What sh’ll I hear next, I persoom? Well, never mind, this is the way of it. All these kotow, that offerings, them perlite inquiries that you don’t savvy means that you’re somethin’ of a second mate god. I don’t know what them Kanakas of ours has been tellin’ ’em about ye, but it must a ben a pretty tall yarn, judgin’ by what I’ve heard already. An’ this is only the beginnin’ of it.”
One of the crew-Kanakas was just shambling aft to the scuttle-butt for a drink of water when Merritt hailed him in his own language and asked him what sort of a game he had been putting up on “Seeby” as they all called our hero forrard. The man told him as truthfully as he knew how what had been said, at which Merritt laughed more than ever, and at last turning to C. B. said—
“Looky here, my boy, ef you ain’t careful these yer Kanakas’ll be wiling you away to become the head boss of some new religion of theirs. I guess they hain’t ever struck one o’ your breed before.”
C. B. tried to laugh, but it was a failure. He had come up against a problem far too heavy for his simple mind to cope with. I know of no subtler form of temptation than this for a good man, unless gifted with an exceptionally large fund of common sense and much experience. Now C. B. was a sensible youth, and his splendid early training as well as his native grit had carried him grandly through his recent fiery trial, but nothing that he had ever heard or learned had prepared him for this.
His mind was chaos for a time, and then there emerged one idea clearly and distinctly, an idea sedulously cultivated by the fine old man McCoy—humility. He felt rather than knew that this would save him, this and the steadfast performance of his duty, from being carried off his balance, and unknown to any save his Maker his heart went up in prayer to be kept humble, true and diligent. It was all over in a moment; then he turned to Merritt with a bright and cheerful smile, saying—
“Please tell these foolish fellows that I am only a boat-steerer, who loves God, and that there’s nothing special about me except that I’m a bit bigger and stronger than ordinary men, which I can’t help being, you know.”
Merritt still grinning told them something that C. B. did not of course understand; if he had he would have protested, for it was not at all what he meant to be conveyed to them. It was to the effect that while C. B. was not exactly a godling he was a specially big man highly favoured by God; that he was half a Kanaka, but had never learned his mother language, and that the papalangi (white men) were all agreed in honouring him. So if they chose to show their appreciation of the honour done to their race in him it was not for him to baulk them, unless they worried him, when he would speedily inform them of the fact and they must instantly obey him. For Merritt, old in the knowledge of these light-hearted folks, foresaw that to occupy such a position as C. B. had been involuntarily lifted into meant not only a great lightening of labour for all the officers, but getting the best that life afforded by way of tribute, as a right and without any cost except to the donors.
In which, of course, Merritt was perfectly right from his point of view, and from thenceforward the ease with which discipline was maintained among the visitors was wonderful. Only C. B. felt sorely handicapped by his inability to speak the language, although, as he always had Merritt to fall back upon to interpret for him, that was not so much of a drawback as he thought it.
The other boat-steerers and officers soon found that life was very easy for them, and took full advantage of the fact without worrying about the reason for it, until on the third day after their arrival the skipper said at dinner: “The Kanakas don’t seem to be half as troublesome as usual on board, how is it?” There was silence for a moment or two until, seeing his seniors said nothing, Mr. Allan, the third mate, replied—
“It’s all on account of that extraordinary boat-steerer of ours, sir. He seems to have got hold of the Kanakas in such a way that they’ll do anything for him. They don’t take a bit of notice of us as far as I can see, but if he so much as winks they’re ready to fly. I heard him say to one the other day, ‘The captain doesn’t want any grog brought aboard and I hope none of you will do it?’ That was all, but that Kanaka looked as if he had had a message from heaven. An’ I don’t believe there’s ben a drop come in over the rail, an’ that without our troubling at all.”
The other officers went on stolidly eating, apparently without any interest in what was being said, but the captain, smiting his leg, said with great earnestness—
“In all my fishin’ I’ve never met a man like this fellow. Whatever does it mean? He don’t preach, he don’t psalm-sing (I often wish he would after hearin’ him that night aboard the Matilda Sayer), he only just does what we all try to do according to our ability, his duty, an’ yet he strikes me as bein’ a miracle. I sometimes wonder whether we’re lucky in havin’ him aboard the ship or not.”
Then Mr. Winsloe lifted his head with a dogged air and remarked—
“Don’t see anything particularly lucky in havin’ him aboard, sir. We hain’t had only an ordinary cruise, we’ve had two or three nasty rows through him, and a pretty bad smash. I think there’s too much fuss bein’ made altogether over a half-bred Kanaka who’s only a fair average boat-steerer after all.”
There was another silence after this, until presently the skipper said with a half sigh—
“Ah well, I can understand you’re not having any praise to waste on him, Winsloe. If I’d ben in your place, an’ he’d used up my harponeer as cheaply as he has yours, I sh’d feel ’bout the same I guess. But Pepe hasn’t made a good show, now has he?”
“Best harponeer I ever saw get into a boat until this ’ere speculation of yours came aboard. Now he ain’t wuth a row of pins. I could pick a dozen men out o’ the crew as good as him at any time.”
“I think that’ll quite do, Mr. Winsloe,” answered the skipper quietly, but with a dangerous gleam in his eye. “I don’t allow any man to talk t’ me as your permittin’ yerself to do. I k’n make allowance all right, but you don’t need any allowance, you know better. Now don’t let it occur agen, an’ if Pepe is useless as you say he is, disrate him an’ put another man in his place.”
