“Well, it seems to me that when whale is sighted and there’s a pod of them, that after the mastheader gets his prize of five dollars for the first whale captured, the boat-steerers of the other boats, who strike whales that are captured, ought to get a flannel shirt each.”
“Yes,” said the captain scornfully, “and then the boat-steerer who struck the first whale captured wouldn’t get anything at all.”
This observation pretty effectually disposed of the boat-steerer’s argument. But the men did not allow the discussion to die. A few days after, when the oil from the two whales had been stowed down, some of the crew took the matter up in the second dogwatch, and showed real intelligence in the presentation of their views. The boat-steerer’s contention met with no favor. The general view was that the capture of every whale in reality justified the bestowal of five dollars or a flannel shirt upon the mastheader and that, even if four or five whales were taken from one pod, he was entitled to all the prizes. This was, of course, liberal interpretation. The incident seems to us now unimportant, but I recall how, as a boy, I listened to the debate, how deeply interested the men were in the discussion, and how it ended with the remark of one of them, that it didn’t make any difference what they thought on the matter, as the captain was likely to save all the money and shirts that he could.
CHAPTER VI
TRYING-OUT AND ROUNDING THE HORN.
And now came the trying-out. The try-works were placed between the foremast and mainmast. The timbers underneath were of great strength and capable of sustaining a mass of brick and mortar. They were some ten feet square and five in height and were secured to the deck by heavy knees of iron. The try-works were covered by a hatchway, on removing which two great try-pots appeared. When not in use they were kept clean by an application of soapstone and sand. The furnaces under the try-pots were furnished with heavy iron doors. Under the enclosed surface was a reservoir which was supplied with water as evaporation went on.
The first fire in the try-works was started with wood, but, after the oil was tried out, the pieces, called scraps or fritters, served as substitutes. Thus the whale supplied his own fuel. The horse pieces had to be minced, and the clank, clank of the mincing machine was constantly heard. At night the sight was a novel one. As the blubber was thrown into the heated pots, the flames leaped out of the doors, the smoke rolled away in great volumes, the oil pitched with the pitching of the vessel and the smutched faces of the watch made the scene all the more gloomy. Was there ever a whaler that didn’t have plenty of cockroaches? If so, ours was not one. As the heat increased, out came the little fellows and ran about in search of new abodes.
The work at night was carried on under the glare of blazing cressets, called bug lights, hung from the davit heads. These cressets were supplied with the scraps taken out of the boiling oil. The light they gave could be seen for a long distance, and, though we had not seen a sail that day, the light that night brought a vessel to us. She came very near and wanted to know if we were on fire and needed help. She was a merchant vessel bound for New York, and, as she went on her way, the pleasant incident made us feel grateful and put new vigor into our work. The deck was so slippery from oil and blood that at times it was difficult to keep on one’s feet. The boiling watch lasted six hours and, when it ended, the released men presented a sorry sight with their dirty, cold and clammy clothes and their faces showing such intense fatigue. As they went to their rest, choking with smoke and carrying a sooty deposit in their nostrils, they were happy in the thought that there was no longer occasion for harsh language among the men and still harsher commands of the mates. And yet I should modify this statement, for the work was not one of continuous hardship, for at times we made a show of merriment by nibbling bits of fried blubber and frying doughnuts in the grease. Later in the voyage we dipped biscuit in salt water, heaved them into a strainer and boiled them in the oil; also with the help of the steward, we made fritters of the brains of the whale, mixed with flour, and cooked them.
The hot oil was strained into a large copper cooler, where it settled, and was then poured into casks—not always an easy task while the vessel pitched and rolled. The barrels were coopered, the hatches removed, and the barrels lowered into the hold. The casks were of various sizes, some of them containing three hundred gallons or more. When the oil was all stowed down, came the clearing up. Crude sperm oil, which was of a golden tint, and lye made from the burned scraps were excellent for cleaning. Soon deck and rigging were as orderly and presentable as if the whaler were a regular merchantman. The two whales yielded sixty and thirty barrels and the work of trying-out went on without a rest for three days and nights.
We were now getting south, and we were told by the old hands that it was probable that we should see few whales before rounding Cape Horn. No one yet had made any demand on the slop chest and, as the clothes of some of the men were getting a little worn, the crew began to make use of needle and thread. It used to be said that a whaleman could be told by his patches, and we had proof of it in the work of some of the men. My clothes were in good condition and, while my mother had taught me to sew and to patch a little, I was glad that I was not one of the first ones to attempt repairing. I watched the others, and I found it hard to repress a smile as the good-natured blunderers plied needle and thread. One man patched a dirty, dark garment with a piece of white cloth. Another attempted to sew on a button by carrying the thread over the side or edge. A third put an old jacket inside of another, sewed them together and patched the openings. He said that he did this in order to have something warm to wear when going round the Horn.
I have said that the men were kept busy on a whaler. Yet life was not all labor and peril. There were times when the sailors were allowed to engage in “scrimshawing”, that is, carving and decorating sperm whale’s teeth and bones. Jawbones of the whale were towed astern so that they might bleach to a dazzling whiteness. The lower jaw was lashed down to ring bolts, the gums were lanced with a cutting spade, and the teeth were drawn out by a tackle rigged from above. They were then pickled in barrels of strong brine. Another way was to leave the lower jaw on deck until the gums rotted and released the teeth. A few whalemen had delicate tools with which they carved out sketches of whales and whaling scenes on sperm whale’s teeth, but most of the work was done with crude tools and sometimes with a jack knife alone. In using pieces of the jawbone, the whalemen seemed to favor “jagging wheels”, so popular for crimping purposes. They were probably thinking of the pies they had enjoyed in their distant homes. The best collection, probably, in the world, of these curious and now valuable articles, will be found in the rooms of the Old Dartmouth Historical Society of New Bedford.