CHAPTER XXI
A STRANGE RESCUE
Reluctantly, but of necessity, we return to the Grampus getting under weigh from her snug anchorage among the Cosmoledo reefs, and as smart as cleanliness and a complete equipment can make her, emerging once more upon her proper domain, the sea. Her ruler sat in awful state upon the top of the little house aft, Priscilla by his side in a deck chair made for her by the carpenter. She gazed with listless eyes upon the wonderful panorama spread out before her, not daring to appear interested lest her terrible husband should see in that some excuse for ordering her below again. Full well she knew that it was only because he feared that she would have another serious attack of illness that he allowed her this sweet privilege of breathing the fresh air of heaven; a privilege she had enjoyed all her stay ashore, and the deprivation of which while on board had certainly led up to her illness. But in pursuance of her resolve to endure unto the uttermost, she would have died rather than ask any consideration at his hands, while taking with calm thankfulness such crumbs as he chose to fling her contemptuously.
The late invalids, still pale from their recent close struggle with death, were doing their best to ‘keep their ends up’ with the Portuguese portion of the crew, who—trained fine, hard as nails, and with that elevating sense of superiority which counts for so much in human conflict—were, while working harmoniously side by side with the white men, continually letting the latter see in what estimation they were held. And no sooner was the ship clear of the reefs, and watches set, than the white men were confronted with another degradation. All sailors know that there are certain berths in the worst of forecastles which are considered better than any others for who can explain what sea-reasons. These berths are usually occupied by the best men in the ship obviously, and especially on a whaling voyage. Now, when the watch that was released went below, its members, who were of the now despised race, were confronted with a state of things which had never before occurred to them. They were ordered to shift and give up their bunks to better men. For a few moments it looked as if there would be a great fight. All the fighting blood of the Anglo-Saxon surged up, but the odds were far too heavy: no anger could blind men to that, nor any courage persuade them to hurl themselves headlong upon the knives and pistols borne by the black Dagoes and ostentatiously displayed by them. Therefore the white men accepted the inevitable and shifted, amid the chuckling jeers of their triumphant watchmates, and another step in Captain Da Silva’s carefully calculated revenge had been attained.
It may perhaps be thought from the way in which I have insisted upon this sad tyranny of black over white that I have a serious bias against the black man. That is not true. I love him generally as a man, and because I do I am not blind to his limitations, and I say emphatically that he is not so constituted that it is safe to trust him with the rule over white men. He may retaliate with the opposite proposition, which I do not care to defend for one moment. By all means let Black rule Black, but do not ever let Black rule White, or you will see Hayti reproduced wherever the shameful law is put in operation, and what it means let my friend Hesketh Pritchard tell you. Moreover, these rulers of the Grampus were not negroes. I should no more wish to be ruled by negroes than by a laughing bevy of children out of the nursery, ready at any moment to become cruel apes tearing in pieces their toys. But I might be able to keep my masters amused, should such be my sad fate, and so escape disintegration. If, however, my negro masters had been bred in and in with Portuguese or Spaniards, I ought to seek death at once. When to the cold cruelty of the Latin is added the irresponsibility of the negro, the blend should never be allowed to exercise its power over men of Teutonic breed. Wherever it has done so, the records of such rule are not for general reading lest readers go mad with horror.
Aft the conditions were altered also. In every whaleship there is a space (on the port side generally) abaft the main hatch, and of course below deck, where the harpooners and petty officers are berthed. The first, second, and third mates have their berths allotted to them in the main cabin, offshoots from it of a grim and fearful stuffiness, but possessing a peculiar desirability because of their contiguity to the dwelling-place of the lord of all. Now Captain Da Silva calmly intimated to his officers that he contemplated considerable changes in the housing accommodation aft. He told them that he had ordered the carpenter to knock up three extra berths in the ‘half-deck,’ as the harpooners’ berth is called, and as soon as that was done, why, they (the officers) would have to clear out, as he needed all the space aft for his own accommodation. The insult was gross, palpable. Indeed, it was hardly veiled, especially remembering the expression of face and the tone of voice accompanying it. But Mr. Court and his brother officer did not forget what they owed to themselves. They were under no misapprehension as to why this line of conduct was being pursued by the skipper, and although both of them felt that the time might arrive when further endurance would be impossible, even at the cost of death for rebellion, that time was not yet. So apparently not noticing the triumphant glitter in the skipper’s eyes, or the exultant ring in his voice, they acquiesced, serenely to all outward seeming, but with hearts on fire, and by so doing riveted another link in the heavy chains they were wearing. When does it become a sacred duty to rebel? Who shall say? But one thing seems clear: that there does come a time when, for the sake of others, it is imperative that one man (or it may be woman) stand up and face the tyrant. He may, probably will, die, but how can man die better? And no such death is in vain. However, this high strain may seem unsuited to the present sordid recital—only a little ship’s company being tyrannised over by one devil, and enduring doggedly all that he chooses to load them with.
