William H. Macy  Source  Whalesite

Leaves from the Arethusa's Log.
No. 7

W. H. Macy

Flag of our Union.
Vol. 23, No. 31 (Aug 1, 1868)
p. 494.

Leaves from the Arethusa's Log.

No. 7.

"CUTTING IN."

      The necessary operations on the new ship's rigging had somewhat encroached upon the progress of other duties, connected with the whaling gear, during the few days since we left home. The cutting pendants were to be got over the masthead, not yet having been sent aloft; the falls were new and wiry; but few cutting-spades rigged or ground, and the best part of the afternoon was consumed in getting all things in readiness for cutting; and, as there was every prospect of fine weather, it was determined not to hook on until the next morning. Boat's crew-watches were set, as is common when lying under short sail, boatsteerers being in charge of the deck by turns, each with his own boat's crew, thus making three, or in large ships, four watches. This was a grand occasion for yarning in the first watch, as every one was up, looking at the leviathan alongside, swashing with every heave of the sea, and tugging at the stout fluke chain as the rise of the ship brought a strain upon it; as though still instinct with life and impatient of his bonds.

      "Well, Jeff," said the ebony doctor, as he stood leaning over the rail after having finished his work for the night, "how much ile you tink dat whale make?"

      "That whale," returned Jeff, measuring his dimensions with his eye, with a look of most profound sagacity, "that whale will stow down a hund'ed barrels, if we save him clean."

      "Save him clean? Save him fast enough," said the cook. "Fine weather."

      "Yes, 'tis now, but you don't know how long it will be so," said Old Jeff, who was in one of his "blue-lights" humors. "You don't know what the weather'll be to-morrow."

      "Guess it'll be good enough."

      "You've got no business to guess. Who shipped any such black ghost as you to guess about the weather?"

      "Black ghost, eh! You know what the pot called the kettle, Jeff? Yah! yah! You aint more'n a half-price nigger, nohow. You wouldn't fetch more'n fifty dollars in Kentucky, if you be big. Sh' think you might be big, too; you eats 'bout six men's allowance. Look o' me, now; I don't eat nothin' hardly."

      "You've no business to eat anything. The cook's always 'lowed to live on the smell."

      "Smell, eh! 'spects dats de reason dey always ships black man for cook. Carry his own smell wid him eh? Not strong like Samson but like billy-goat. Now, you see, Jeff, you'm strong bofe ways."

      "Am I?" said Jeff, seizing the unfortunate doctor by the leg and the back of his neck, and holding him suspended over the whale in his Herculean grasp. "I've a good mind to give you an overboard bunk on this whale, just to show you the difference between a cook's berth and a boatsteerer's."

      "O Lord!" gasped the cook, when he was released, and once more found soundings with his feet on the deck, "you'm pretty strong one way, anyhow. Well, now, Jeff, how much did you ever see a whale make?"

      "A hund'ed and eighty barrels."

      "What! a sparm whale?"

      "Didn't say nothin' bout sparm whale. No, a right whale; the first voyage I went on Pattygoney."

      "O! I mean a sparm whale."

      "Well, I seen one make a hund'ed and fifteen barrels, that's the most. Now, here comes Cooper. Got his pipe loaded, too. I'll bet he's seen bigger one than that. Ask him now."

      The boys began to rally to a focus along the starboard-waist, as they saw the cooper coming forward.

      "Cooper," said I, "where's your fiddle to-night? Are you going to fetch her up?"

      "No, guess not to-night. Plenty of work for all of us to-morrow without shaking a leg over night."

      "Yes, plenty of work and no grog," growled Burley. "That's the worst of these temperance ships. They expect a man to work like a dog, and give him nothing to warm his heart. If men stood up for their rights, they'd have it. A man's entitled to two glasses a day, anyhow."

      "Not without he ships for it," said Jeff.

      "Yes, I say he is," said the sea-lawyer.

      "How's that?"

      "Why, by the natural rights of man."

