 CHAPTER IX The death of poor Fred Borders cast a gloom over the ship for many days. Everyone had respected, and many of us had loved the lad, so that we mourned for him long and truly. But a sailor's life is such a rough one, requiring so much energy and hearty goodwill to his work, that he cannot afford to allow the sorrows of his heart to sit long on his countenance. In a day or two after no one would have supposed we had lost one of our best men. Whales appeared in great numbers around us. The old cry of, Dar, she blows, ran out frequently from the mast-head, and the answer and cry from the captain, Where away! was followed by the standby to lower, lower away. Then came the chase with all its dangers and excitement. The driving of the harpoon, the sudden rush of the struck fish, the smoke and sparks of fire from the loggerhead, the plunging of the lance, the spouting blood, the flurry at the end, and the wild cheer as we beheld our prize floating calmly on the sea. And in the midst of such work we forgot for a time the solemn scene we had so recently witnessed. But our hearts were not so light as before, and although we did not show it, I know full well that many a joke was checked and many a laugh repressed for the memory of our dead shipmate. The man who was most affected by his death was the captain, but we were not prepared for the great change that soon appeared in his manner and conduct. After a time he laughed with the rest of us had a good joke, and cheered as loud as the best when a big fish turned belly up. But his behavior to us became more gentle and kind, and he entirely gave up the habit of swearing. He also forbade working on Sunday. Many a whale have I seen sporting and spouting near us on that day, but never did we lower a boat or touch a harpoon on Sunday. Some of the men grumbled at this and complained of it to each other, but they never spoke so as to let the captain hear, and they soon gave up their grumbling, for the most of us were well pleased with the change and all of us had agreed to it. The first Sunday after Fred's death the captain assembled the crew on the quarter-deck and spoke to us about it. My lad, city, I've called you aft to make a proposal that may perhaps surprise some of you. Up to this time you know very well there has been little difference aboard this ship between Saturday and Sunday. Since our poor shipmate died I have been thinking much on this matter, and I've come to the conclusion that we shall rest from all work on Sunday, except such as must be done to work the ship. Now, lads, you know me well enough by this time. I have never been a religious man all my life, and I don't pretend to say that I'm one now. I'm not very learned on this matter, and can't explain myself very well. But what thank you, lads. Shall we give the whales a rest on Sundays? We all agreed to this at once, for the effect of the captain's speech was great upon us. It was not so much what he said as the way in which he said it. He was by nature a bold, determined man who never flinched from danger or duty, and when we heard him talking in that way we could scarcely believe our ears. This was all that was said about the matter between us and the captain, but we had many a hot discussion in the forecastle amongst ourselves after that. Some were in favor of the new move and said stoutly that the captain was a sensible fellow. Others said he was becoming an old wife and that no luck would follow this ship. In the course of time, however, we found the benefit of the change in every way, and the grumblers were silenced because in spite of their wise shakings of the head, we filled the ship with oil as full as she could hold much sooner than we had expected. Shoregoing people have but little notion of the ease with which the heart of a jack-tar is made to rejoice when he is out on a long voyage. His pleasures and amusements are so few that he is thankful to make the most of whatever is thrown in his way. In the whale fisheries no doubt he has more than enough of excitement, but after a time he gets used to this and begins to long for a little variety, and of all the pleasures that fall to his lot, that which delights him most is to have a gam with another ship. Now a gam is the meeting of two or more whale-ships, their keeping company for a time, and the exchanging of visits by the crews. It is neither more nor less than a jollification on the sea, the inviting of your friends to feast and make merry in your floating house. There is this difference, however, between a gam at sea and a party on land, that your friends on the ocean are men whom you perhaps never saw before and whom you will likely never meet again. There is also another difference. There are no ladies at a gam. This is a great want for a man is but a rugged creature when away from the refining influence of women, but in the circumstances, of course, it can't be helped. We had a gam one day on this voyage with a Yankee whale-ship, and a first straight gam it was, for as the Yankee had gam three days before with another English ship we got a lot of news second hand, and as we had not seen a new face for many months we felt toward those Yankees like brothers and swallowed all they had to tell us like