Nothing more was said, but all four men filed out of the little cuddy in silence thinking over the sudden turn affairs had taken. But Captain Taber was not the man to allow any suspicion of injustice to taint his actions, and so he presently sent for Mr. Winsloe to his cabin, gave him a cigar, took one himself, and when they were well going he said quite casually—
“Looky here, Winsloe, you’n me’s got on very well this last three years nearly, an’ I ain’t goin’ t’ let any misunderstandin’ spoil our relations if I can help it. Nor yet I ain’t goin’ t’ be unjust, to you nor nobody else—tain’t in me t’ put up with it or suffer it. Tell me, what ye got agen that young boat-steerer, ’cause if the matter’s serious enough to cause a breach between us on account of him bein’ in the ship, I’m goin’ t’ send him back t’ Norfolk; I ain’t goin’ t’ lose my mate. Though, mind ye, if that meant turnin’ a man adrift that had done no wrong just t’ save myself trouble an’ to please another man who’d taken a dislikin’ for him, I wouldn’t do it, no, not for the value of ship an’ cargo. Now, honest injun, own up, what ye got agen him?” And lying back, calmly puffing his cigar, the captain awaited the reply. After a long pause it came reluctantly—
“I ain’t got nothin’ agen him, only I hate the sight of his face”; and here the speaker became transformed and gave vent to a string of awful blasphemies, which even then seemed quite inadequate to express the hatred he felt for C. B. Captain Taber watched this exhibition with an abstracted air nor showed any surprise. When the furious man had subsided, though still trembling with utter rage, the skipper said—
“I guess you’re in a pretty bad way, Winsloe. You seem to me to be like one of them old-time folks that was possessed with devils. Here’s a man that never done you a mite of harm, never give you a word o’ sass, nor a minute’s trouble, yet if I’m any judge you’d wash yer hands in his blood this minute if y’ got a chance, an’ feel glad. God help ye, I’m afraid it means that you’re right down bad, an’ he’s about as good as they make ’em. Well, I must see about this.” And Winsloe retreated on deck.
I must close this chapter with just a word of explanation to such dear gentle souls among my readers who, leading sheltered lives, have never had the misfortune to come across these terrible exhibitions of hatred without any cause save the natural antagonism of light and darkness. I beg them to believe that I am not exaggerating, but drawing from life, and to be thankful if they have never met such instances of the causeless hatred of the utterly innocent.
The life now led by C. B. was a most distracting one for him, and stirred his somewhat easy mind to its depths. He gave not one thought to the dark feelings of hatred with which he knew he was regarded by certain of his shipmates in the conscientious discharge of duties. He was much ashore and mixed freely with the Kanakas, who abated no jot of the reverence with which they had first heard of his doings upon closest acquaintance with him. It is pleasant to record that he came and went among them blamelessly. All sorts of gifts were pressed upon him, some of them such as we need not inquire into more particularly, but specially of drink and other forms of hospitality. He readily accepted food when he needed it, but kept his abstinence from intoxicants or tobacco without any effort, because having never known their taste he was not disposed to make a trial of them. Doubtless he was virtuous, but if he had been given to self-analysis he would have said that if it was virtue it was entirely unconscious on his part.
Which gave it its peculiar charm, for few persons are more offensive than the ostentatiously virtuous, who are usually Pharisees of the very worst type. His influence over his men was so great that he could always be depended upon to take a party ashore on a wood and water expedition and get the work done without any trouble, while on the several occasions when the other boat-steerers went on similar errands there was always an aftermath of quarrels and fighting due to liquor. Then when the captain intervened and pointed out the difference between the behaviour of the men who went ashore with C. B. and those whose conduct was under review, the debt of hatred steadily accumulated.
But the work went steadily on until the ship was nearly ready for sea, and the captain gave liberty to the port watch. In it were Pepe and Louis and most of the Portuguese in the fo’c’sle, who, dressed in their best and with money to spend, left the ship early in the morning with leave until twenty-four hours later. C. B. spent a quiet day on board, there being little to do, until just after dark the captain called his boat away, and with C. B. in his usual place was pulled ashore to an evening party. There was the usual little group of loafers at the landing-place, and when the captain, dismissing the boat, ordered C. B. to return for him at eleven o’clock the information spread. Like a wise commander the skipper saw the boat on its way back to the ship before he left the beach, not that he could not trust C. B. to keep his men together, but from sheer force of habit.
Now the gang of Portuguese who were ashore, fired with drink, had waited all day in the hope of catching C. B. when he came ashore, and when they heard of the order given they chuckled hugely, for they felt that if they had luck they could get him out of the way once for all. And they laid their plans carefully to entrap him when he came ashore at eleven and kill him, trusting that under cover of the night none of them would be recognized. C. B., all unconscious of any danger, called away his boat’s crew at eleven, and as he was about to step into the boat himself he was surprised to find Mr. Merritt at his elbow, who said—
“All right, I’m comin’ with you. I’ve took a fancy t’ run ashore.”
C. B. said nothing, although he wondered much whatever Merritt could want ashore at that time of night. However, Merritt was his superior, so he merely said—
“All right, sir, will you steer?”
“No, my boy,” replied Merritt, “I’ll be the admiral for once.” And he lay back in the stern sheets with a grand assumption of luxury, of which there is none in a whaleboat, no seat of any kind being provided aft.
As soon as they swung alongside the little jetty, a Kanaka voice said out of the darkness—
“That Liza Adam’s boat?”
“Yes,” replied C. B. “what’s the matter?”
“All right, sir, cappen he say come up house, he want speak you ’bout some things.”
“All right,” responded C. B., “I’ll come,” and sprang ashore, saying as he did so—
“I’m glad you came now, Merritt.”
“So’m I,” muttered the fourth mate, unheard by C. B., as he watched the lithe form striding off into the dark after the Kanaka. He allowed him to get about fifty yards away, then, with a word of caution to the boat’s crew, sprang lightly after him and rapidly ran in his track. He was not an instant too soon, for C. B. had only just turned the corner of the first store when he was attacked by a group of men with clubs, who sprang at him as a pack of savage dogs might at a strange animal that had accidentally happened to come in their midst.
C. B., taken entirely by surprise and absolutely unarmed, did the only thing possible to him: warding off the blows with his arms he sprang at the nearest man, caught him round arms and body and used him as a shield. It was a good move, for in their blind fury his assailants showered their blows indiscriminately, and the helpless man in C. B.’s arms came in for the full benefit of them. Then with a yell wild as that of an Indian brave a dark form leapt into the straggling group, and before its savage onslaught three men went down groaning one after the other. “All right, Christmas, my boy,” shouted Merritt, for of course it was he, “drop that swine and get a club.” Crash, crash went his own as he spoke, each blow accompanied by ear-splitting yells in Kanaka, which brought dim forms rushing from every side into the fray.
