But on the other hand, on some golden afternoon among the sunny islands of summer seas, hear the soft soothing murmur of the gliding swell upon the slumbering shore. It fills the mind with rest. Sweeter than lowest lullaby, it comforts and composes, and even in dreams it laps the sleeper in Elysium. The charm of that music is chief among all the influences that bind the memory to those Enchanted Isles. It returns again and again under sterner skies, filling the heart with almost passionate longing to hear it, to feel it in all its mystery once again. Still when all has been said, every dweller on the sea-shore knows the voice of his own coast best. For him it has its special charm, whether it shriek around ice-laden rocks, roar against iron-bound cliffs, thunder over jagged reefs, or babble among fairy islets. And yet all these many voices are but one.
THE CALLING OF CAPTAIN RAMIREZ
When two whale-ships meet during a cruise, if there are no signs of whales near, an exchange of visits always takes place. The two captains foregather on board one ship, the two chief mates on board the other. While the officers are thus enjoying themselves, it is usual for the boats’ crews to go forrard and while away the time as best they can, such visitors being always welcome. This practice is called “gamming,” and is fruitful of some of the queerest yarns imaginable, as these sea-wanderers ransack their memories for tales wherewith to make the time pass pleasantly.
On the occasion of which I am writing, our ship had met the Coral of Martha’s Vineyard off Nieuwe, and gamming had set in immediately. One of the group among whom I sat was a sturdy little native of Guam, in the Ladrone Islands, the picture of good-humour, but as ugly as a Joss. Being called upon for a song, he laughingly excused himself on the ground that his songs were calculated to give a white man collywobbles; but if we didn’t mind he would spin a “cuffer” (yarn) instead. Carried unanimously—and we lit fresh pipes as we composed ourselves to hear of “The Calling of Captain Ramirez.” I reproduce the story in a slightly more intelligible form than I heard it, the mixture of Spanish, Kanaka, &c., being a gibberish not to be understood by any but those who have lived among the polyglot crowd in a whaler.
“About fifteen years ago now, as near as I can reckon (for we don’t keep much account of time except we’re on monthly wage), I was cruising the Kingsmills in the old Salem, Captain Ramirez. They told me her name meant ‘Peace,’ and that may be; but if so, all I can say is that never was a ship worse named. Why, there wasn’t ever any peace aboard of her. Quiet there was, when the old man was asleep, for nobody wanted him wakened; but peace—well, I tell ye, boys, she was jest hell afloat. I’ve been fishing now a good many years in Yankee spouters, and there’s some blood-boats among ’em, but never was I so unlucky as when I first set foot aboard the Salem. Skipper was a Portugee from Flores, come over to the States as a nipper and brung up in Rhode Island. Don’t know and don’t care how he got to be skipper, but I guess Jemmy Squarefoot was his schoolmaster, for some of his tricks wouldn’t, couldn’t, have been thought of anywheres else but down below. I ain’t a-goin’ to make ye all miserable by telling you how he hazed us round and starved us and tortured us, but you can let your imagination loose if you want to, and then you won’t overhaul the facts of his daily amusements.
“Well, I’d been with him about a year when, as I said at first, we was cruising the Kingsmills, never going too close in, because at that time the natives were very savage, always fighting with each other, but very glad of the chance to go for a ship and kill and eat all hands. Then again we had some Kanakas aboard, and the skipper knew that if they got half a chance they would be overboard and off to the shore.
“Sperm whales were very plentiful, in fact they had been so all the cruise, which was another proof to all of us who the skipper was in co. with, for in nearly every ship we gammed the crowd were heart-broken at their bad luck. However, we’d only been a few days on the ground when one morning we lowered for a thundering big school of middling-size whales. We sailed in full butt, and all boats got fast. But no sooner was a strain put on the lines than they all parted like as if they was burnt. Nobody there ever seen or heard of such a thing before. It fairly scared us all, for we thought it was witchcraft, and some of ’em said the skipper’s time was up and his boss was rounding on him. Well, we bent on again, second irons, as the whales were all running anyhow, not trying to get away, and we all got fast again. ’Twas no good at all; all parted just the same as before. Well, we was about the worst gallied lot of men you ever see. We was that close to the ship that we knew the old man could see with his glasses everything that was going on. Every one of us knew just about how he was bearing it, but what could we do? Well, boys, we didn’t have much time to serlilerquise, for before you could say ‘knife’ here he comes, jumping, howling mad. Right in among us he busted, and oh! he did look like his old father Satan on the rampage. He was in the bow of his boat, and he let drive at the first whale he ran up against. Down went the fish and pop went the line same as before. Well, I’ve seen folks get mad more’n a little, but never in all my fishing did ever I see anything like he showed us then. I thought he’d a sploded all into little pieces. He snatched off his hat and tore it into ribbons with his teeth; the rattle of Portugee blasphemion was like our old mincing-machine going full kelter, and the foam flew from between his teeth like soapsuds.
“Suddenly he cooled down, all in a minute like, and said very quiet, ‘All aboard.’ We were all pretty well prepared for the worst by this time, but I do think we liked him less now than we did when he was ramping around—he looked a sight more dangerous. However, we obeyed orders smart, as usual, but he was aboard first. My! how that boat of his just flew. ’Twas like a race for life.