Once clear of the islands the ship’s course was made N.E., and under easy sail the Grampus bore away across the smiling Indian Ocean. All went well. Apparently it could not do otherwise where Captain Da Silva was. He never seemed to make a mistake. And when he suddenly came on deck one beautiful afternoon and interrupted the busy tide of work that never slacked off night or day by calling all hands to make all possible sail, and altered the ship’s course to due east, no one wondered. They obeyed briskly enough to a casual observer, but in the heart of every white man what weariness of life! For two whole days the Grampus fled to the east as fast as her braced-up condition would allow, the look-outs never once relaxing their careful watch around. No one discussed the movement—the time for that had gone. Every white man in the foc’s’le knew that should he speak one word capable of being construed into something the skipper might be interested in, it would, before many minutes had elapsed, be repeated with such fantastic additions as the carrier of it was capable of making, into the Captain’s greedy ear, with results the most unpleasant to the original utterer of the remark.
As suddenly as the course had been altered and all sails set so was another change made. Everything was furled but the fore and main lower topsails, the ship was brought to the wind on the starboard tack, and lay lazily wallowing in the gentle swell coming up from the south-east. And then, to the surprise of no one on board (for by this time all hands, including his own particular friends, if friends they could be called, believed him to be in league with the devil), there appeared as if from the bosom of the deep an enormous multitude of small whales. Like sperm-whales arrested in their growth, and only about twice the size of ‘black-fish.’ That is to say, each of them would not be more than three to five tons in weight. It was early morning when they were sighted, and immediately the whole ship was the scene of most violent activity. All sorts of alterations were made, notably the passing out of the boats of the big line-tubs, and only leaving the small hundred-fathom ones behind. Extra harpoons, too, were placed in each boat, and before they left the ship all hands were called aft and thus harangued by the skipper: ‘Looky here,’ said he, ‘these ain’t sperm-whales, an’ I doan’ want no foolin’ with ’em. Get fast t’ one or two, an’ then as th’ others come roun’ lance ’em, an’ leave ’em. T’ the fust man ’at kills over ten, I’ll give fifty dollars in gold. Naow mind, I’m tellin’ ye. Don’t waste line ’n’ irons on these fish: ef y’ du thar’ll be big trouble with me ’fore the day’s over.’ There was no response but a sort of guttural murmur, succeeded by the quick splashes as the boats took the water and sped away under the utmost pressure of the oars to where the sea was all a foam by reason of the gambollings of that great and joyous company of ‘kogia.’
Just as the skipper had forecasted, no sooner had a boat got fast to one of these quaint, short-headed creatures than she became the centre of a curious crowd of his unfortunate fellows, apparently bent upon sharing his fate, and for that purpose thrusting one another aside in their efforts to get as near as possible to the boat. Every man was armed with a lance, and directed to use it with all his might upon the whale nearest him. What an awful scene of slaying ensued, to be sure! The sea became literally encumbered with dead. The men who had felt that life was not worth living took new hold upon life in their fierce desire of killing, and forgot for the time all their woes. It seemed as if this great slaughter must be prolonged indefinitely, but suddenly, like a trumpet blast, the voice of the skipper rang out: ‘’Vast killin’! All but th’ mate and second mate’s boats, pull for th’ ship’s quick ’s th’ devil ’ll let ye. Hurry, naow.’ And they did hurry. The ship, having been kept close at hand, required no great amount of manipulation to bring her into the midst of the stricken field, and presently the amazing sight was to be seen of the great carcasses one after another, as she (the ship) came alongside them, rising into the air, a chain sling having been whipped round their tails and a tackle hooked to it by means of which the whole body was hoisted on deck. By five in the afternoon thirty of those huge masses encumbered the deck of the Grampus, and she presented an even more gruesome sight than she did when her decks were full of the spoils of the last great catch of sperm-whales.
Now the skipper was in his element. No anxiety about the overside business, everything on deck and snug, although the ship did tumble about most dangerously from the great top weight. All hands were armed with spades, and driven like slaves to use them. But N.B.: no two white men were allowed to work together, lest they might, in desperation, consider the time opportune for making a dash for freedom. No; Captain Da Silva saw to that. He had such a head for detail! All that night and all the next day, without a minute for rest, except just sufficient to swallow the indispensable food, the fuel to keep these human engines performing their allotted motions, the men laboured in silence for the most part, save when the stern commands of the skipper broke the stillness. Doggedly, desperately all hands toiled on, every plunge of a great carcass denuded of spoil over the starboard covering-board punctuating, as it were, the progress being made. And if the decks had been foul before when the last great catch of sperm-whales was made, it was trebly so now. Then, there was little besides the all-prevailing grease, except an occasional block of flesh still left adhering to the blubber: now, all the nameless foulnesses inseparable from cutting up such huge bodies in tropical heat on deck were present in full volume, and—— But this is not a subject to be pursued.