The fracas was very brief, for every one of the assailants had been laid low within two or three minutes. But C. B. also settled down, much to Merritt’s dismay, who could not believe that he was badly hurt. Merritt tried to raise him, but found that he was a dead weight in his arms, and in great alarm he shouted for a light. Several Kanakas brought torches, and the inanimate form of C. B. was lifted with tender care and carried into the nearest store. It was there found that he had received two serious wounds, one in the fleshy part of the thigh, which had completely penetrated the great band of muscle and bled profusely, the other in the side laying open the cavity of the abdomen. A surgeon was immediately sent for, and in the meantime Merritt devoted all his skill to stopping the bleeding, at the same time issuing orders that every one of the villains who had committed this outrage should be secured and brought into the store.
It was done, but it was hardly necessary, for they were all so badly hurt that they could not make their escape, Pepe and Louis especially being recognized at once by Merritt, although their features were battered into shapelessness, and their stertorous breathing pointed to brain concussion. Of the other five only one belonged to the ship, the third mate’s harponeer Carlo, the rest were beach-combers of the worst repute. There was not a Kanaka among them. As usual the Kanakas crowded around, volubly discussing the affair in all its possible details, but when the news spread among them that the attack had been made upon the man whom they had agreed to honour, almost worship, very ugly sounds began to arise, and but for the arrival of the surgeon, accompanied by the captain and a posse of police, the lives of those murderous wretches would hardly have been worth a moment’s purchase. Certainly Merritt would have joyfully egged the Kanakas on to do any deed they thought fit.
But with the coming of the police order was soon restored and the offenders were carried off under strong guard to the calaboose, or lock-up, where with scantiest ceremony they were flung into a cell and left to recover or not as it might please them. C. B., though almost at the last extremity from loss of blood, made a magnificent rally, and in an hour had so far recovered as to be able to tell the simple story of his waylaying. He could not identify any of his assailants, for the attack had been so sudden and the night was so dark; but here Merritt stepped in and took up the tale, filling in all the later details of which C. B. had been unconscious, and winding up grimly with the words—“An’ we’ve got ’em all by the heels now. Besides, I guess they’ve got enough punishment to last ’em till next time. But if I’d had my way I’d a killed every last one of ’em. A little killin’ ’d do that gang a power of good.”
The captain’s sympathy with his wounded harponeer was very great, but it must be sorrowfully admitted that his annoyance was greater. It would have given him much satisfaction if he could have blamed C. B. or Merritt, but they were both utterly blameless. And so he had no one upon whom he could expend the rage he felt at what he now realized would mean considerable delay and expense, as well as alteration in the personnel of his ship. Again and again the cowardly thought arose, “I must get rid of this fellow, I shall never have any peace in this ship until I do,” and he remembered Winsloe’s attitude as well as that of the now discomfited harponeers. But in any case he feared that they would be in no shape to resume the voyage from what he had heard of their injuries.
Whichever way he looked he could see nothing but trouble, and he weakly put it down to the presence in his ship of a man who, he fretfully muttered to himself, was too good for this world. At last, with a sigh, he rose to his feet saying—
“Well, doctor, I s’pose I can leave the patient to you; you’ll oblige me by seeing that he’s looked after, an’ I’ll be ashore again early in the mornin’ to see him.”
But before the doctor could reply Merritt stepped forward and said respectfully but firmly—
“I’ll stay and look after him, sir, if you please.”
“Ah, certainly not,” testily returned the skipper. “I can’t have any more of you ashore. It’s bad enough as it is. You’ll come aboard with me now.”
Merritt looked keenly at his commander and replied in a deeper tone—
“No, sir, I wouldn’t leave him to-night for the value of the ship and her cargo. I’m sorry, sir, to go agen your wishes, but he’s my chum, an’ I want to look after his life. Nothing matters to me just now but that.”
Such unexpected opposition on the part of the most docile and quiet of all his officers added to the annoyance he was already feeling nearly maddened the skipper. Besides, he was angry with himself for what he could not but feel was the injustice he was contemplating. He stormed and raged and threatened until the doctor said laconically—
“If you want to kill this man, captain, you can’t do better than go on as you’re doing.”
That sobered him, and calling up all the self-control he had temporarily lost he replied more quietly—
“Oh, all right, it seems I’m bound to be wrong anyway. But as for you, you yellow image, I’ll make you sweat for this. I’ll let you see if you’ll disobey my orders an’ have your own way for nothing”; but there he stopped dead, for Merritt coming closer to him said—
“Don’t talk like that, captain, you ain’t thinkin’. You know you ain’t got a more willin’ man than I am in the ship, an’ I know you’re too good a man to mean what you say. You wouldn’t like this man to be left here at the mercy of a careless Kanaka.”
The captain looked at Merritt doubtfully, and then his better feelings conquered him, and holding out his hand he said—
“You’re right, Merritt, of course. I’m so upset I don’t know what I’m sayin’. But I feel that rattled that nothin’ ’d please me better than to have a number one row with somebody, an’ I only hope Winsloe don’t get talkin’ to-night. Good-night, I’ll be ashore before breakfast.” And he departed for the jetty, where his patient boat’s crew were still sitting, waiting through all the stirring scenes that had transpired. He stepped into the boat, crying, “Shove off! Pull two stern three, so, give way together,” and off flew the boat to the ship.
Fortunately Mr. Winsloe was not on watch, and Spurrell was far too good a man to be caught napping, so as soon as the captain came alongside the officer was ready to receive him, the hands stood by the fall and the boat was immediately hoisted to her place. And in ten minutes all was quiet again on board, for the captain went straight to his bunk and turned in, determined to sleep off his annoyance.
During the night the captain had several long intervals of wakefulness, every one of them occupied by reflections upon the happenings of the day. And suddenly he remembered the promise he had made to C. B.’s mother at that meeting which now seemed to be so far away, and his conscience smote him, for that he found himself willing to sacrifice an innocent man to avoid trouble for himself. It is done every day and by people who ordinarily would scorn to do an unjust or unkind action, but under the plea of business exigencies they will perpetrate this basest of all betrayals. I hear now the voice of a good man, a man whose name stands above all possibility of defamation, saying to me—
“Young man, I know that you are perfectly in the right, that your conduct in the matter is above reproach, but—you are not indispensable to the business and the man you are in conflict with is. Therefore if he makes the condition that either you or he must go, you will have to go, or hold a candle to the devil.”
I am quoting the exact words, for they seared my soul, and I swore then that at whatever cost I would not do the same mean unrighteous thing: I would rather let the devil have the business than hold a candle to him in that way.