men starving for news. It was on a fine calm morning just after breakfast that we fell in with this ship. We had seen no whales for a day or two, but we did not mind that, for our hold was almost full of oil barrels. Tom Locans and I were leaning over the starboard bulwarks, watching the small fish that every now and then darted through the clear blue water like arrows and smoking our pipes in silence. Tom looked uncommonly grave, and I knew that he was having some deep and knowing thoughts of his own which would leak out in time. All at once he took his pipe from his mouth and stared earnestly at the horizon. Bob said he's speaking very slowly. If there ain't a ship ride off the starboard beam, I'm a Dutchman. You don't mean it, said I, starting with a feeling of excitement. Before another word could be uttered the cry of sail ho came ringing down from the mast head. Instantly the quiet of the morning was broken. Sleepers sprang up and rubbed their eyes. The men below rushed wildly up the hatchway. The cook came tearing out of his own private den, flourishing a soup ladle in one hand and his tormentors in the other. The steward came tumbling up with a lump of dough in his fist that he had forgot to throw down in his haste, and the captain bolded up from the cabin without his hat. Where away! cried he with more than his usual energy. Right off the starboard beam, sir. Square the yards. Look alive, Maharties! was the next order, for although the calm sea was like a sheet of glass, a light air just sufficient to fill our top-gallant sails enabled us to creep through the water. Hurrah! shouted the men as we sprang to obey. What does it look like? roared the captain. A big ship, sir, I think, replied the lookout, but I can only just make out the top of her mane to gallant saw. Sailors scorned to speak of top-gallant sails. Gradually, one by one, the white sails of the stranger rose up like cloudlets out of the sea, and our hearts beat high with hope and expectation as we beheld the towering canvas of a full-rigged ship rise slowly into view. Show our colors! said the captain. In a moment the Union Jack of Old England was waving at the masthead in a gentle breeze, and we watched anxiously for a reply. The stranger was polite. His colors flew up a moment after and displayed the stripes and stars of America. Yanky! exclaimed some of the men in a tone of slight disappointment. I may remark that our disappointment arose simply from the fact that there was no chance, as we supposed, of getting news from home out of a ship that must have sailed last from America. For the rest we cared not whether they were Yankees or Britons. They were men who could speak the English tongue. That was enough for us. Never mind, boys, cried one. We'll have a jolly game. That's a fact. So we will, said another, and I'll get news of my mad Irish cousin Terrence O'Flanigan, who went out to seek his fortan in America with two shillings and a broken knife in his pocket. And it's been said he's gotten to a government situation of some sort connected with the jails. Whether it's Captain or Lieutenant of Police or Turnkey, I'm not rightly sure. More likely is a life-tenant of one of the cells, observed Bill Blunt laughing. Don't speak ill of a better man than yourself behind his back, retorted the owner of the Irish cousin. Stand by to lower the jolly boat, cried the Captain. Aye-aye, sir. Lower away! In a few minutes we were leaping over the calm sea in the direction of the strange ship. For the breeze had died down and we were too eager to meet with new faces and to hear the sound of new voices to wait for the wind. To our joy we found that the Yankee had had a gam, as I have already said, with an English ship a few days before. So we returned to our vessel loaded with old newspapers from England, having invited the Captain and crew of the Yankee to come aboard of us and spend the day. While preparation was being made for the reception of our friends, we got hold of two of the old newspapers, and Tom Loken seized one while Bill Blunt got the other, and both men sat down on the windlass to retell the news to a crowd of eager men who tried hard to listen to both at once, and so could make nothing out of either. Hold hard, Tom Loken, cried one. What's that you say about the Emperor, Bill? The Emperor of Rusha, said Bill Blunt, reading slowly and with difficulty, is stop a bit, Miss Mates, what can this word be? The Emperor of Rusha is blow'd up with gunpowder and shattered to a thousand paces, said Tom Loken, raising his voice with excitement as he read from his paper, an account of the blowing up of a mountain fortress in India. Oh, come, I say one at a time, if you please, cried a harpooner. A feller can't get a word of sense out of such a jumble. Come, Miss Mates, cried two or three voices, as Tom stopped suddenly and looked hard at the paper. Go ahead, what have you got there that makes you look as wise as an owl, as Warbid and broke out with a French? I do believe he's reading the births, marriages, and deaths said one of the men peeping over Tom's shoulder. Read him out, then, can't you? cried another. I say, Bill Blunt, I think this concerns you, cried Tom. Isn't your sweetheart's name Susan Croft? That's a