Unto these toilers at last came the blessing of light, bringing with it a certain satisfaction, as it always does, to those who have been working in the dark, but also sadly associated with the idea that the skipper would soon be on deck among them. Every now and then one of them would glance furtively aft in search of his dreaded appearance, and, relieved temporarily by the assurance that he was not yet among them, would renew energetically his efforts to accomplish his task. Suddenly all hands were startled by his voice, all its old vigour having returned, shouting, ‘Mr. Winslow.’ The second mate immediately hurried aft, and saying inquiringly, ‘Yes, sir,’ awaited his orders. ‘Clear away the carpenter’s bench, an’ bring it aft here!’ snarled the Captain. ‘Pedro, Bibra, come here.’ The carpenter’s bench having been placed on the fore side of the skylight, athwart the deck, the steward made his appearance, carrying the bandages and certain bottles, also some pieces of rough but thin boards, just portions of canned meat cases with the nails drawn, split to necessary narrowness, and cut in proper lengths. At an order from the Captain, the two Portuguese harpooners lifted the still insensible body of the mate on to the bench, and began to bare his broken limbs, a most difficult task, owing to their having become glued to the clothing with dried blood.
This operation roused him at once from his stupor, and with groans that shook his whole frame his glazed eyes opened. He muttered feebly, ‘For God’s sake go easy: ain’t I sufferin’ enough?’ But a glance at the skipper showed these rough attendants that, even had they been inclined to yield to the mate’s prayer, and ‘go easy,’ they dare not, so, disregarding his agony, they persevered, and after dragging and slitting and soaking his clothes, succeeded at last in exposing the leg and arm, each with fragments of bone protruding through the torn and swollen flesh. By the time this had been done the mate could only feebly gasp, ‘Water! water!’ and the steward, with a fearful glance at the skipper for permission, put a pannikin full to his cracked lips. Then with a corner of the towel he carried he was about to wipe the sweat from the mate’s drawn face, but an execration from the skipper caused him to scuttle back into his place like a frightened rabbit.
The operation began, and really it is questionable whether the utter callousness and brutality of the operator were not more merciful to the sufferer than the tender, half-afraid manipulations of a kindhearted and unskilful man would have been. For in any case much pain had to be endured, and, as I have before noted, the human body can only feel a certain amount. When that has been borne, whatever you may have to endure does not matter in the least as far as your consciousness of it goes. It is a comforting thought when reading of the infliction of ancient tortures. So now, before the mangled arm had been straightened, the fragments of bone drawn within the swollen muscles, the mate had again lapsed into insensibility. The attendants glanced fearfully at the white, set face, and from it to the scowling visage of the skipper, but dared not utter their fears that the patient was dead. The operator worked on with a skill amazing to see in one who had never performed such an operation before, nor had ever seen such a thing done. Without again referring to his book, without a moment’s hesitation, he placed the splints, passed the bandages, saturated them with carbolic lotion, and then, having satisfied himself that, in spite of the ghastly appearance of the mate’s side, it was only an extensive superficial laceration—there were no ribs broken—he ordered the two harpooners to carry the patient to a mattress placed for his reception on the after corner of the deck behind the tiller, and leave him there. The steward was given orders to keep an eye on him, and feed him occasionally with a little soup and bread, and again the skipper retired below.
By this time the meal-hour had arrived—eight bells—and a brief respite from their labours was enjoyed by all hands. The day was fair and bright, the wind was steady at about north, and the old ship was making good progress. So Mr. Winslow sent everybody but the helmsman to breakfast, and himself came aft and sat beside his brother officer, full of pity, but oppressed by his own utter inability to do anything for him. But he had the satisfaction of noting how well the work of repairing the broken limbs had been done, and, as he was thinking how even the worst of men sometimes compel our admiration, he was intensely gratified to see Mr. Court open his eyes and look wearily round. ‘Wall, haow d’ ye feel abaout it naow, sir?’ said he earnestly. The mate stifled a groan, and at last managed to reply, ‘Winslow, I’d rather ten thousan’ times ’a’ died than ben thro’ wut I’ve suffered this laest twenty-four hours. But I don’t feel’s much pain’s I did, an’ if only I k’n git a little food ’at I k’n eat I think I sh’ll do. Ole man’s awful mad, ain’t he?’ Bending his head close down, Winslow gave the mate a hurried outline of the proceedings since the skipper’s return to command, and wound up by saying, ‘He ain’t said nawthin’ abaout it, but I believe he’s makin’ fur Cape Verdes. We’re carryin’ all sail to th’ eastward.’ ‘Thank God fur that,’ murmured the mate; ‘thar’ll be some chance ov seem’ a doctor if I need one by then. Say, Winslow, ef ye k’n git one o’ th’ fellows t’ give an eye to me now an’ then, I’ll be glad.’
