The bunk of my messmate, the wooden chest nigh it,
The old monkey jacket, the often-patched jacket,
The greasy old jacket which hung up beside it.
There are few logbooks which give accounts of mutinies for the reason that, when the mutineers got possession of a vessel, the logbook went overboard. An exception is that of the Barclay, which sailed from New Bedford in 1843. The logbook records that trouble began soon after sailing; that a fight for the third time occurred at supper between one of the crew and the green hands; that the fighter was put in the rigging and given a few stripes; that he acknowledged the blame and was released; that he went forward, making threats; that the blacksmith was very saucy, he being the worse for rum; that for days the weather was so severe and the sea so rough that no entries were made and no observations taken; that after rounding the Horn the weather was much better; that on Monday, April 29, 1845, at eight o’clock, the captain sent the steward forward to call the men, or one of the men, aft, to see their meat weighed; that they wouldn’t come; that the captain called them three times and then took a broom to one of the blacks; that they refused, one of them saying that one of their complaints was that a pound and a quarter of meat was not enough; that they now went forward; that the black was insolent and was told to go aft again, that he replied that he would not and went to the forecastle, that in getting him up one of the men interfered and struck the captain; that the captain dropped his weapon and took hold of him; that the man seized the weapon and attempted to strike the captain; that he was told to go aft but refused, and went down into the forecastle, and, taking a sheath knife, said he would kill the first man who came down there, but that at last he delivered himself up to be put in irons. “Thus ends in Peace.” The mutiny collapsed, otherwise the logbook would have been delivered to the sea.
During the voyage I had made many entries in the logbook under the direction of Lakeum, and now I was to be intrusted with further authority. Lakeum observed:
“Bleechly, I’m going to let you keep the log now. You’d better first tell me what entries you are going to make, and after you’ve made them I’ll look them over in a general way to see that they are all right. I don’t know as you are given to poetry and such things. If you are I wouldn’t put any of your rhymes on the logbook. There is too much scribbling on some of them.”
Lakeum laughed heartily, the first sign of merriment on his part I had for a long time seen. However, I had a little artistic taste, and I proposed to indulge it. In a few days I had my first entry to make other than the usual formal matters, and here it is:
Remarks on Board of the Seabird, Captain Gamans. In the Arctic Ocean.
Thursday, July 7, 1860.
First part light breezes from S. W. Middle part much the same. At 2 p.m. saw whales and put off. Boats among whales. One whale being towed to ship.