“Not on this voyage,” replied the visitor. “I learned the trick on the last voyage. Every bowhead we kill we cut-in, try-out and stow down, never lose one. If whalemen had learned the trick years ago, there wouldn’t be so many bowheads at the bottom of the ocean.”
The visiting captain evidently had information to convey, but didn’t want to give it voluntarily. It seemed to me that he wanted Captain Gamans to ask for it. There was a pause. Then our captain said:
“I suppose sinking is due to the condition of the whale. I don’t suppose lancing has anything to do with it.”
“Lancing has everything to do with it. That’s where the trick comes in. You lance a bowhead or a right whale over the shoulder blade, directing the lance downward, and it will kill him in the shortest time, but he’ll be pretty sure to sink, because there’ll be a rushing escape of air, shown in large bubbles rising through the water. Lance him straight or a little upwards and it’ll take more time to kill him and be more dangerous, but you’ll save your property.”
The visitor assumed a triumphant air. I never saw Captain Gamans play his part better. He expressed his thanks for the information and then said, in an off-hand way:
“I suppose that the whale we lost was worth several thousand dollars and that’s a good deal of money for any ship that has to depend solely on whaling; but we are not worrying on the Seabird. We’ve packed something away that’s worth at least seven bowheads like the one we’ve lost.”
“And what’s that?”
“Why nothing but a seventy-thousand-dollar lump of perfectly made ambergris.”
The tables were turned. The man who had rejoiced in his triumph was now plainly annoyed. He manifested little interest in the ambergris and soon took his departure.
To me the Awashonks was a vessel of great interest. A number of ships which cruised in early days in the Pacific Ocean were never heard from, and one opinion was that they were captured by savages. This was nearly the fate of this very Awashonks. In October, 1835, she touched at Namovik Island, of the Marshall group, in the Pacific Ocean. The natives who boarded the vessel appeared to be friendly. Suddenly, however, they seized the spades used for cutting in blubber, and attacked the crew. The captain was beheaded and the man at the wheel and the second mate were killed. Before Jones, the third mate, could use a spade he had snatched from a native, he was compelled to flee down the forehatch, and the rest of the crew either took to the rigging or found refuge in the hold. The men aloft cut away the running rigging to prevent the progress of the ship; those below worked aft and, with muskets found in the cabin, opened fire, but with little effect, as the natives sought places that were not within range. Some of them gathered above the companionway, which they had closed; Jones placed an open cannister of powder underneath and fired it. The explosion tore off the roof of the cabin and scattered the natives. Jones and his men then drove them overboard.