The outcome of the captain’s white night was that he arose in the morning determined to do the right thing no matter what the personal loss might be. And besides there was just the chance that C. B. might die—another diabolical temptation to look to that solution of his difficulty as welcome—but if he recovered the perpetrators of the outrage should be punished, and the brave, innocent man protected. He went on deck as usual at sunrise for his coffee, and exchanged greetings with Mr. Winsloe, who reported that Mr. Merritt had not returned last night, and had indeed gone ashore without asking leave.
Then the captain said—
“I know all about Merritt, the service he’s ben able to render excuses him from all breach of discipline. An’ I gave him leave to stay all night. He’s nursing my boat-steerer, who was nearly killed last night by your friend Pepe.”
Strive as Winsloe would, he could not help a momentary gleam of triumph in his eyes, and Captain Taber, keenly observant of him, saw it. The simmering wrath within him awoke and, growing pale with rage, he burst out—
“Yes, I know that’s pleasant intelligence to you, Winsloe, and I want to tell you right here that, though I don’t believe for the honour of our name as Americans that you were mixed up in this infernal cowardly scheme to kill one of the best fellows that ever lived, I know you would have been glad to hear of his death or disablement or anything that would keep him out of this ship. I’ve been a bit of a cur myself over this business, though I never suspected it before; but I’ve got over that, thank God. If that chap gets well he’s comin’ back here as boat-steerer, an’ if you or anybody else aboard dares to pick on him except in th’ lawful way of discipline in case of his doin’ wrong, you’ll have to reckon with me. I never did play no favourites, nor I won’t now. But as I don’t want to spoil a good ship or a fairly good man (though y’ ain’t half as good as I thought ye was), I’ll give ye yeer option: treat that man square, white man fashion or skip. I won’t have ye in my ship if ye can’t be a man.”
Winsloe was beaten—let us hope that he felt ashamed—and he replied after a pause—
“Captain Taber, I own up, I ben goin’ wrong. I don’t love the feller a bit, but I can’t gainsay that he’s a good man, too good for me in fact. If I’d ben skipper I’d ha’ give big money t’ get rid of him, or I’d ha’ driven him out. But I didn’t try ner I wouldn’t ha’ tried, t’ kill him, an’ I thank ye for exoneratin’ me from that. An’ I’ll put up with him an’ try to get over my natural dislike fer a man whose whole life makes ours look bad by comparison. An’ I’m ready to apologize for acting ugly t’ you, Captain Taber, whom I’ve worked with and liked so long.”
A hearty handshake was all that followed, but it spoke volumes. Then the skipper called his boat and went ashore, making straight for the store where he had left C. B. and Merritt the previous night. But long before he reached it he was aware of a huge concourse of natives gathered around it, and, wondering greatly what all the excitement was about, he pushed through the crowd and gained the store, to find the German proprietor in a state bordering on frenzy because his trade was being ruined, he said, nobody could get near the shore to do business. Inside the captain found Merritt sitting by the side of the patient looking exceedingly dangerous.
Upon seeing the skipper Merritt’s brow lightened a little but still he looked black, and when Captain Taber accosted him, inquiring after the welfare of the patient, he growled—
“He’s off his head and no wonder, what with that mob outside and this infernal Dutchman fidgeting about in here ’cause of his half-cent trade. Let’s get him aboard the ship, sir, at once, or he’ll be worried to death, an’ then I shall have to kill a few of these animals to ease my feelings.”
The skipper looked dubious at this proposition, and yet knowing how immense is the recuperative power of men like C. B. if left to nature’s own restorative processes, he felt that probably Merritt was right. So at last he said—
“Look here, Merritt, go down to the boat and get aboard as quick as you can. Rig up a stretcher to carry him on an’——”
“Beg pardon, sir,” interrupted Merritt, “but they’s plenty o’ stuff here in the store to do that with, an’ I can rig somethin’ up in less than a quarter of the time it’d take to fetch it from the ship. An’ whatever’s to pay let me pay it, sir, if you will; it’d do me good to.”
“All right, all right,” assented the skipper testily; “you’re right again as usual. Now I’ll go an’ have a yarn with the Dutchman an’ see if I can’t put him in a better humour. Hello, here’s the doctor. Good mornin’, doc.; your patient isn’t anything to brag about this mornin’, he’s in a high fever, an’ I’m not surprised after the way this gang has been yelling around here all night I’m told. So I’m goin’ to shift him aboard the ship as soon as my fourth mate can rig up something to carry him on.”
“Now, my dear sir,” interjected the doctor hastily, “you surely don’t want to extinguish the feeble flicker of life, do you? If you move that man in his present condition, he’ll die before sunset, now mark my words. But let me see him.” And passing in the doctor examined the suffering man, shaking his head gravely at each new symptom. When he had concluded his examination, during which Merritt watched him as if prepared at a moment’s notice to fall upon him and do him grievous bodily harm, he turned to the captain and said deprecatingly—
“Just as I told you, sir, to move him now must be fatal. He has a good sporting chance of life now; move him, and it’s gone.”
Merritt sprang to the captain’s side and hissed, “Don’t take no manner o’ notice of him, sir. He don’ know th’ first thing about it. You know I’d rather die forty times than my chum should, an’ I say that his only chance is to get him aboard. I’m willing to risk it, the rig is all ready, an’ if you’ll let me hire four o’ these Kanakas, we’ll have him out o’ this an’ inter a safe place ’thout him bein’ a cent the worse for it.”
“All right, Merritt,” agreed the skipper; “I feel sure you’re right.”
“Thank you, captain,” sneered the doctor; “my fee is fifteen dollars, which I’ll trouble you for.”
Out came the skipper’s wallet on the instant and the money was paid. Not another word was exchanged between the pair, and the doctor strode off in high dudgeon.
Meanwhile Merritt had enlisted volunteers, and poor C. B. was lifted gently on to the improvised ambulance and carried down in the midst of a huge procession of natives, all looking as if they had lost their dearest friend. With the tenderest care he was placed in the boat, and presently was laid in Merritt’s cabin on board the ship with one of the hands on watch to fan him and keep off the flies, while Merritt went to break his long fast.
The captain had some difficulty in settling up with the proprietor of the store, and only succeeded in doing so by threatening him that if he did not accept the offer of five dollars for the use of his premises for the night, he would get nothing but by process of law. The money was then taken and they parted unfriends. Then the skipper, feeling considerably easier in his mind, went off to his friends of the night before and enjoyed a substantial breakfast, interesting his host, who was the American Consul, mightily in his recital of the stirring circumstances.
