And now the time approaches when C. B. is to endure the heaviest temptation of all. The season was over on the off-shore ground, and the good ship was put under all sail for the Sandwich Islands, it being the captain’s intention to visit Honolulu to refit there and replenish with wood and water. As soon as the news became known all hands went nearly wild with delight, for in those days Honolulu was a place where, in spite of the efforts of the missionaries, scenes of the wildest licence and debauchery took place upon the arrival of a whaleship whose captain was kindly disposed enough to give his crew liberty and money. Reminiscences of former excesses were now on everybody’s tongue, even the taciturn Merritt became almost garrulous in describing to his chum what he considered to be the attractions of Honolulu and its environs.
In his innocence and ignorance C. B. listened greedily to these tales, and asked many questions, which made Merritt grin and wonder loudly that any man should be so fresh and green as he put it. And there was no one to warn, nothing to give any hint as to the foulness of what was coming. More than that, there was an uneasy sense in C. B.’s mind of being gradually estranged from the high and holy thoughts which had always been his precious possession, even his prayers were becoming perfunctory as the scenes so vividly depicted by the conversation of his fellows rose before his mental vision and his curiosity with regard to them grew stronger.
They made a very fine and uneventful passage to the islands, arriving off Honolulu in the early dawn of a perfect day, and working into the harbour, where four other whaleships were lying at anchor, in the usual easy seaman-like fashion of those ships. The vessel was moored smartly, and the order given to furl all sail, and in carrying out this order an incident occurred which brings into my story for a little while a man who has not received any but cursory mention and that not by name—Mr. Allan the third mate. He was a jovial stocky little man of great vivacity and good temper, who interfered with nobody and made no trouble as long as the work went on all right. Being in the other watch he had never had much to do with C. B., and regarded him as an amiable sort of crank.
Now it chanced that in the rush to get the sails furled C. B. found himself side by side with Mr. Allan on the main topsail yard, tugging furiously at the sail to get it furled before their rivals forrard, in the usual emulation seen in these vessels at sail furling. Now C. B. being so long and Mr. Allan so short, only about five feet four, the latter could only reach from the foot-rope, and sprang upwards from it grabbing at the sail and missing his hold. He was sliding backwards from the yard with a despairing yell when C. B., letting go the sail, made a grab at his left arm, caught it, and turning, held the whole weight of his body as it fell. The wrench was terrible, and C. B’s stout sinews cracked, but exerting all his great strength he drew the third mate upward until he placed him on the foot-rope again in safety, when they both lay gasping across the yard and looked at each other.
When they had recovered their breath they finished furling the sail, being hopelessly beaten of course by the fellows forrard. But when they reached the deck Mr. Allan held out his hand to C. B. saying, “Put it there, young man, I reckon I owe you a life or so.”
C. B. was about to reply, when Merritt with his dangerous grin on came between them and said—
“Now, Mr. Allan, what’s you doin’ with my chum?”
“Oh, don’t bark,” replied Allan laconically, “nobody’s kidnappin’ your chum. But I s’pose you haven’t any real objections t’ a fellow saying thank ye for having his life saved, have ye?”
“No, but we’ll let it go at that,” snarled Merritt. “When I’ve got a chum I don’t want no partners in him, ’n I won’t have ’em neither, see. You can thank all ye want to, but no chummin’.” And he turned away.