fact, said Bill, looking up from his paper. And who has got a word to say again the prettiest last in all, Liverpool? Nobody's got a word to say against her, replied Tom. But she's married, that's all. Bill Blunt leaped up as if he had been shot, and the blood rushed to his face as he seized the paper and tried to find the place. Where is it, Tom? Let me see it with my own two eyes. Oh, here it is. The poor man's face grew paler and paler as he read the following words. Married at Liverpool on the 5th by the Reverend Charles Manson, Edward Gordon Esquire to Susan, youngest daughter of Admiral Croft, a perfect roar of laughter drowned the remainder of the sentence. Well done, Bill Blunt! Mr. Blunt will have to call him here after, said Tom, with a grim smile. I had no notion you thought so much of yourself as to aim at an Admiral's daughter. All right, my heart is chaff away, said Bill, fetching a deep sigh of relief while a broad grin played on his weather-beaten visage. There's two, Susan Crofts, that's all. But I wouldn't give my Susan for all the Admiral's daughters that ever walked in shoe leather. Hello, here come the Yankees, cried the Captain, coming on deck at that moment. Our newspapers were thrown down at once, and we prepared to receive our guests, who, we could see, had just put off from their ship and two boats. But before they had come within a mile of us, their attention, as well as ours, was riveted on a most extraordinary sight. Not more than a hundred yards ahead of our ship, a wail came suddenly to the surface of the water, seeming by its wild motions to be in a state of terror. It continued for some time to struggle and lash to the whole sea around it into a white foam. At once the boats were lowered from both ships, and we went after this fish. But as motions were so violent that we found it utterly impossible to get near enough to throw a harpoon. When we had approached somewhat closely we discovered that it had been attacked by a killer fish, which was fully twenty feet long and stuck to it like a leech. The monster's struggles were made in trying to shake itself free of this tremendous enemy, but it could not accomplish this. The killer held him by the underjaw and hung on there, while the wail threw himself out of the water in his agony, with his great mouth open like a huge cavern and the blood flowing so fast from the wound that the sea was dyed for a long distance round. The killer fought like a bulldog. It held on until the wail was exhausted, but they passed away from us in such a confused struggle that a harpoon could not be fixed for an hour after we first saw them. On this being done the killer let go, and the wail, being already half-dead, was soon killed. The Yankee boats were the first to come up with this fish, so the prize belonged to them. We were well pleased at this, as we could afford to let them have it, seeing that we could scarcely have found room to stow away the oil in our hold. It was the Yankee's first fish, too, so they were in great spirits about it, and towed it to their ship, singing Yankee Doodle with all their might. As they passed our boat the captain held them. I wish you joy of your first fish, sir, said he to the Yankee Captain. Thank you, stranger. I guess we're in luck, though it ain't a big one. I say what sort of brute was that that had hold of him? Never seen such a critter in all my life. He's a killer, said our captain. A killer? Since he just is, and no mistake, if we hadn't helped him he'd have done the job for himself. What does he kill him for? To eat him, but I'm told he only eats the tongue. You'll not forget that you promised to game with us tonight, cried our captain, as they were about to commence pulling again. All right, stranger, one half will come to night and four sun down, to other half tomorrow, if the calm holds. Good day. Give way, lad. Did men dip their oars and resume their song while we pulled back to our ship? We did not offer to help them because the fish was a small one, and the distance they had to go not great. It was near sunset when, according to promise, the Yankees came on board and spent a long evening with us. They were a free, open-hearted, boastful, conceited, good- humored set of fellows, and a jolly night we had of it in the forecastle, while the mates and captains were enjoying themselves and spinning their yarns in the cabin. Of course we began with demands for home-news, and when we had pumped out of them every drop they had, we began to sing songs and to spin yarns. And it was now that my friend Tom Locans came out strong and went on at such a rate that he quite won the hearts of our guests. Tom was not noisy, and he was slow in his talk, but he had the knack of telling a good story. He never used a wrong word or a word too many, and having a great deal of humor men could not help listening when he began to talk. After this we had a dance, and here I became useful being able to play Scotch reels and Irish jigs on the fiddle. Then we had songs and yarns again. Some could tell a furious fight with whales that made our blood boil. Others could talk of the green fields at home until we almost fancied we were boys again. And some could not tell stories at all. They had little