As soon as the meal was over, they went down to the calaboose and learned that the prisoners were in an exceedingly bad way bodily, and quite unlikely to be fit to stand their trial for some time to come. This intelligence decided the skipper on a course of action that had been hazily floating in his mind—he would ship three more harponeers (several had offered), make his season on the Japan grounds, leaving bonds for payment of the shares due to the offenders, and then call back again on his way south. In this resolve the Consul supported him heartily, and within an hour three more harponeers had been shipped, all of whom, strange to say, were Americans, who from some misfortune or another had got stranded in Oahu.
The rest of the business took very little time to clear up, and by midday all was in train for the departure of the ship, if only the authorities could be got to agree. This the Consul was able to manage by leaving the charge against the ill doers as only that of a drunken brawl, and declaring that he held all funds necessary for payment of their fines and maintenance until they could be shipped away. So expeditiously were matters settled that at sunset that evening the Eliza Adams was under weigh, stealing out of the harbour westward bound for the coast of Japan, and her skipper bearing a lighter heart than he had done for a very long time as regarded the conditions of life on board of his ship.
When all was settled and shipshape the skipper paid a visit to C. B., finding to his amazement and delight that the patient had taken a long stride towards convalescence. He was sane and cool, and was eating with good relish some boiled rice and molasses with which his nurse was feeding him. So far from being any the worse for his removal in the morning he was demonstrably better, and when the captain sat down by his side and commenced to talk with him, he turned a bright and intelligent eye upon him and listened intently to what he had to say. The captain proceeded to tell him all that had occurred in the short time that had elapsed since the uproar of the previous night, but when he described the parlous condition of the Portuguese aggressors and explained that they had been left behind in prison, C. B. looked away sad, saying—
“I do pity those poor fellows with all my heart, sir. I can’t in the least understand why they hated me so, and, of course, I feel very angry that they should have waylaid me as they did, but I expect it was the drink that did it. I really don’t believe they would have done it if they had been sober.”
The skipper gave a dissatisfied grunt as he replied—
“Don’t, don’t ye? Well, if I should be asked what I think, I should say they had planned the whole business long before we got in, an’ that they was only waiting their chance to get you out of the way once for all. But now I hope we’ll have a happy as well as a smart ship. You’ve only got to hurry up and get better, because I can’t have you laid up now, ye know. We may raise whale at any minute between here and the cruisin’ grounds, an’ I know it wouldn’t be good for you to be lyin’ here while we’re havin’ all the fun. So give your mind to gettin’ well.”
The skipper had hardly gone when Merritt appeared, and sending the attendant forrard, proceeded to make C. B. comfortable, renew the dressings on his wounds, etc., with infinite patience and tenderness, looking all the time as grim and savage as if he were meditating murder. At last C. B., laying his hand affectionately upon his friend’s arm, said—
“Thank you so much, dear man, for making me so comfortable, but why are you looking so mad? I wish you wouldn’t, it grieves me to see that terrible look in your eyes.”
“All right,” growled Merritt, “I’ll try and look as pleasant as my ugly mug will let me, for your sake. But when I see how you’ve been served, I can’t help feeling sorry that I didn’t put all them Portuguese dogs beyond the possibility of ever doin’ any more harm. Anyhow, I got one consolation, they’ll probably die as it is. An’ if I only knew they would, I’d be easy in my mind.”
“Oh, chum, chum, don’t talk like that, you don’t know how it hurts me. If I thought you were joking I could smile, dreadful though the words sound. But I know you mean every word you say, and I feel so sorry because—because I love you and wish you knew how good a thing, how happy a thing it is to forgive.”
Merritt stared blankly at his patient for a few moments and then snorted, “Forgive, hay! Yes, I’d forgive ’em when they was fixed so’s they couldn’t do any more harm. But if forgivin’ ’em means lettin’ ’em loose again to go on the same as before an’ murder some chap that’s worth a whole regiment of ’em, why then I calls that such silly nonsense that I won’t talk about it, not even to you. Never mind, I’ve often wondered what good I was in the world and now I know—to look after a great soft-hearted baby like you, who’d almost lie down and let anybody walk over ye an’ thank ’em for doin’ it. But that’s enough now, you go to sleep an’ get better more quicker.”
Thenceforward the speed with which the wounded man got better was marvellous except to those who knew how the body of man under primitive conditions and perfectly healthy can recover from what in civilization must be fatal injuries. I have alluded to this in one of the earliest chapters in dealing with the accident to Philip, C. B.’s father, although his injuries were far less dangerous than those that his son had just sustained. But in four days after the ship had left Honolulu, C. B. was able to come on deck without assistance, and to take short walks up and down the deck until pain within, along the track of the newly-healed wound, warned him to rest.
As the captain had hoped, the ship was now the abode of peace, as far as could be seen, and there was perfect harmony between all hands, even Mr. Winsloe having regained his original placidity of temper. All that now seemed in doubt was the capacity of the new harponeers, who, however, as far as their ship work went, shaped thoroughly well. So day after day slipped away and the vessel drew gradually near the turbulent Japan grounds without as yet a single spout having been seen.
The captain was just beginning to get fretty, for his average was falling faster than he liked, when without intimating that such was his intention C. B. turned up one morning in the gravy-eye watch and told Merritt that he had come to stay. He was a bit trembly and weak still, but felt no pain whatever from his wounds, which had perfectly healed, and he therefore argued that he would be much better at work than lolling about. Merritt fully agreed and at first break of dawn C. B. climbed aloft into the main crow’s-nest, Merritt, whose lookout it was with him, staying behind to finish a new lance-cap he had been making. C. B. was somewhat surprised to find how the climb made him pant, forgetting the recent strain upon his bodily resources, but got into the rings and, leaning over, began to feast his eyes upon the glory and majesty of the sunrise, nowhere more impressive than when seen from such a vantage point as this.
He fell into a reverie while gazing, thinking of the splendours of the New Jerusalem, when he was rudely aroused by the mellow call of Merritt far below him “Blo-o-o-o-w.” He gazed wildly around endeavouring to see where the sighted whale could be, but it was not until looking down to see if possible in which direction Merritt was looking that he saw to his intense chagrin that there were four whales almost alongside the ship. Then in accordance with custom he added his call to Merritt’s, and the two at the fore joined in the long minor cry.
