The Deep Sea Hunters: Adventures on a Whaler

by A. Hyatt Verrill

For several hours, the “greenies” were kept on the jump, compelled to climb the rigging to the topsail yards, taught the standing and running rigging, made to understand what to do when an order was given. But while they were, as Cap’n Pem had put it, “treated rough,” there was none of the real brutality shown which the boys had expected from the tales they had heard and read of whalers. Indeed, both Tom and Jim agreed that Mr. Kemp was wonderfully patient and the few blows that were struck did not appear to trouble the tough crew in the least. When Tom spoke of this to Captain Edwards the latter remarked that such treatment as they were receiving was probably far gentler than anything they had ever experienced before.

Strangely enough too, the active work appeared completely to cure the men of seasickness, while their first terror of going aloft was rapidly overcome, although they still hugged the shrouds and held on with might and main whenever the bark rolled.

The boys were much amused at Cap’n Pem, for the old whaleman had painted himself as a hard-fisted, slave-driving mate when at sea, whereas, in reality, he was far easier on the men than the second officer, and several times he cautioned the latter against using unnecessary violence.

“This ’ere ain’t no ol’ time whaleship,” he cried. “I’ve seed a-plenty o’ bulldozin’, bucko mates an’ I tell ye ’tain’t no use to smash a man up. Might jes’ as well let ’em take their time a’ larnin’ as to spend it mendin’ of a busted leg or stove-in head. Course, if any of ’em needs it, ye can give ’em a good lickin’. They gotter know who’s boss, but we don’ want broken bones nor murder.”

At last, the second mate seemed satisfied with what he had accomplished and ordered the topsail backed, and as the bark was hove-to and rested motionless on the sea, the two starboard boats were lowered and the green hands were ordered into them. Even the one-legged Irishman was compelled to embark, although he protested vigorously. With two of the boat steerers in each boat and with Mr. Kemp in charge of one and Cap’n Pem in the stern of the other, the fun began. Not a man in the crowd, with the exception of the boy and the big negro, both of whom had evidently served on ships before, had ever touched or handled an oar in their lives. And when, under the orders of the two mates, the fellows attempted to pick up and use the heavy ash oars, the result was so comical that the two boys burst into peals of laughter and even Captain Edwards chuckled. Constantly fouling one another’s oars, catching crabs, losing their oars overboard and getting in one another’s way, the men struggled valiantly and apparently thought it a regular lark. Indeed, after their terrifying session with the rigging, their instruction in boat handling must have seemed mere child’s play, and at each mishap the men roared and made fun of each other. Moreover, the mates and boat steerers took the matter good-naturedly, making biting and sarcastic remarks, but patiently striving to teach their men how to row. Much to the boys’ surprise, the crowd of human derelicts did wonderfully well, and after an hour’s work, managed to conquer the oars sufficiently to keep fairly good time with their strokes and actually to propel the big, thirty-foot whaleboats.

Very soon the breeze freshened, a choppy sea began to rise and the boats were hoisted to the big wooden davits, the yards were swung and the Hector plunged onward through the deep-blue waves towards the distant Azores.

Thereafter, on every calm day, the boat drill was continued, and day after day, the men were sent aloft and taught to furl and reef sails, to swing the yards, to tail onto braces, sheets and halliards and to do the thousand and one things necessary to the handling of a square-rigged vessel. Most of the men learned rapidly, after they had once overcome their landsman’s dread of going aloft, and while a few were so utterly lacking in intelligence that they couldn’t learn the difference between a “main brace and a belaying pin,” as Mr. Kemp put it, yet all learned to handle the boats and seemed to take keen enjoyment in this part of the work, each boat’s crew constantly striving to outdo the other and holding hard fought races whenever opportunity offered. Moreover, the men had improved vastly in appearance. They had grown brown and strong; their muscles had developed; they had discarded their dirty shore rags for clean dungarees and went about lightly and surefootedly on newly acquired “sea legs” in their bare feet. From the boat steerers and mates, they had learned a number of chanteys and whalemen’s songs and whenever any work was done, the deep bass of the big negro, Sam, could be heard leading the chorus of some old-time, deep water chantey.

A few days after they had dropped land from sight, the captain had a man constantly perched on the topgallant crosstrees, keenly scanning the horizon, and Cap’n Pem explained to the boys that they were likely at any time to sight a sperm whale and that the skipper had no intention of letting one slip by.

“Sparm ’ile’s mighty high,” said the old man, “’an sperm’ceti’s higher an’ t’ain’t no use a lettin’ good dollars slip by. ’Sides, this ere gang’s gotter be taught whalin’ an’ the sooner the better.”

The two boys also took turns at maintaining a lookout from the crosstrees, each filled with hopes of being the first to sight a whale. But the days slipped by, vast beds of yellow “sargassum” or “gulf weed” dotted the indigo sea and the bark was rapidly approaching the islands and no sign of a whale had been seen.