      "What the plague do you call the natural rights of man?" said the cooper, among whose crooked traits intemperance was not included. "I don't want to see grog served out in any ship where I am."

      "Well, I wish the ould man would jist ask me to take a dhrop wid him," said Farrell. "Of course, I'd refuse; but, then, 'twould be doin' the nate thing on his part."

      "I've seen so much of the bad effects of liquor," said the cooper, "that I don't want to be shipmates with it at all. It does a man no good in the long run. Sometimes, it's true, he can get steam up, and work faster for a short time, but he feels all the worse after the liquor dies in him. In such a case as cutting a whale in bad weather, where you want to gain time, it's convenient to have some; but I think it does more harm in the long run than will balance these temporary benefits. The trouble is, human nature is weak, and it isn't every shipmaster that can have charge of it without crooking his own elbow too often. Then again, all men can't stand it alike; and though some of us might bear two glasses well enough, others will get drunk and make difficulty on the same quantity, for, of course, you must serve all hands alike. We haven't all got systems like old Captain Harper, in the Deucalion. He could drink a deck-bucketful of New England rum, and stand up under it and back it round. I've seen him do it many a time."

      "Now, Cooper," said I, "go it now, you've got started."

      "Maybe you don't believe it, youngster," said the cooper, shaking his immense beard with the gravity of a sage. "But you have seen very little of the world yet. What I've seen, I know."

      "Sh' think he'd burn hisself all up," said the cook, extending his mouth in a grin, till the upper part of his head formed a peninsula.

      "Had no more effect than pouring it into a leaky cask," continued the cooper, who had now mounted his hobby. "Perfect salamander! I always believed he was coppered inside. Why, I've seen that old man make many a meal off of red peppers, and wash them down with raw brandy."

      "Why not say aquafortis?" I suggested.

      "No, I don't want to deviate from the truth," said the conscientious cooper. "I don't mean aquafortis, but I mean good Cognac brandy. Drink a potful of boiling tea right out of the cook's copper, just as natural as I'd take a drink of water from the scuttlebutt."

      "Dere, Cooper, dat'll do," said the astonished African. "He must been some relation to dat Sally Mander, or somebody else wuss'n her. I was going to ask you how much you ever see a sparm whale make? Jeff says he seen one make a hund'ed and fifteen barrels."

      "That isn't much," said the cooper, quietly. "When I was in the old Bajazet, we got a sperm whale in sight of French Rock, and it came on to blow, and we had an ugly job to cut him. We lost all his case; it got pretty old and mellow alongside, and 'shot' before we got hooked on it to. We got the junk in by cutting it in two pieces, for the old man wouldn't risk the mainmast to lift the whole on it. Well, we saved a hundred and sixty-four barrels, and I suppose we lost about forty."

      "Tell that for anybody to believe it, Cooper?" asked Old Jeff. "I can't get up tackles enough to h'ist in the yard. It's heavier than that junk was."

      "Took the gauges of every cask myself," said the cooper.

      "Must be you made a mistake in addin' on 'em up. How long was that whale, now, on a guess?"

      "Well, I don't know; the Bajazet was a ship of three hundred and fifty tons, about the length of this one, I suppose; we brought the fluke-chain in at the hawse hole, and hauled it short up and down, and the mate had his cutting-stage over the stern to cut around the nib end; the head worked in under the counter sometimes and bothered him!"

      "And did ye's have much throuble to kill that chap?" asked Farrell.

      "None at all; laid like an island, you might have thrown a whole blacksmith's shop into him."

      "Do they often get whales as easily as we got this one to-day?" I inquired.

      "Yes, a great many are taken as easy as that. But not always, as you'll find out by and by; for there's all kinds of manœuvres with whales, and hardly any two of 'em will act just alike."

      "Did you ever see any very bad ones taken?" I inquired.