Of course the captain was immediately on deck, and at his sharp incisive orders the whole of the ship’s company flew into a state of violent activity. Then suddenly his voice was heard pealing upward, “Way down from aloft all but Christmas! You stop there and look after the signallin’; I’m goin’ t’ take the boat.” It was a bitter pill for C. B. to swallow in spite of his certainty that the skipper was acting in the kindest and most thoughtful way. But he was so keen upon his work and so anxious to show how completely fit he was that for a little while he felt quite unhappy. Then as the boats pushed off and set sail he recovered himself and remembered how important were the duties he had to perform.
For he was now in sole charge of the ship, being entrusted with the task of keeping her to windward of the school with the aid of the shipkeepers, that is the carpenter and cooper, cook and steward and four hands. There are also many well understood signals to be made by manipulating the upper sails, signals which are eagerly watched by those in charge of boats whose sphere of vision is very limited as compared with that of a man elevated so far above the sea as a ship’s topgallant mast-head. These signals tell of the whale’s sounding or reappearance, of the direction in which he heads, in fact, all his or their movements, and of course the watcher is enabled to follow the progress of the work and regulate movements of his ship thereby. Consequently it was no sinecure post that C. B. had been appointed to, but rather one that would test to the full his newly gained acquaintance with the art of ship handling.
As he stood there watching the departure of the four boats, which from his lofty position looked like tiny specks of white dotting the glittering surface of the sea, he could not help passing mentally in review the events of the past few months. He had recently had many opportunities for introspection and reverie, but somehow all his musings had been mixed up, unmethodical and leading nowhere. Now, however, realizing as he did the novelty of his position, he was led to trace backward step by step the way by which he had been brought thither, and the recollections affected him deeply. A strange sense of exultation seized him, delight in that he had been so signally favoured of God in all his undertakings, gratitude that he had been kept from falling, but never once did he feel puffed up with the false idea that it was his strength of character, his goodness that had kept him.
That of course was owing to the simple, sensible, Christian training which he had received, drawn direct from the fount of Infinite wisdom. That teaching had always been valued by him, but never more than now when he could see whither its results had led him. And then he thought of the miserable men that had assailed him, had hated him without a cause, and remembering how barren their lives must have been of the advantages he had enjoyed, his heart swelled with a great pity for them.
All this time he watched the boats receding, spreading out as they went, and deeming it time to get a little nearer to them gave the order to keep her away for a little as with the stiff breeze blowing the ship could sail faster than the boats. He watched the whales settle, gave the signal that caused the boats to heave to—hove his own ship to, and waited intently watching until they rose again to his great joy quite close to the boats. It was truly wonderful to watch from that height the stern conflict going on, where the combatants were apparently reduced in size to pigmies and specks. So I should imagine would a battle between two armies look from a balloon or a great hunting scene with lions and tigers as the quarry, except that here there was nothing to obstruct the view. Presently he saw all four boats starting off in different directions without sails or the use of oars, and he knew that each one had gotten fast to a whale. Now he began to pray for guidance as to what he should do in the event of the whales running like that for long, since the simple rule of keeping to windward would hardly suffice. Then he noticed that one of the boats was being towed by its whale directly towards the ship at such a speed that the monster was raising a great bow wave almost like that ahead of one of our bluff bowed tramps going full speed.
But also to his amazement and almost consternation he noticed that the fast whale was accompanied by two loose whales, one on either side, who were evidently determined to keep up with him, but whether with the notion of helping him or not it was impossible to tell. C. B. had heard of such things, and had put them aside as we often do the matters we do not know whether to believe or not, but which certainly appear to us incredible. It does not do, however, to be too sceptical with regard to what is done or attempted by whales, because we may thereby lose some hints which may be most useful to us in an emergency.
Now he saw that the swiftly coming craft was his boat, and that the skipper was in the bow. Nearer, nearer, nearer she came, and C. B.’s pulses quickened as he noted they were heading straight for his broadside. “Hard a starboard,” he cried, “let her come right up. Let go starboard main and cro’jack braces, haul all after yards round.” And as the ship swung up into the wind, bringing the advancing boat head on to her, C. B. saw Merritt fling the turns off the loggerhead, letting the boat fly by only a foot or two clear of the stem. And the ship slowly filled round to the starboard tack, C. B. filling the fore yards as she did so. If any sailor objects that he never heard of tacking ship this way, let me tell him that many acts of seamanship are performed or were performed in whalers that not only were never heard of, but would have been impossible anywhere else, just as it would be impossible for many of our long lean four-posters to back and fill up a river like a Geordie brig on a good flood.
Keeping his eager eyes upon the scene below him, C. B. noted that rapid as the whale’s progress had been on the surface he was now moving very sluggishly downwards and so he turned his attention to the other boats which he found were scattered widely, but all three evidently having some trouble with their whales. He became very anxious as to his position and was about to keep away again when he saw that the whale his skipper was fast to was coming up at a great rate. And when he reached the surface he was still accompanied by the other two whales, who seemed determined to put every obstacle in the way of his being killed that they could. Both Captain Taber and Mr. Merritt were fully alive to the danger of injuring a “loose” whale while fast to another one, but something had to be done, so Captain Taber fired a bomb lance at one of the loose whales which was between him and the whale he was fast to. C. B. heard the crack of the shot and the boom of the exploding bomb, and then saw, just as if a submarine mine had gone off, a tremendous upheaval in the water where it was evident that the intruder had got his mortal wound, and had gone immediately into his death flurry.
There was no question as to the danger of the situation, danger, too, which no amount of energy or skill could avert. The three huge beasts, apparently maddened by pain and fright, and mixed up with the line, which was a mass of entanglement, fairly surrounded the boat. Even if she had not been threatened with being smashed every moment by the writhings and plungings of the mighty creatures, it was obvious that she was only kept afloat by incessant baling, owing to the immense amount of water which was hurled over her in the struggle.
