Loud and clear came the response from aft, for Captain Taber seemed to be always on hand when wanted: “Ship Eliza Adams of New Bedford, whaling, now engaged in trying out.”
“Thank you,” came the somewhat dissatisfied answer across. “I thought you were on fire. Good-night and good luck. Go ahead, please; forty revolutions, course S.80.W.”
It was only one of the police of the seas, a British man-o’-war attached to the South American Squadron; but as she did not leave her name or destination no one on board could guess who she was. Captain Taber said sardonically, “That’s a Johnny Haul Taut, I bet; thinks he owns the show. But I guess he’s ben sold a pup this watch. Wonder what sort of guff he’ll enter up in his log about this.” It was not generous, but characteristic of American captains in discussing British seamen and their seamanship, and we can hardly quarrel or bother with it to any good purpose. But what was entered in the log was just this—
“Saw a glare to the eastward, looking like a ship on fire, altered course at 3.55 a.m. to E.N.E. and ran down at full speed, twelve knots. Discovered the glare to be the whaleship Eliza Adams of New Bedford trying out a whale. Resumed course immediately, S.80.W., forty revolutions. Weather as before.”
By the next day at noon the deck was clear of all the filth, and the factory-like work was proceeding with machine-like regularity, all hands being now well rested. And as cask after cask was filled at the cooler and rolled away to a secure temporary berth on deck, the captain was heard to say something to this effect: “I thought so. I guessed that whale to be about the biggest in all my experience, an’ now I’m gettin’ to be sure of it. Never saw a bigger whale nor yet richer blubber.” By which he meant that the blubber was so full of oil that when cut the clear fluid gushed almost like water and besides it was full of cysts, small cells of about the size of peas, which were filled with a bland substance of the consistency of cream, probably almost pure spermaceti.
For although the great reservoir of spermaceti is in the head, in this case yielding nearly fifty barrels or five tons of almost pure spermaceti, this curious substance is found in the oil from any part of the body, particularly the great dorsal hump. Why the head should have so huge a quantity of this fluid contained in it is a mystery, the only supposition concerning its use being that its very low specific gravity brings the vast mass much more quickly to the surface than would otherwise be the case, and brings it up too in such a position that the spiracle or blow-hole is the first portion of the whale to break water. This substance has nothing in it of the nature of brain matter—the brains are quite small in proportion to the size of the creature—but it has been held, in view of the high intelligence shown by the whales and seals, all of which are noted for their apparent paucity of brain, that this thought or intelligence matter is distributed over the different nerve centres, or to put it more colloquially, the creature has, like the telephone system in a large town, several local exchanges, as well as one central exchange for the transaction of general business.
And in the same way it has been supposed that the whales, huge as they are, cannot possibly contain sufficient air for the needs of the creatures during the prolonged period—often nearly an hour—during which they remain under water, since they have no other means of aerating the blood whatever. So it has been assumed that in some mysterious way the vital principle of the air, oxygen, is in some way secreted during the period that the whale is on the surface, a supposition which is somewhat supported by the fact that the whale upon coming to the surface must make so many respirations, always the same in number, before he can seek the depths again, which would point to some process going on in addition to ordinary breathing. Also it would certainly be impossible for him to sink if he inflated himself, as it were, by shipping a great reservoir full of air.
But this is probably enough of whale anatomy for one chapter, so I will leave the subject for a while, merely recording that the captain’s most sanguine expectations were fulfilled, the whale yielding one hundred and sixty barrels or sixteen tons of oil and spermaceti, which at the then high market-price of the day, £108 per ton, made the handsome sum of over seventeen hundred pounds for less than a week’s work. Of course the long spells of inaction and the heavy outlay as well as upkeep must be borne in mind, and I do not suggest that the great game was ever in the nature of a gold mine, only that when a monster like the one we have just tried out was obtained he made a very considerable addition to the profits of the voyage.
All the oil having been run down, and the lavish application of lye and sand to the decks and paintwork having made the ship look her usual smart self, the monotonous old routine began again, but for our hero at least its monotony was a thing of the past. For one thing he began on his bundle of books, only reading a very little at a time at first, but gradually getting absorbed in them and reading on to the great loss of his sleep. But oh, to be able to read like him, to drink with an entirely unsophisticated thirst at the fountain of good literature believing every word as if it were directly inspired! Of course he read his Bible as he had always done, from a genuine love of it and a full appreciation of its living histories, not at all as a religious duty, but as with his wonderful memory he knew it nearly all by heart, it was entirely delightful to him to get hold of something fresh.