That afternoon the first vessel was sighted since leaving port. The captain was out with his glasses, and I heard him say, “It’s a whaler, and I know the managing owner’s streamer at the mainmast. The vessel’s the Rhoda, for she’s due about now and has made a splendid voyage according to the last report.” I asked one of the old hands how you could tell a whaler in the distance, irrespective of the owner’s flag, and he said, “Always by the boats. Can’t you see with your naked eye the three boats hangin’ at the davits on the port side?” This held good the world over. A whaler was always known by her boats.
While the whaler was a small vessel, she carried three or four times as many men as a merchantman of the same size, because a large number of men was necessary when whales were pursued and captured. Besides the captain there were generally three or four mates or officers, four boat-steerers or harpooners, a cooper, carpenter, blacksmith, steward, cook, cabin boy, four shipkeepers or spare men, and sixteen to twenty seamen. Sometimes the same person was carpenter and cooper and often there was no blacksmith, the work of sharpening irons and so forth being done by others. On many whalers there was no cabin boy. On the Seabird there was neither blacksmith nor cabin boy, and a man named Jonas was both carpenter and cooper.
Of the four boat-steerers, I shall mention only the one on our boat. He was a Portuguese from St. Michaels, and his name was Manuel—a broad-shouldered, stalwart fellow, with a long, powerful arm. And he was also a fine fellow—kind-hearted and good-natured. We had several other Portuguese in the crew, natives of the Azores, one or two blacks from the Cape Verdes and also one Kanaka from the Hawaiian Islands.
One member of the crew deserves especial mention. His name was Israel Kreelman, a native of Vermont. He was getting along in years and had followed the sea since his sixteenth year. He had never got above the berth of seaman, for while he did his work faithfully and well, he was not qualified for any higher position. Kreelman seemed to me, at first, rather austere, but in time I found him generally kind and companionable, and he took a real interest in me. I have spoken of the hard-looking American seaman who talked to me savagely and jostled me the first day out. His name was Jake, and in a few days everybody was afraid of him. He talked little, and when he did he was profane and abusive. I think it was just a week to a day from the day of sailing, when an event occurred which nearly ended in a tragedy.
Jake was ugly as usual and had some words with the fourth mate. He was cautioned in an emphatic tone. He did not seem inclined to retort, but directed his abuse against the food served to the men, which he called slush.
Jake partly lost his balance, and the captain seized him.
“There’s the coffee,” he said, “the captain and officers get the best of it in the cabin. Then they add water to what’s left, and this is what the boat-steerers and others get in the steerage. Then they add more water to what’s left and that’s what we get in the forecastle. It’s nothin’ but the captain’s slops.”
There was some truth in Jake’s remarks, but the language used might have been more moderate. The captain was standing near by, and his face flushed rapidly.
“Look here, Jake,” he exclaimed, “let me hear no more language of that kind. If I do, I’ll put you in irons.”