A Whaleman's Wife

by Frank Thomas Bullen

On deck a stealthy figure had crept forward to where Rube lay, with a mat to put under his head and a little water to moisten his parched lips. It was the poor darky steward, who had been shut out of the cabin while the drinking was going on, and who thus, for pity’s sake, risked undergoing the same treatment. Not that it would have been much novelty, for there was scarcely an inch of the poor wretch’s body which had not its scar. And at last men get used to such treatment (some men, that is) and take it as a matter of course. It is pleasant to record that this poor samaritan was enabled to carry out his beneficent little ministration unseen, save by Mr. Court, who still kept his watch, although in a dogged sullen way that was intensely painful to see, but which, strange to say, did not seem to detract from his efficiency. But, as he said to himself very often in the solitudes wherein his soul roamed during the night watches, was there ever an officer so treated? He did not know, from his favourable position heretofore in American ships, that many hundred British mercantile officers have had to endure treatment even worse than his, because they have been, as well as kept at arm’s length by the skipper and made to feel that they were of less account than anybody on board, openly and constantly reviled before all the crew, and then expected to maintain discipline. Happily, with the morning came, instead of the shameful exhibition purposed by the skipper, a diversion welcomed by all hands, except Rube, who, but for his stertorous breathing, appeared to be dead. It was the raising of a ‘pod’ of cow whales at daylight, with a brisk breeze and everything in favour of a splendid day’s hunting. Rube was dragged aft out of the way. Pedro, whose wrist was so badly strained that he could not lift a harpoon with it, grumblingly took up his station aloft for signalling purposes, and in ten minutes from the time of sighting the whales five boats were away, the skipper leading as usual. This, however, was to be an exception to the usual celerity of capture shown by the Grampus’s crew. In the first place, the whales were going so fast that it seemed for a long while as if the chase must be fruitless; and then, when at last the boats did rush in among them, their movements were so marvellously agile that the danger was very great. The skipper as usual seemed ubiquitous, compelling the admiration of all by the way he manipulated his boat. He had already killed his whale when he saw that Mr. Court was exceedingly hampered by the movements of a loose cow, which behaved as if she understood exactly how best to frustrate all the deadly intentions of the enemy of her companion. Without a moment’s hesitation the skipper cut loose from his whale, shouted to his men, and tore off to help the mate, leaping like a flying fish from one boat to the other as they flew swiftly in opposite directions. Snatching the lance from the hand of the amazed officer, he had just dealt a tremendous blow at the fast whale with it, when, as the boat lay off, the loose whale rose spectrally between, on her back, with her jaws agape. Swiftly turning, those great jaws closed, catching the skipper’s arm, with which he was poising his newly straightened lance again, and dragging him headlong out of the boat. Paralysed with horror, the mate stood for a moment, then stooped and caught the skipper as he came bounding to the surface almost at the spot where he went overboard. But in doing so Mr. Court overbalanced himself, and he and the skipper, interlocked in each other’s arms, went down again. The harpooner, a wonderfully smart black Portuguese, immediately cut the line, allowing the whale to run, and after a minute or two’s manœuvring, succeeded in bringing the mate and skipper to the surface and into the boat, the latter almost dead.

THE LOOSE WHALE ROSE SPECTRALLY BETWEEN, ON HER BACK, WITH HER JAWS AGAPE.

P. 295.

The best haste possible was made to the ship, and the skipper was carefully lifted on board, laid on the deck aft, and his clothes cut off as the only way of uncovering his wounded arm and side. All the time the examination took place he was unconscious, so the mate was able to dress the extensive lacerations, set two broken ribs and the mangled arm, and make him fairly comfortable before he came to. Then with very great care he was lowered through the cabin skylight and laid upon the settee in his berth. Here he was left to the care of his wife, while the mate returned to his arduous duties on deck. It is pleasant to record that his first care was to see some adequate attention given to the case of Rube, who was moaning and tossing ceaselessly in the throes of brain fever.

CHAPTER XXIII

FAREWELL TO THE XIPHIAS

We left the Xiphias in evil case as far as appearance went, but with her brave crew still undaunted by the long series of misfortunes which had now, as they thought, almost reached the culminating point in the loss of their vessel and all of their lives. Perhaps a bitter pang did stab some of their hearts as they realised that if the hurricane now raging should succeed in its efforts to destroy them all, their fate would never be known. That adds a new terror to death, for man loves to think that his going hence is no mystery, and that its incidents will be remembered to his credit by someone, if only for a little time. But gradually hope grew stronger (they had never quite lost it) that they might be saved, for the weather was, as always in the following segment of a cyclone, growing perceptibly better, although the force of the wind showed as yet no sign of lessening. Unfortunately, herein lay their present danger; for the Xiphias was leaking so badly, she had evidently been strained to such an extent, that the sea, now rising and tossing her about like a ball, bade fair to complete her destruction after all. Therefore, encouraged by the skipper and Mr. Peck, who had now of course assumed the position of chief officer, they all toiled unremittingly at the pumps, even though the face of the carpenter as he sounded the well every hour never lightened.

The struggle for life had been so fierce that when at last the awful meteor had passed quite away, the sea had resumed its placid calm, and all nature seemed through that tremendous convulsion to have renewed its vigorous youth, the poor tired old ship was hardly able to rise to the long, long swell that still came rolling majestically towards her, extending from one horizon to the other. She just slowly wallowed like a top that is ‘going to sleep’ and will presently lie dead. So alarming was the outlook that Captain Hampden and a few of the more weary of the men commenced to provision the boats in readiness to leave the ship in case she foundered. One thing puzzled the fine old skipper, though, and that was how, with nearly twelve feet of water in her, the Xiphias floated at all. And then suddenly, calling himself a fool, he remembered all that oil below tightly bunged in stout casks, which in their turn were well stowed and secured from floating adrift by ‘toms’ from the beams above them. Due to his own forethought, and yet he had forgotten—could not realise why his ship had not, long ere this, ‘turned turtle’ and sunk.

Having realised it, he called all hands aft and explained the circumstances to them; told them that they were only about three hundred miles south of Mahé, in the Seychelles, which was the nearest port where they could hope to find their needs supplied and whence they could send news home that would arrive there within reasonable time. Finally, he concluded his speech by saying: ‘Men, God hasn’t forgotten us. We shall live, I feel sure. And I don’t believe He’s forgotten our poor shipmates either. I feel almost certain that they are still alive, and that in His own good time we shall see them again. Carpenter, sound that well again.’ The order was obeyed amidst breathless attention, and the cheer that went up when Chips announced, ‘Eleven-three, sir, just what it was an hour ago,’ could not have been improved upon by the healthiest and most vigorous crew. Now every man went on with his work soberly and in good heart, as if persuaded of his perfect security, and the ship crawled daily nearer port, while, although regular pumping continued, there was none of the energy of despair in the work because it certainly was not needed. But at the mastheads every eye while daylight lasted roamed around the great blank circle unceasingly as untiringly, hoping against hope to see, not whales, but some sign of the lost ones. In the foc’s’le the fellows could talk of nothing else but Rube; and MacManus, who had been one of those left on board, refused to be comforted. In fact, with the emphasis of his warm-hearted, illogical race, he went so far as to say that if Rube was lost he wouldn’t survive him, and that if even his own father confessor dared to suggest to him that Rube was a heretic instead of a blessed saint and martyr he would peril all his chances of eternal salvation by committing a fierce, premeditated assault upon the unworthy man.