I was in considerable pain, and the wet clothes increased my discomfort. It was pretty difficult to do much for a sick man in a whaleboat with eleven men in it, but they did for me all they could, and it is remarkable how kind and tender, at such times, rough and unskilled men can be. The long, dreary night at last ended and the sun rose beautifully, but in my condition it made no impression upon me. Not far away was a curious-looking vessel which Lakeum said was a junk, and it seemed to be bearing down on us. I heard them say that our vessel’s top-hamper could just be seen. The wind was now favorable, water was thrown on the sail, and the men took to the oars as well. With this double method of propelling the boat it made pretty good time. I was propped up in a little space at the stern, just where I was clear of the oarsmen, and where I was afforded unrestricted vision.
The junk seemed to be gaining on us. Then it suddenly occurred to me why the men were at the oars and why water was thrown on the sail. Strange to say this apprehended peril didn’t disturb me. The interest inspired largely relieved me of suffering. The stranger kept gaining on us and soon I could see men on her deck. Now I turned a little, although the effort was somewhat painful, and noticed that the Seabird was not so very far off, as her upper rigging was visible. Lakeum encouraged the men in a low tone, and the situation had the aspect of a race. The junk was a strange-looking object with its lugsails, the first I had ever seen, and its low prow. But while she was gaining on us we were making good time, and, of course, our own ship was approaching, though she was beating to windward. There is much mystery at sea about currents, but there is more mystery about wind. Sometimes three vessels may be seen, each sailing with a different wind. Suddenly the junk changed her course; the wind was no longer friendly. In less than a quarter of an hour we were alongside the Seabird, and, while I was able to walk, I was not fit for duty; so I was allowed to go to my bunk in the dismal forecastle.
For three days I could not respond to duty and, while I did not receive the modern treatment which one receives from a trained nurse, the carpenter drew supplies from the medicine chest, applied lotions and wound bandages, if not always with a trained hand, yet with good intent, fortified by words of sympathy and cheer. My associates, rough seafaring men, were kind and moved quietly about in our little enclosure, as if to relieve my suffering and contribute to my comfort. Ohoo was particularly thoughtful, asking, in his broken English, “What me do you? Me willin’ help all time.” And the cook, my old friend, provided from his meager material little dishes that were out of the usual. But constantly there was presented the picture of our old companion in the whale’s jaw—he of whom we all had thought so well, and with whom we had never had a difference—and my heart was filled with gratitude for my preservation and deliverance.
It was a pleasure to get back to work and to feel that we were on our way to the Carolines. It was now March, 1861, and we were due at our destination in May. Nothing eventful occurred during the passage; a few whales were seen and boats were lowered, but in each case the chase was abandoned. We were very happy when we caught the first glimpse of land, for we knew that the stay was to be a pretty long one. While there was much work to be done in overhauling the ship and taking aboard supplies, we were told that there would be a good deal of liberty, as the spot we were to visit was remote from any settlement, and the people with whom we were to deal were natives.
We dropped anchor in a small bay and there, right before us, was the ship Sunrise of New Bedford, stripped of boats, sails and so forth, and hove down upon her side, so that the keel was exposed. We soon learned that the ship had sprung a leak, and, as the nearest civilized port was many miles away, the ship had been beached and, under the direction of the carpenter, the necessary repairs had been made.
I remember what Kreelman said, “Fancy Chest, there’s nothin’ like whalemen. Merchantmen couldn’t do that. Whalemen are jacks at all trades. A whaleship’s a little world, and there’s nothin’ that whalemen can’t do.” And now, after many long years of rather varied experience, I recall Kreelman’s words, and give them my hearty approval.
The first thing to do was to get temporary supplies. So a boat was sent ashore with a little trade, and when it returned it brought vegetables, fruit, fowl and pigs enough to last us for a fortnight or more.
The next day the ship was hauled in near shore and secured with chain cables. By orders of the captain, Lakeum began the overhauling and putting in order. The yards were sent down and the entire rigging was examined and necessary renewals were made. All the blocks were put in order. The masts were stayed, standing rigging was set up, yards were crossed, running rigging was rove, sails were bent and furled snug, and all the yards squared. All this took, of course, a number of days. After that, general shore leave was announced. The Sunrise was now repaired, and about to be hauled out to an anchorage, where she could be refitted with spars, rigging, sails and so forth and refurnished with casks, provisions, movables and the like. Here was work done in these two cases which would have cost the owners a great deal of money had the vessels put into port.
All of us went ashore, and all hands of the Sunrise were given liberty at the same time. If the expression may be used, it was a case of gamming on shore. The captains and officers got together, and the crews went off by themselves. The island was one of the smallest of the group. The natives were hospitable and invited us into their little huts, where they set before us fruit, of which there was a great variety and abundance, and their curiously cooked food. The day was faultless and the whole experience most delightful. The men of the two vessels affiliated beautifully. There was no friction. In the late afternoon we all went in swimming, and a luxury it was to men whose brief opportunity of obtaining a bath on shipboard was afforded by a rainfall, and generally a very poor opportunity, too. Just before separating, all gathered together, and then for the first time the conversation turned to our respective catches. The amount of our oil compared very favorably with that of the Sunrise, but our new-made friends were inclined to be boastful and assertive. One of our men said very quietly:
“Oil is a good thing, but, when you have something on board worth more than a thousand barrels of sperm, that’s a little better thing.”