      "Well — no — not very bad," returned the cooper, evasively; for, much as he felt disposed to draw the long bow on this sonorous string, he was by no means regardless of the interest of the voyage, and well knew the bad policy of telling frightful yarns to green hands concerning fighting whales. It would be time enough for that when they had acquired some experience, and seen a few ugly whales themselves. He was not to be drawn out on this subject.

      "Well, Cooper, how moosh you tink dis one he make?" inquired Manoel.

      "About ninety barrels."

      "Well, how moosh my part?"

      "What's your lay?"

      "Hun'n forty."

      "Well, about two-thirds of a barrel."

      "I s'pose you get 'bout two bar-r-r-eels. Diabo! you make too moosh mon-ee, Cooper."

      "Got half a dozen mouths to feed," returned the cooper. "But that's nothing to do with turning in; my pipe's out, and I guess I'll turn flukes, for the old man will have us all out at daylight, and there'll be no cats but what catch mice to-morrow."

      Following his example, the boys all dropped off to their bunks, till only the watch were left, and they were stretched round on the windlass, or wherever they could find quarters, for the deck was lumbered with casks, cutting-falls, hooks, toggils, and various gear necessary for securing the blubber from the whale.

      The weather continued fine through the night, and at the first peep of daylight Captain Upton was out and stirring. "Who's got the watch here? Call all hands out, and overboard hook! I want that head off before breakfast. Clap on there, the watch, and haul out this starboard guy a little more! Whose overboard is it?"

      "Mine, Sir!" answered Bunker, who was equipping himself in an old short-sleeved shirt, a relic of "last voyage," and an old pair of woollen drawers, preparatory to jumping over on the whale to put in the blubber-hook, a part of the boatsteerer's duty far more desirable within the tropics than in higher latitudes, and especially to be eschewed on a cold, rugged morning in the Arctic regions.

      "Over hook!" shouted Father Grafton, as soon as the crew began to muster along. "Bear a hand, boys, and stand by the windlass! Overhaul your fall well! Now then, Bunker, where are you? Now's your chance — smooth time! Here, Blacksmith, you belong to the hold gang. I shall put you in the waist gang, too. Stay here in the gangway, and lend a hand with the boatsteerers."

      The hook was soon in, and Mr. Grafton in his stage under the main chains with a long spade, the second mate in the forward stage with another. The old man had become ubiquitous, and was in twenty places at one and the same time.

      "Here, Kelly, I shall appoint you captain of the scoop-net. Get a strap-tub along here ready to sling by the backstays, and get your net all ready. When they cut round the head, stand by to save all the slivers, and if you let a piece of fat go astern as big as a half-dollar, I shall stop it out of your lay. Hoist away that fall! Heave the windlass some of ye, and get the slack in! Here, Collins, go aft there, and stay with the carpenter to turn grindstone. Keep your ears peeled for the word 'sharp spade!' from over the side, and don't make them sing out a dozen times or I shall be hunting you up myself. Boatsteerers! get the short spades all ready to use in the waist? That's right. Hook take well, Mr. Grafton? Here, pick up that monkey-rope, Fisher, and keep it out of the grease. Heave away that windlass? Where are you, Jeff, with the song? Open your throat — Mr. Dunham, be careful and don't cut your blanketpiece too wide. Sharp spade into the after stage! Mr. Johnson, let me whet this boarding-knife for you. I used to be a good hand at it. Avast heaving, there! Keep your ears open, and mind the word!"

      All circumstances being favorable, the head was cut off before breakfast, and the body all in the blubber-room by nine o'clock, Captain Upton driving a spade into it with a perfect gusto, and slashing it into horse pieces almost as fast as it was stowed in the hatchway. The windlass went round "slip slop" to the lively strains chanted by Old Jeff, and chorused by all hands in various keys, making the clear air vocal with discord. I made considerable progress in the technicalities of "Board O!" and "In strap and toggle!" as well as in the equally important mystery of preserving my aplomb on the greasy deck, having been on my beam ends only twice during the whole operation. To the startling hail from the old man, "What are you doing down on deck? That's my place!" I made no audible reply but a laugh; but mentally responded, that if that were the old man's place, he was quite welcome to keep it.

