“Now, Christmas,” said the skipper severely when they were alone, “I don’t know what t’ say t’ ye. You really mustn’t go heaving my harponeers overboard like rubbidge, nor yet get t’ breaking ’em all up. Nor yet you mustn’t let ’em go sticking knives in you. Confound you, why are you always in the right and yet getting into some scrape or another? I shipped a handful of hot stuff when I took you aboard, I can see, and I wish I hadn’t, yet I’m beginning to feel that I’d rather lose anybody than you, you ’mazing muscular Christian.”
“I’m sorry I hurt the man, sir,” modestly replied C. B., “and I didn’t intend to do so. But if I hadn’t been quicker than he was, he would have probably put me out of action for longer than he’ll be now, while I only thought of defending myself, and a dip overboard can’t possibly do anybody any harm.”
With a cross between a grunt and a laugh the skipper turned away, leaving C. B. standing quietly to receive the curt congratulations of Mr. Merritt, and be the centre of admiring glances from all the crew that were on deck. The matter formed the principal, in fact almost the only topic of conversation on board for the next three days, during which C. B. went on his simple accustomed way, except that he was assiduous in his attention to the suffering man, who, in addition to the pain of his wrist, had sustained a severe rick to his spine, making it very painful for him to get in and out of his bunk. And as none of his compatriots thought of doing anything for him, he would have fared very badly but for the man he intended to kill.
By the time that Louis was able to resume work they had been nearly three weeks on the ground and no spout of sperm or right whales had been seen. It was just the fortune of the fishery, but as usual it bred a good deal of peevishness among the crew, whose monotonous life grew very irksome. I know of few conditions more trying to the active mind than to be on board of a clumsy old whaleship always on a wind tacking from side to side of a great lonely expanse of sea, shortening sail every night to a close-reefed main topsail and fore topmast staysail and making sail again at daylight. No books to read, no new topics to talk about, nothing to do but the same things over and over again, week in week out, with never another sail in sight. It is a life that unless a man has mental resources of no common kind tends to stultification of the intellect, and especially makes him peevish, irritable and intolerant even of himself.
The usual bounty had been doubled, and the men were so keen that they hardly cared to go below when their turn came to do so. The only men on board who seemed unmoved by the long spell of inaction were Captain Taber and C. B. The first was that fine type of man, as I hope I have suggested, that is even now, thank God, to be found in many New England towns, who, though not making any special profession of religion, are in a very real sense not far from the Kingdom of God. Honest, brave and honourable; combining in a curious way the astuteness of the man of the world with the sweet simplicity of a little child, they are the salt of the United States, and their lives and work stand out in brilliant contrast to those of the money-grubbers and professional politicians who are making the noble name of the Great Republic a byword and a hissing among the nations.
As Captain Taber used to say so frequently, “This thing” (the scarcity of whales within an area where they should be found) “runs in streaks; we’ll get all we want and more also dreckly.” He was a highly educated man but loved the vernacular, and occasionally lapsed into it from his grave Elizabethan English. And so it proved, for one morning before it was light he came on deck, and sauntering up to C. B., who was enjoying a pannikin of coffee and biscuit, he said casually—
“Now you fellers ’at don’t smoke are supposed to have the sense of smell more highly developed than us misbul degenerates who do, don’t yer nose tell yer nothin’ now?”
“Yes, sir,” brightly replied C. B., “it’s been telling me ever since I came on deck at eight bells that we’re in the thick of either a big shoal of fish or a school of whales of some sort. The air’s quite heavy with fish smell.”
“Ah! an’ I suppose you couldn’t indicate the kind o’ whale that’s possibly around, could ye?” inquired the skipper drily.
“Hardly, sir, although I’ve heard of it being done,” replied C. B. “But I’ve never believed it. I feel sure, though, that the fellows who are stealing up to the crow’s-nest now, sir—look at ’em—will start their music at the first streak of dawn.”