The apparently inevitable end came soon after C. B. had shouted from his perch an order to man the spare boat and keep her in instant readiness for lowering. One of the whales rose by the side of the hemmed-in boat with widely extended jaws, fell over upon it sideways, at the same time clashing those awful jaws together. Boatmen and whales disappeared for a moment in a wallow of crimson flecked foam. C. B. waited no longer. Snatching at a backstay, he glided to the deck, shouted as soon as his feet touched the rail—
“Take hold, Chips, an’ keep as near me as you can.”
Into the boat and with a whirr of the falls they were off, not a moment too soon. Two whales were dead and a third was still moving about as if unable to leave the spot; but clinging to fragments of the destroyed boat were the crew, all hurt and hurt badly, and the skipper, sustained by Merritt, looked almost as if he had fought his last fight.
Disregarding entirely the urgency of securing the whales, all the men were saved and brought on board with utmost speed. Then it was found that three of them were absolutely helpless as far as work was concerned, while the skipper needed instant attention if his life was to be saved. Merritt, though sorely bruised and fatigued, took upon himself this duty, and with C. B. to help him they made an examination of the captain’s body. They found that his left arm was broken in four places, most of the flesh was torn and lacerated on that side of his body, his left thigh was out and his left foot crushed. Yet so great was the man’s vitality, and also because there had been but little loss of blood, that the good fellow was really not so nearly gone as might have been expected.
“Now, boy,” said Merritt, “you got your hands fuller’n ever you had ’em. Git on deck an’ sen’ me the cook and steward, an’ tell ’em t’ bring a handy billy with ’em. I must get that thigh in fust off. Then you gotter get hold o’ the’ whales. Get ’em alongside; they’s two hundred barrel on ’em, I do believe, and then dig out fer the other fellows. They’ll be all right, I guess, fer I’ve noticed that things like these scarcely ever gets too bad for a man to handle. Now git.” And C. B. got, climbed to his lofty perch again, finding however that when he reached there he had a strange giddiness come over him for a few moments. He sent up a swift prayer for strength under his heavy burden, remembering how recent had been his great weakness.
Then he sprang up like a giant, and shouted the necessary orders to bring the ship down on the whales, which were lying almost side by side. He did not want to lower a boat, so conned the ship with utmost care, and when he headed straight for them he had the yards backed to deaden her way a little. Then taking an iron prepared with an ordinary towline attached, he darted it as she came near enough, and hauled one whale alongside at the same time as one of the shipkeepers performed a similar feat on the whale which lay at the opposite side of the ship.
Technicalities about any business are bound to become tiresome, no matter how interesting the business may be in itself, or I would explain the enormous amount of labour and skill expended upon getting these two whales properly secured by a length of chain round the small of their bodies and a hawser attached to that. A small cut would explain it better than a page of letterpress. All hands worked nobly (ah, how nobly do the rank and file often work for honourable reasons, knowing that no recognition ever comes their way), and at last the two vast bodies were well secured astern, and C. B. had now to solve the problem of getting his ship to where the other boats were waiting for him, with those two enormous masses hanging to his stern.
Somewhat wearily he mounted to the crow’s-nest again, only remembering as he did so that in the excitement of his manifold duties he had forgotten to eat, and it was now nearly noon. So he hailed the deck and ordered all hands to snatch what bites they could, but be ready to trim sails as needed. He received the usual answer, and went on with his scrutiny of the vast blazing expanse spread out before him. At last to his great relief he located the three boats, each certainly fast to a whale, and as far as he could judge with the whales dead. Fortunately, I had almost said providentially, but remembered C. B.’s persistent efforts to keep his ship to windward, the boats were all well to loo’ard, which simplified his task considerably.
But oh! the weary, weary wait of it all. A whaleship’s best gait is slow, with two whales towing it is hardly perceptible, and presently with a delightful start, as if he had made an original discovery, C. B. decided that he might relieve himself of his duty without any harm or hindrance, having set the course. So he came down and was astonished to find how the food set before him revived him and made him take quite a roseate view of difficulties which a few minutes before seemed almost unsurmountable.
When he had been thus refreshed he gave orders for all cutting gear to be got ready, knowing that there would be plenty of time and that the hands were all rested. Then he went below, where he found his skipper bandaged and swathed until he looked like a mummy sleeping soundly with only a light flush on his face, and Merritt, a half emptied plate of food by his side, sitting almost bolt upright, fast asleep, but looking as ghastly as a dead man. But then with people of that complexion you never can tell. They are not to be judged by ordinary rules at all.
Feeling that in both cases the men were better without interference on his part he went on deck again, and seeing the carpenter and cooper standing by, he went up to them and said—
“The captain and Mr. Merritt are both doing well, they’re fast asleep. Have you had your dinner?” They both nodded and he then went on, “I’ll look after the ship now if you’d both like a little rest, for I reckon it’ll be another hour before we are up to the first boat, and it will be hard enough for us all then.”
The two old tradesmen looked at him and then at each other, finally muttering—
“I guess we’ll keep you company. What you can do we can, and anyhow you ain’t half a bad chap.” That was all, but it meant a good deal.
Now of the subsequent proceedings in picking up the three whales I need not write, except to say that as soon as Mr. Winsloe got on board C. B. handed the control of the ship over to him with a full report of what had happened since he had left the skipper’s company. The story of the next week is just one of savage unremitting toil, only to be compared to the way in which men work for the saving of their lives. Mr. Winsloe developed in a direction that C. B. had never suspected him of, he became a bowelless taskmaster, apparently needing no rest himself nor imagining that anybody else could want any.
Merritt took his place in the fighting line the next day, apparently none the worse for his awful experiences, although a keen observer might have seen in his sunken cheeks and hollow eyes indelible signs of the great struggle. But the poor skipper was in evil case. Only the natural vigour of his constitution and the tremendous force of his will pulled him through. For four days he lay alternating between stupor and delirium, never left by night or day, of course, entirely unconscious of how the great business of the voyage was being carried on without him.
When at last he emerged into the land of sense Winsloe was with him, having snatched a few minutes from the work to come down and have a look at his suffering chief. And when he found that the captain was sane again he felt a great lump in his throat, a weight lifted from his chest, for with all his undoubted faults he loved the skipper and would have felt his loss, in spite of the immediate benefit to himself, as a blow for which there could be no adequate compensation. Captain Taber raised his sadly attenuated hand and groped for that of Mr. Winsloe, saying feebly—
“Well, Winsloe, how goes it? Are all the other boats back?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Winsloe, “and nobody hurt to speak of but yourself. But you’ve had a pretty bad time, sir, an’ I guess you don’t know that it’s the thick end of a week since you was brought aboard. You’ll be glad to know, an’ I think it’ll do you more good than all the doctors’ stuff in the world, that we’ve cut in five whale, an’ I’m figurin’ that there’s between four an’ five hundred bar’l of oil very nearly ready to run down. So we ain’t done so mighty bad after all.”