      The heaviest work was to come in getting the junk inboard. It was roused forward into the waist, and after considerable "overhauling" and "rounding up," and some hard service for Bunker in getting a chain strap through the "junk," it was at last cut from the "case" and fairly hung in the tackles. All hands went to the windlass; the waist gang, the third and second mates found room with the rest; even Father Grafton lent a hand, and encouraged the others to lay out their strength on the bars. The captain again pervaded the whole deck, glancing anxiously aloft at his masthead pendants and tacklefalls to see how they bore the immense strain, and from time to time breaking forth in a sort of exhortation, half-command, half-entreaty, "Heave hard, men! Heave and raise him! Few squares more and we'll have him!"

      The good cordage of the falls groaned under the tension, as each ropeyarn seemed to yield a little to assist the rest, and the Arethusa heeled lower and lower at each additional "downpawls!" of the windlass, till her starboard plankshear was but little above the surface of the water. Slowly but steadily, by almost imperceptible degrees, the ponderous junk rose from its watery bed, its scarred black skin showing, in the ragged furrows and white streaks on its surface the marks of many a shock received in angry encounters with other sea monsters, and the mingled oil and water streaming at every pore and running in a gush from the hole where the chain-strap was cutting and jamming into the fat under the fearful strain. The mainmast-head itself could be seen to "give" sensibly to the weight, and the larboard main-shrouds to stiffen like bars of iron.

      "Heave, boys! Square or two more!" said the captain, as the mighty mass began to cant inboard. "That's lively! Downpawls again! That watchtackle ready boatsteerers? High enough! Lay aft here, and get this tackle ready! There he swings lower! Lower away! Hook on and rouse him aft! What time is it? Slide him well aft, Mr. Grafton, out of the way! Steward! pass up my quadrant? We'll get dinner, Mr. Grafton, before we sling the case."

      "An' sure," said Farrell, as he came sliding and tumbling aft with the rest, to haul the tackle, "and is that his head, now?"

      "Head? no!" growled Old Jeff, "that's only a small piece of it."

      The other "small piece" was hooked on immediately after dinner, and after another struggle at the windlass brakes was raised half out of water, and suspended in the tackles with the "root end" at the plankshear, for baling. A block and whip were rigged over it and we now cleared up the mystery of a certain long vessel of peculiar shape, which we had seen the cooper making a few days before, and which that worthy had solemnly assured us was a sine qua non in navigating the ship; the sun and moon being brought down with a sextant till their images could be seen in contact at the bottom of the bucket. We were lost in admiration as load after load of spermaceti was "whipped" out of the "case," and discharged into tubs placed ready to receive it, and found great amusement in being set to work to pull to pieces, by hand, the fibrous part of the head matter, and squeeze it out ready for the pots. We contrived ingeniously to get saturated with oil from head to foot, to the great enjoyment of Mr. Dunham, who protested we had already appropriated our lays of this whale, and vowed he would try out all our duds when the fare was over.

      "Let's see, Cooper," said the fun-loving second mate, "you didn't save the case of that big whale I heard you telling about?"

      "In the old Bajazet? No, sir; I wish we had."

      "How much do you suppose it would have made?"

      "From thirty to forty barrels."

      "That's nothing," said Mr. Dunham. "We saw a Sydney whaler last voyage that baled sixty barrels from a case not as big as this one in the tackles."

      "How could he do that?" demanded the cooper, innocently.

      "Hooked it nib end up, and cut chock through the root. Baled salt water a couple of hours before he found it out."

      The cooper turned away, and became suddenly industrious with his hammer and driver, to drown the roar of laughter that saluted him from all quarters.

Source:

W. H. Macy.
"Leaves from the Arethusa's Log - No. 7."
      Flag of Our Union.
Vol. 23, No. 31 (Aug  1, 1868)
p. 494.

William H. Macy  Source  Whalesite