to say, and that little they said ill, and I noticed that many of those who were perfect boys would cry loudest to be heard, though none of us wanted to hear them. We used to quench such fellows by calling loudly for a song with a rousing chorus. It was not till the night was far spent and the silver moon was sailing through the starry sky that the Yankees left us and rode away with a parting cheer. End of Chapter 9 Chapter 10 of Fighting the Whales This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Fighting the Whales, by R. M. Ballantyne. Chapter 10. Return Home Six months after our game with the Yankees, Tom Locans and I found ourselves seated once more in the little garret beside my dear old mother. Dear me, Robert, how changed you are? Changed mother? I should think so. If you've gone through all that I've done and seen since we last sat together in this room, you'd be changed, too. And have you really seen the whales, my boy? continued my mother, stroking my face with her old hand. Seen them? I, and killed them, too, many of them. You've been in danger, my son, said my mother earnestly, but God has preserved you safe through it all. My mother, he has preserved my life in the midst of many dangers, said I, for which I am most thankful. There was a short silence after this, during which my mother and I gazed earnestly at each other, and Tom Locans smoked his pipe and stared at the fire. Robert, how big is a whale, inquired my mother suddenly. How big? Why, it's as big as a small ship, only it's longer and not quite so fat. Robert, replied my mother gravely, you didn't use to tell untruth. You must be joking. Joking. Mother, I was never more earnest in my life. Why, I tell you that I've seen, I, and helped to cut up whales that were more than sixty feet long, with heads so big that their mouths could have taken in a boat. My mother, I declare to you that you could put this room into a whale's mouth, and you and Tom and I could sit round this table and take our tea upon his tongue quite comfortable. Isn't that true, Tom? My mother looked at Tom, who removed his pipe, puffed a cloud of smoke, and knotted his head twice, very decidedly. Moreover, said I, a whale is so big and strong that it can knock a boat right up into the air and break in the sides of a ship. One day a whale fell right on top of one of our boats and smashed it all to bits. Now that's a real truth. Again my mother looked at Tom, Locans, and again that worthy man puffed an immense cloud of smoke, and knotted his head more decidedly than before. Being anxious to put to flight all her doubts at once, he said solemnly, Old woman, that's a fact. Robert, said my mother, tell me something about the whales. Just as she said this, the door opened, and in came the good old gentleman with a nose like his cane-knob, and with his good a heart as ever beaten a human breast. My mother had already told me that he came to see her regularly once a week ever since I went to sea, except in summer when he was away in the country, and that he had never allowed her to want for anything. I need scarcely say that there was a hardy meeting between us three, and that we have much to say to each other. But in the midst of it all my mother turned to the old gentleman and said, Robert was just about to tell me something about his adventures with the whales. That's capital, cried the old gentleman, rubbing his hands. Come, Bob, my boy, let's hear about him. Being thus invited I consented to spin them a yarn. The old gentleman settled himself in his chair. My mother smoothed her apron, folded her hands, and looked meekly into my face. Tom Loken spilled his pipe, stretched out his foot to poke the fire with the toe of his shoe, and began to smoke like a steam engine. Then I cleared my throat and began my tale, and before I had done talking that night I had told them all that I have told in this little book, almost word for word. Thus ended my first voyage to the South Seas. Many and many a trip have I made since then, and many a wonderful sight have I seen, both in the South and in the North. But if I were to write an account of all my adventures, my little book would grow into a big one. I must therefore come to a close. The profits of this voyage were so great that I was enabled to place my mother in a position of comfort for the rest of her life, which alas was very short. She died about six months after my return. I nursed her to the end, and when I laid her dear head in the grave, my heart seemed to die within me, for I felt that I had lost one of God's most precious gifts, an honest, gentle, pious mother. I am getting to be an old man now, but I am comfortable and happy, and as I have more than enough of this world's goods and no family to care for, my chief occupation is to look after the poor, and particularly the old women who live in my neighborhood. After the work of the day is done, I generally go and spend the evening with Tom Locans, who lives nearby, and is stout and hearty still, or he comes and spends it with me. And while we smoke our pipes together, we often fall to talking about those stirring days when, in the strength and hope of youth, we sailed together to the South Seas, and took to fighting the whales. The End