BY H. MILNOR KLAPP.
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In the year 18—, just as the U. S. frigate Constitution was about leaving Leghorn on a cruise, a large Italian ship arrived from Genoa, stripped of every thing valuable by a piratical schooner in the Gulf of Spezzia. Two English men-of-war and a Frenchman were lying in port at the time, and obtaining all the information they could from the master and crew of the plundered vessel, all four set sail on the same day in search of the daring marauder. Her usual fortune, however, attended the American frigate, for, on the morning of the fourth day after leaving port, she fell in with the fellow off the northern point of the Island of Sardinia; and after a long chase—in which the schooner was considerably cut up, the wind dying away to a calm—her capture was at last effected by the boats. After removing the remainder of her crew, a breeze sprung up at daylight, and the Constitution and her prize made all sail for the bay of Naples.
The evening after we passed the Straits of Bonifacio, a difficulty occurred between two of the elder midshipmen, which, but for the timely interference of an old master’s mate, a great favorite in the ship, would have inevitably resulted in an exchange of shots on the first convenient occasion. The parties were bosom friends and near relatives, which, of course, made the matter more difficult to adjust; however, the mate was able to effect it, as, from some circumstances attending his own history, he had more influence with them both than any other man on board. In some untoward affair, long before he entered the service, he himself had killed his man, and although he never spoke of the encounter, it was believed by the mess that he bitterly regretted its occurrence. He had been unusually grave and quiet after the capture of the schooner, which was more noticed, for the reason that, in general, he was as ready-witted, frank-spoken a fellow as ever felt salt spray on his cheek. The truth was, he was one of that unfortunate class of seamen who, well-connected and educated with care, have, nevertheless, spent the best of their days alternately in ship’s forecastles and drinking-shops, after having run upon some rock or other in their youth. It is a matter of notoriety that there are too many such men to be found afloat, but the peculiarity in Miller’s case was, that at some period of his wild life he must have mustered resolution enough to overcome his passion for strong drink. To have seen him on the decks of the frigate, or at the mess, you would never have suspected that he had once sunk so low in the scale of creation, had you not been better informed by that sort of malice which is ever ready to hiss on the track of an altered man. As it was, I may mention that he had entered the navy through the hawse-hole and worked his way up to a master’s mate’s berth, where, of course—according to the rigid rules of the service—he stuck. Great confidence was reposed in him by the quarter-deck, and not one of the mids but would have shared the last dollar of his pay, or fought to the last gasp for old Harry, if he had ever needed a friend at a pinch. His fine, off-hand way, and thorough seamanship, made him a great favorite with the men, as was once rather awkwardly shown when some trouble occurred in another frigate, on a former cruise. In fact, there was a degree of kindliness about the man, which, combined with his good looks and weatherly qualities, was well calculated to make him a general favorite—to say nothing of a tinge of romance which, it seemed, neither Neptune nor Bacchus could entirely wash out of him. No officer in the ship had the same dashing way of laying a boat along-side in a rough sea, or was better qualified to take charge of the deck on a sudden emergency; and although you might have heard nothing of him before this cruise, you soon felt compelled to yield the palm of seamanship to him, when you once caught his quick, unembarrassed glance, or heard his deep voice answering the quarter-deck on a dark night, in a squall, with a clear ring in its pitch, which the men used to say was worth a dozen trumpets. With all this, you felt that he ought to have been something more than a mere master’s mate, never doubting by his ways that he had commanded crafts of some sort in his time. The truth was, that he had abused or slighted his opportunities; though having been well brought up, not all the wear and tear of a hard life in every part of the globe, together with the slough which he had waded through, could prevent the thing from shining out. Apart from his seamanship—of that class which embraced all varieties of crafts and services—he possessed a knowledge of books, and a strength of imagination, which made you wonder still more at the subordinate post he held in the ship. As Guy Willful, one of our mess, afterward expressed himself—“though we all knew Harry Miller to be a gentleman, it was not until that blessed night when I knocked little Dick Afterblock into the lee-scuppers, that we found out the pinch of diamond-dust in the mate’s composition.”
On the evening in question, after seeing the two friends shake hands, the party had seated themselves quietly round the mate, who had offered to spin a yarn that should last out the watch, when a voice from the forecastle sung out, that there was a large whale close aboard of the ship. Sure enough, there he was, close under the main chains, sending up a succession of regular old-fashioned spouts, for all the world, the true originals of those which every reflective reader will remember to have once viewed with wonder and awe among the prints of his spelling-book. These were attended by loud respiratory sounds, which were heard fore and aft the deck.
Old Ironsides was jogging along before a lazy wind, which barely kept the sails asleep; and the whale, after again expelling the vitiated air from his blow-holes, having nothing more attractive to engage his attention at the time, from a feeling of fellowship perhaps, kept way with the ship. Some old heads on the forecastle soon hailed him for “a finner,” bound on his travels to the Ionian sea, and forthwith predicted, at the peril of their eyes, that we should see him “down flukes” and off on a wind, before another bell had gone. There was little sea running at the time, and the moon shining fairly on his track gave us some idea of his gigantic proportions, which, to tell the truth, these same veritable Tritons were in nowise disposed to curtail. However, it was agreed among the mids, debating the matter in council with the mate, that from his broad flukes to the small triangular fin on the ridge of his back, and thence, from his spout-holes to the arch of his lower jaw, he ran not less than an hundred feet. It was also estimated that he would outweigh a drove of, at least, two hundred fat oxen. His age, they unanimously declared, was a question to be left to the learned professors. Even the bearded Nestors of the forecastle, wise as mermen in aught appertaining to the sea—albeit they claimed him for an old acquaintance—did not pretend to settle that point. He might have been fourscore-and-ten, or he might have blown brine from his nostrils, coasting undiscovered shores, long before the grand cruise of Columbus.
Mr. Willful, the reefer before referred to, took occasion to indulge in a lofty flight of fancy, as he announced his adherence to the opinion which measured the creature’s days by the scale of centuries.
“And I,” squeaked another, fresh from school, “whatever anguish of spirit it may cost me—‘sink or swim’—I avow myself of the same faith with the honorable gentleman whose eloquence has electrified the ears of these venerable sheet-anchor-men.”
“Come,” said Dick Afterblock, reseating himself on the spars, “keep a small helm, you featherheads, and let’s hear Mr. Miller’s yarn.”
The master’s mate was standing in the moonlight, seeming to watch the freakish light, as it danced far away in the whale’s smooth wake, or wandered among the barnacles on its rough noddle—or peered dubiously into the wide curvature of its nostrils—or showed the living eye on the crest of the weltering wave, twenty feet from where you looked to find it—or rode triumphantly on its flukes, or upon the ridge of its back-fin. You might have seen, then, by the stern, abstracted look of the man’s face, that his mind was busy with something, which you felt it was like groping in the dark to attempt to fathom. Then, as the midshipman spoke, the old weatherly look came back, slowly though, as if it cost him a struggle; and after a thoughtful turn or two on the deck, reseating himself upon the spars, he commenced—