“Only because I wanted to know, sir,” replied the young man; “I supposed that they had all had some trouble, as will often happen in whaling, and I thought I’d like to know the reason.”
“And it never occurred to you that every one of those harponeers is just full of mad against ye for havin’ disappointed ’em. They’ve ben hopin’ for ye t’ break up fust time ye went on a whale; they hate ye because ye be good an’ quiet an’ simple, an’ if ye was a clumsy galoot they’d soon let up on ye and only play a few fool games on ye. But now ye’re comin’ out smarter than any of ’em, for I can’t deny that this mornin’s work was a bad piece of bunglin’ as ever I seen in the ship; there isn’t one of ’em that wouldn’t enjoy stickin’ an iron through ye right up t’ the hitches. But there, get along t’ the work,’n keep close to me; I don’t want a blubber spade slipped into ye by accident.”
That afternoon the deck of the Eliza Adams presented a curious scene, a scene of wonderful activity, of massy pieces of blubber swinging inboard and decks streaming with oil. Much of the bad feeling among the other three harponeers and officers had evaporated or was in abeyance, though none of them could forget the blistering words spoken to them by the skipper that morning. The present may be a fitting time to allude to the circumstances briefly. The mate, with Pepe his harponeer, had singled out the biggest whale he could see and laid Pepe on to it. But for some strange reason, when Pepe raised his iron to dart, he did not notice that the whale, evidently an old stager, had at that moment hollowed his back, leaving the blubber all slack. Now an iron cannot penetrate a whale’s body when this is the case. And at the moment the point struck the whale arched his back with such suddenness and violence that the iron was flung right back into the boat by the tightening of the blubber, knocking the bow oarsman senseless. In the momentary confusion induced by this, and while the mate was angrily inquiring why Pepe had missed, the second mate, Mr. Spurrell, came charging along fast to a whale which dived beneath the mate’s boat, and in order to keep from cutting her in half the line was let go. It kinked or caught in the groove or chock, and but for Mr. Spurrell’s promptitude, two more seconds would have seen both boats a mass of wreckage. He, however, chopped the line, losing the whale.
Neither of them could get near a whale again, and as for the third mate, nobody seemed to know what had happened to him, except that he did not appear to have even located a whale, but ambled about like a man in a dream. Take it all round, the morning’s work, as far as the old hands were concerned, was a matter to be forgotten as soon as possible. But that the despised Kanaka, as those fancy-coloured Portuguese called him, the soft greenie, the everything of contumely their narrow coarse minds could suggest, should succeed where they had failed was enough to goad them to madness.
But now a strange new factor intruded itself into the situation. The thirty hands of the crew were, as usual, of several different nationalities. There were several Kanakas from various islands, eight native-born Down Easters who had been lured by spacious promises and a spirit of adventure into this roving unprofitable life, four Europeans of sorts, whom I cannot specify, and the rest Portuguese. Now their discordant elements agreed very well under the stern discipline always enforced on board those ships, but all of them felt warmly towards the big handsome Bounty boy who always spoke so kindly, never used an oath, and greatest quality of all in their eyes, was fully up to his work.
And with that extraordinary instinct for what is going on which is always so surprising on board ship they all realized the antagonism felt towards him by the other harponeers, and though they dared not show any partiality, they felt it, and whenever they could discuss the situation among themselves without the Portuguese listening, they always spoke in the most enthusiastic terms of the new recruit. It must not be supposed that in saying what I have about the Portuguese I am actuated by any hostility towards them. I know what fine men they are for their work, but they are capable of the blackest treachery, regard it as perfectly legitimate to get the better of a man you dislike by any means however base, and to further their own ends will betray their closest friend. Of course I know little of the pure-bred Portuguese, I speak throughout of the breed I am acquainted with, the many-coloured natives of the North Atlantic Isles; brave, fierce, and entirely unscrupulous.
Much of the work being done that afternoon was entirely new to C. B., often as he had helped to cut up a whale, for it must be pointed out that cutting a whale in on board ship at sea is an essentially different process from the slipshod business of doing the same thing on shore, especially where all are friends, all desire to get the job done as quickly as possible, for all are co-equal partners in the venture. So naturally he made many blunders, immediately pointed out by the skipper, who worked as hard as any of them, and none missed by the sardonic harponeers and officers toiling on the cutting stage. With one exception, Merritt. Once when C. B. did something foolish, and in consequence came a cropper in the midst of a pool of oil, Pepe, who was toiling on the cutting stage by Merritt’s side hacking off the gigantic head, snarled to Merritt.
“Look a dat galoot! Bouts handy as a ba’r, don’t it?”
Merritt turned upon the speaker with a green light in his curious shaped eyes and snarled—
“Wen you k’n best ’im at ’is work you call ’im bad names t’ me, not before. I got no use fer talk like dat. He’s a man, dat’s what he is, an doan call nobody out deir names needer. Git along wid de work.”