The Little Savage

by Frederick Marryat

The morning dawned upon a boundless expanse of sea. The first object that presented itself to my sight was an enormous whale spouting water, about a quarter of a mile distant from me; then I observed another, then a third, and subsequently, several more: they presented a singular and picturesque appearance, as one or other of these vast animals was continually throwing up a column of water that caught the rays of the sun, and looked very beautiful in the distance.

I looked in vain for land; I looked equally in vain for a ship; there was nothing visible but this shoal of whales, and Mrs Reichardt endeavoured to cheer me by describing the importance of the whale-fishery to England, and the perils which the men meet with who pursue the fish for the purpose of wounding them with an iron instrument called a harpoon.

I felt much interest in these details; and my companion went into the whole history of a whaling expedition, describing the first discovery of the huge fish from the ship; the pursuit in the boats, and the harpooning of the whale; its struggles after having been wounded; its being towed to the ship’s side; the subsequent manufacture of oil from the blubber of the animal, and the preparation of whalebone.

In attending to this discourse, I completely, forgot that I was being tossed about in the open sea, I knew not where; and where I might be in a short time it would be proved I was equally ignorant: perhaps I should be a corpse floating on the surface of the ocean, waiting for a tomb till a shark came that way; perhaps I should be suffering the torments of hunger and thirst; perhaps cast lifeless upon a rock, where my bleached bones would remain the only monument which would then declare that there once existed in these latitudes, such a being as the Little Savage.

Where now could be the island I, though long so anxious to quit, now was a thousand times more desirous of beholding? I felt that nothing could be more agreeable to me than a glimpse of that wild rocky coast that had so often appeared to me the walls of an intolerable prison.

I strained my eyes in vain in every direction; the line of the horizon stretched out uninterrupted by a single break of any kind all around. Where could we be? I often asked myself; but except that we were on the wide ocean, neither myself nor my companion had the slightest idea of our geographical position. We must have been blown a considerable distance during the storm: much further than the current had taken us from the island.

I calculated that we must have passed it by many a mile, if we had continued the same course; but the wind had shifted several times, and it might be that we were not so very long a sail from it, could we gain the slightest knowledge of the direction in which it was to be found. But this was hopeless. I felt assured that we must abandon all idea of seeing it again.

In the midst of these painful reflections, my companion directed my attention to an object at a very considerable distance, and intimated her impression that it was a ship. Luckily, I had brought my glass with me, and soon was anxiously directing it to the required point. It was a ship: but at so great a distance that it was impossible, as Mrs Reichardt said, for any person on board to distinguish our boat. I would have sailed in that direction, but the wind was contrary: I had, therefore, no alternative but to wait till the ship should approach near enough to make us out; and I passed several hours of the deepest anxiety in watching the course of the distant vessel.

She increased in size, so that I could observe that she was a large ship by the unassisted eye; but as we were running before the wind in a totally different direction, there seemed very little chance of our communicating, unless she altered her course.

Mrs Reichardt mentioned that signals were made by vessels at a distance to attract each other’s attention, and described the various ways in which they communicated the wishes of their respective captains. The only signal I had been in the habit of making was burning quantities of wood on the shore and pouring water on it to make it smoke—this was impossible in our boat.