The effect upon the wounded man was magical. His eyes sparkled, and he even made one effort to rise, but Winsloe put out a restraining hand. “Well,” the captain cried in quite a strong voice, “I feel like shoutin’ ‘Glory Hallelujah!’ If that ain’t great! But say, you ain’t told me how long this job took ye?”
“It’s just seven days to an hour since we started, an’ pretty late in the day it was, for Christmas was mighty slow in getting down to us, bein’ handicapped by your two whale——”
“Two whale,” almost yelled the skipper. “D’ye mean t’ say that we saved two?”
“Yes, sir, that’s a true bill. I ain’t heard all about it, but Merritt can tell ye, or Christmas. They was on in that piece, I was about six mile to looard, an’ wonderin’ pretty bad what all the waitin’ meant. An’ before I go, sir, as I don’t think you orter be tried too much, I wanter say that these yer new harponeers of ours is the whole thing. I don’t want no better men, an’ I ain’t goin’ t’ wear mournin’ fer Pepe and Louis any longer. Both at strikin’ whale and steerin’ boat they’re the limit, an’ as fer work, well, they suit me, an’ I ain’t the easiest man to please in the matter o’ cuttin’ in an’ tryin’ out. Now do try and get a sleep agen, sir, an’ don’t put in any time worryin’, because everythin’s goin’ jist as it orter.” And he slipped on deck.
But in spite of the mate’s cheery words he was far from satisfied with the condition of things. Both Merritt and C. B., though neither of them made any complaint, showed unmistakable signs of the enormous strain that had been put upon them lately, C. B. especially, who was, as we know, hardly convalescent when the pressure began. Besides that, the other members of the captain’s boat’s crew were hardly fit to go on much longer, although with rare fortitude they had stuck to their task until work was almost done, and then were given lighter jobs—in fact, the general routine of the ship was relaxed in view of the recent great effort. So when Mr. Winsloe took his usual rough sights for position and found that they were only about a couple of days’ sail with the present wind from the Bonin Islands, he determined to steer for them, and in the absence of any positive command on the part of the captain, to go in and take a few days’ rest.
And as, in any case, he was not going out of his way, he shaped his course for Peel Island and carried sail to the fair wind then blowing, with the object of making as much headway as possible, although under ordinary circumstances, being now really in the great northern haunt of the cachalot, he would have been in the usual cruising trim which I have described as being pursued on the offshore ground. But much to his relief the captain, though still remaining very weak, kept his faculties and a clear head, so that when Winsloe broached the subject to him of making for Port Lloyd in order to give the crew and himself a chance to recover, he gave the plan an emphatic sanction. “For,” he said, “I ain’t as young as I uster be, an’ a smash up such as I’ve had ain’t calculated to make me feel any spryer. And although I’ve got no shadow of doubt as to your ability t’ carry on, Winsloe, t’ the end of the chapter, I really should feel happier with the kellick down in the ten fathom hole. Moreover, tain’t as if we ain’t earned a rest. That last catch of ours hez pulled our average up bully.”
It was therefore with a light heart that Winsloe saw the bold outlines of Peel Island standing out against the clear blue of the sky on the third morning after the above conversation, and he noted with much satisfaction how cheerful all hands seemed to be at the prospect of a few days in harbour anywhere, whether it was possible to get any of the so-called luxuries usually craved by sailors or not. Only two of the crew had been there before, one of them being Merritt, and he showed interest almost amounting to enthusiasm as he described the wonders of the unique harbour to C. B. It was also, he said, almost like his native place to him, for there he would certainly find some people of the same strange mixture of races as he was himself, Chinese, Japanese, Spaniards, Italians, Kanakas, and Americans having settled in the strange place at different times, and their descendants being now fairly numerous.
Captain Taber being still too weak to be moved with safety, and Mr. Winsloe never having been into the place before, Mr. Merritt became pilot, and C. B., who was well able to criticize, was charmed at the consummate ease with which his chum took the vessel in under all sail in spite of the baffling winds, which necessitated constant attention to the braces and halyards. Port Lloyd is nothing but the crater of a mighty volcano, extinct ages ago, and by some awful convulsion of nature sunk down low enough for one breach in it to form the entrance with a general depth of over twenty fathoms, while the remaining sides of the crater tower up to a height of seven or eight hundred feet. As might be expected there are many reefs and ledges within the harbour, but they are easily seen from aloft when coming in, and the central anchorage, into which a vessel must needs be warped by kedges, is a natural dock with an almost level bottom of ten fathoms depth, secure from every wind that blows and with splendid holding ground.
Into this beautiful nook the Eliza Adams was taken and secured to the immense satisfaction of all on board, and especially to Mr. Winsloe, who now felt able to take that rest which he badly needed, and, as there were several whaleships there, to get advice from other commanders about the state of his captain’s health. Besides, it was an ideal place for all those things that a ship like a whaler needs, good water, plenty of fruit and vegetables, and swarms of excellent fish.
The sails were hardly furled before the captains of three of the whaleships, the Phoenix, the James Arnold, and the Coral were alongside and coming on board were received by Mr. Winsloe with great delight. They heard of the adventure which had laid Captain Taber low with grave faces, and after Mr. Winsloe had first ascertained that Captain Taber was fit to receive them they descended to his cabin and greeted him with that deep cordiality which used to be so marked a feature among these men, brothers in arms, knowing and respecting one another from a thorough knowledge of the high qualities that went to make up the complete whaleman.
But when they saw the wreck of their old friend, and had made a careful examination of his injuries, they decided that although it was nothing short of a miracle that he had made so good a recovery, it was hopeless his attempting to finish the voyage. It was evident, they said, that he must for at least a year to come have complete rest and immunity from worry, and they gave it as their decided opinion that he should give up the ship to Winsloe and go home. And although they did not say so to him, they were also of opinion that George Taber would never again be fit to command a ship in the great and strenuous business of sperm whaling.