The imprints tell the story,—one whale making sixty barrels, and underneath the words, No. 12; another whale without any accompanying figures and the imprints of several flukes, above one of which was the word “missed”, and under another the words, “Drew the Iron.” Thus one whale was captured, the iron missed a second and drew out of a third. Such a method of description reminds one of the picture-writing of savages.
Of course there was surmise as to who would sight the largest bowhead which was captured. I think there was a general feeling that the gold watch ought to go to the Gay Head Indian. He had, so far, sighted more whales than any man on the ship. It was generally thought that the other prize would go to me, although it was possible that a sperm whale larger than the one I had announced might be captured. One of the men reasoned, “Fancy Chest didn’t really sight the whale; the whale sighted him. He happened to come up near the ship, and such luck might have happened to anyone. Now the Gay Header has got the best eyes of any man on board. Those Gay Head Indians have made the best mastheaders on the New Bedford whalers for years. But just as likely as not luck will be against the man, and some greenie will get the prize.”
I answered, “You forget that there are two more seasons yet—one sperm whaling and another again north. As for myself, I wouldn’t object to the watch, but I’m not catching unhatched chickens. I don’t know as I would like anything better than for Ohoo to get the watch.”
Our life in the Arctic was not so bad. Not compelled to cruise far north, as vessels were in later years, we encountered little ice and the weather was generally fair. We were successful, and the hardships we had to endure were not so severe as we had anticipated. One day from the lips of the Gay Header came the happy call. The boats were lowered and in a few hours the largest bowhead yet was fast to the Seabird. The Gay Header was well liked, and his supposed good fortune gave great satisfaction. During the cutting-in and trying-out there was much conjecture as to the monster’s yield, and it was remarkable how accurate were the estimates of the men who for years had followed the sea.
Here is the entry which I made in the log book:
Remarks on Board the Seabird. In the Arctic Ocean.
Tuesday, August 17, 1860.
These twenty-four hours commenced with a light air. Cloudy from the southward and westward. At 3 p.m. Gay Header sighted whale and boats lowered, and at 7 fast to whale, 3 miles from ship. Took whale alongside at 11. All hands sent below. At 7 called all hands and commenced cutting-in.
And what were the imprints in the white spot in the black whale on the margin?
“L. B. B. 163 barrels No. 16.”
Four days later one of the men sighted another whale and when he was alongside it was noted that he was of great size. Would he prove larger than the Gay Header’s whale? That was the question. Comment and guessing went on for several days while the toilful labor was pursued. Towards the last of the trying-out and stowing down the excitement rose to a high pitch, and the announcements were eagerly received. As we were nearing the end 161 barrels was called out, then fifteen gallons more. The amount was increased ten gallons, then the last of it made six gallons more. A shout went up, “A half a gallon short of 162, but call it 162”, and the Gay Header was one barrel ahead. We had now, besides the sperm oil, ten hundred and fifty barrels of whale oil in the hold and twelve thousand pounds of whalebone, not to mention the ambergris.
I had written at school very modest verses, lauded by my schoolmates as very fine poetry, and I now composed a crude stanza which I wanted to put in the logbook. With some hesitation and diffidence, I went to Lakeum and stated my request.