For all answer Winslow patted his cheek, and in response to the breakfast bell departed below. He and the mate, while respecting each other, had not been chums in any sense of the word, but the recent happenings had drawn them very close, this feeling especially affecting Winslow. And he began to feel as if he could do anything, endure anything on the mate’s behalf while he was so helpless—yes, even dare the risk of being shot by the skipper, if he should go too far in his calculated brutality.
CHAPTER XIII
THE CAPTAIN GOES ASHORE
Favoured by exquisite weather, and trade-winds hanging well to the northward, the Grampus ploughed steadily along towards her objective, no one but the skipper knowing that it was Brava. After the first three days of almost frantic labour the skipper’s experienced eye noted how stale the men had become; want of rest and poor food had reduced them so that threats and blows no longer goaded them; they were fast approaching that stage when nothing matters, and suffering least of all, because it had become a normal condition. So Captain Da Silva, being anything but a fool, ‘let up’ on them as he termed it, not because he considered their punishment at all adequate to the crime they had committed of being beaten in spite of having done their best, but because he needed their services in the future. He restored their regular watches, and although the amount of quite unnecessary work still carried on would have caused a mutiny in any British merchant ship, this crew chuckled to think what a good time they were now having. And, besides, their lives were not so devoid of interest, for there could be no doubt that they were bound to some anchorage—it did not matter much where—they would see the land again and perhaps taste vegetables.
And the sorely wounded mate, despite the roughness of his treatment, the almost utter absence of nursing, steadily improved. His iron constitution, a certain ox-like patience, and the absence of drugs combined with perfectly pure air—all these helped to make his recovery marvellously rapid. But he almost had a relapse ten days after the accident. He had so far progressed as to be able to sit up upon an improvised little platform by the taffrail, and was watching the sea, when his dull eye suddenly brightened, his form stiffened, and lifting up his voice he raised the cry of ‘Blow!’ The skipper since the surgical operation had held no conversation with the injured man, except one or two of the briefest remarks passed each day, just what were absolutely necessary. But now he spun round on his heel, his black eyes flaming, and shouted, ‘Whar away, Mr. Court? Aloft there! wut ye doin’? Kain’t ye see ’t all?’ Springing up on the little hurricane deck peculiar to all whaleships, he at once caught sight of the whale, a big lone fellow, proceeding in leisurely fashion due south. Without apparently considering for one moment the fact that he had only two boats to use, he issued his orders, sharp and sudden like rifle-shots. Sail was shortened to the topsails, the vessel put upon the other tack; then, springing upon the starboard quarter, where the best boat hung, he shouted, ‘’Way boats!’ sweeping contemptuously away the third mate, who of course was standing by to take his place in his regular craft. A whirring of the sheaves followed, and down went the boat, striking the water fairly and being released at once with a smartness delightful to see. Then, grasping the dangling falls with one hand, the skipper turned to the mate, who lay fretting himself into a fever at his inability to move, saying as coolly as if just setting off for a pleasure trip, ‘Guess yew k’n con th’ ship whar y’ air, Mr. Court, kain’t ye?’ ‘Sure, sir,’ murmured the mate, the prospect of being able to do something seeming delightful to him. No answer, but for a moment the skipper’s body was outlined against the sky as he launched himself downwards, struck the boat, seized the steer oar, and issued his orders. Away flew both boats as if the lives of their crews depended upon their utmost speed.
Now, I do not wish to weary my readers with repeated accounts of whale-fights, and therefore I must omit all the circumstantial details of this one. But I do need to say that Captain Da Silva had apparently found exceeding compensation for his late tribulations in this opportune encounter, and he behaved as one possessed of a demon of destruction, to whom no mishap could possibly come. Yet he was by no means reckless. Every precaution that could be taken against disaster he took, but, on the other hand, he neglected no opportunity of rushing in whenever and wherever the slightest opening presented itself. Scorning bomb-lances, he used only the long primitive spear, and with fiendish howls he ordered the second mate to keep aloof in readiness to aid in case of accident. The whale, evidently an old hand at the game, tried every ruse known to whales, but in vain, for, rolling over towards the oncoming boat, and sinking his body in the middle in order to get a grip of the boat with his gaping jaws, he felt suddenly the diamond-shaped head of a lance gliding through the thick muscles of his throat downward to his mighty heart. Six feet from that searching point the captain leaned his shoulder upon the lance-butt, lending all his great strength to the thrust. The boat passed to the other side of the body. ‘Pull ahead all!’ yelled the skipper, and out drew the steel, distorted to the likeness of a conventional lightning flash. ‘Pull all!’ again yelled the skipper, and in response the boat shot away from the vast writhing body, so fatally pierced that in three minutes, with a few gigantic convulsions, it lay still, dead.