Old Jack

by William Henry Giles Kingston

I have often thought since, how seldom sailors, especially, learn to eat whales. What sums of money they make and throw carelessly away!—amply sufficient to enable them to pass the end of their days in comfort on shore, or to provide respectably for their families, instead, as is often the case with the merchant-seaman, ending their days in a poor-house, or leaving their families to the cold charity of the world. Brother seamen, learn wisdom! Prepare for the future of this life; and, more than all, prepare for the life to come.

Two of the whales chased were captured and brought alongside, when we set to work to cut-in and try-out with all the rapidity we could exert. In those high southern latitudes the weather is very variable, and we knew that a change might come and deprive us of our prey. We were, however, fortunate in securing both whales, and between them they gave us one hundred and sixty barrels of fine oil. Before, however, the boats had returned with their prizes, the whale and the killer had got far out of sight even from the mast-head. We continued for some time fishing in those quarters, amply rewarded for the dangers we had encountered by the success we met with. Sometimes, however, we were days and days together without even seeing a whale; and several were lost, after chasing them with much toil and difficulty.

Newman contributed much all the time to keep the people in good humour, by always finding them employment; and Captain Carr, unlike some masters I have met with, afforded him every assistance in his plans. Among other things, he established regular classes below, and, with the exception of one or two very idle, stupid fellows, all the crew belonged to one or other of them. Besides a reading and writing class, he had an arithmetic and geography class, and a music and a drawing class. His singing class was the most numerous, and he very soon taught nearly all hands to sing together in admirable tune and time. I at first exclusively attended the reading and writing class, devoting every moment I was off duty to my books; so that, much to my own surprise and delight, I soon found that I could read with ease and satisfaction. Writing was a more difficult task: to one whose fingers had never been accustomed to the cramped position required for holding a pen. Still, Newman had a way of overcoming that difficulty. Making me throw the weight of my body on my left side, he left my right hand and fingers free, and kept me for some time with a dry pen simply moving up and down across the page. Even when I had begun to form letters, at the commencement of every lesson he made me follow this plan for a few minutes, that, as he said, I might get my fingers into training before I disfigured the paper and became disgusted with my own performance. He himself seemed never to grow weary of teaching. No ignorance or stupidity daunted him; and it used to surprise me that a man of such extensive information and extraordinary talents, should take the trouble of imparting knowledge to people who were so immeasurably his inferiors. I used to observe, from the first, that he was never for a moment idle. “Ned must always be doing something or other,” old Tom observed of him. “It’s all the better for him that he is afloat. If he were on shore, he would be doing mischief.” His great object seemed to be to fly from himself. Sometimes, when I was talking with him, from the strangeness of his remarks, and from his bursts of feeling, I thought that there must be a touch of madness about him; but then, again, immediately afterwards, he would say something so full of thought and sense, that I banished the idea.

To me he proved the greatest blessing. I was becoming a new character. I had discovered powers within me of which I before had no conception. I had gone on through life, if not rejoicing in my ignorance, at least indifferent to it. I had picked up a certain amount of knowledge from the conversation of others, but it was ill-digested, and I was full of the grossest prejudices. I have scarcely, indeed, given a correct notion of what I was up to this time. I might describe myself just as I once heard a shipmate spoken of—as just an ignorant common sailor. Such I had been. I could now read. I could dive into the rich stores collected by other minds, and make them my own. Without robbing others, I could appropriate their wealth, and enjoy all the benefits it could afford. Once having begun to read, the taste grew on me. I read through and through every book Newman possessed.

After a time, as his talents came to be known and appreciated by the captain, and officers, and surgeon, he was able to borrow books from them, which he allowed me to read. Although not many of them were very enlightening, they served to show me my own ignorance from the allusions they made, which I was totally unable to comprehend; and this only made me desire to gain further information, which it was somewhat difficult to obtain. As to Newman himself, he literally devoured every book which came in his way. He soon read through every book to be found on board; and whenever we fell in with another ship, he used to borrow all he could, or exchange his own books for others. Unfortunately, the literature in those days to be found at sea was generally of a very inferior character, and not at all calculated to improve its readers. Still, some knowledge was gleaned from all but the worst, and some errors and prejudices corrected. Newman had, however, certain favourites among his books, both English and foreign, which he would on no account have parted with. These he used frequently to read to me in our spare hours, or when we were engaged in such work as required our hands alone to be employed. I observed, indeed, after a little time, that we had far less employment found for us than had been the case in other ships on board which I had served; and this, I suspect, was because we found it for ourselves, or rather Newman found it for us. I never met with men so contented and happy as we all became; and this I could only account for by supposing that we were interested in our various occupations.

Newman was also the great peacemaker on board. Whenever a dispute arose, he always inquired the point at issue, and, without allowing time for the temper of either party to become irritated, he generally contrived to settle the matter. If he could not manage that, he used to try and raise a laugh by some absurd observation, or would place the position assumed by one man or the other in so ridiculous a light, that he seldom failed to show him that he was wrong.

One thing I remarked about Newman was, that he never alluded to any religious subject. I never saw him pray. He had no Bible or Prayer-book with him. I never heard him give utterance to a sentiment of piety, or of trust in God’s mercy or fear of his anger. I did, on the contrary, frequently hear him praise the Greek and Roman philosophers of old, and he often spoke of the stoicism and heroism of the heathens. Still he neither blasphemed, nor cursed, nor swore, nor did he ever attempt to instil any infidel notions into the minds of any of us. However, I fear that he was, to all intents and purposes, a heathen. I doubt, indeed, whether he ever had any religion. I suspect that he was brought up without any; and that at no time, during the period he was gaining his education, did he meet with anyone to instruct him. I could not even then help contrasting the confiding piety and true religion of my old shipmates, Peter Poplar and Captain Gale, with the entire want of it which he displayed.

Indeed, Captain Carr, though a kind and worthy man, and a good sailor, was sadly unenlightened as to the truth; and all the years I served with him we neither had prayers nor any religious observance whatever on board. On a Sunday, if the weather was fine, and no whales were in sight, we put on clean clothes, mended and washed our old ones, and had an additional glass of grog served out, with less work than usual given us to do. On board most South-Seamen every day in the week was much the same. It was a fact, I fear, and one painful to contemplate, that Newman, with all his great and varied talents, lived on as if there were no God in the world. I do not mention this without a purpose. It seems strange that it was from such a man I received the instruction which enabled me ultimately to attain to a knowledge of, and active belief in, the truth. It shows by what varied instruments God works to bring about his gracious purposes. It convinced me of the power and effect of grace. Here was I, sunk deep myself in ignorance, and living among those who were equally unaware of the truth, called out of darkness into His marvellous light. But I am anticipating events.

We continued cruising near the Antarctic Circle during the few short months of summer with unvaried success. We had frequent displays at night of the Aurora Australis. Sometimes the whole southern hemisphere would be covered with arches of a beautiful straw-colour, from which streamers would radiate, both upwards and downwards, of a pure glittering white. The stars would be glittering brightly overhead; while, from east-south-east to west-north-west, a number of concentric arches would appear, forming a complete canopy in the sky; then suddenly they would vanish, again shortly to appear. Some nights it appeared in the form of cumuli, tinged with pale yellow; and behind them arose brilliant red, purple, orange, and yellow tints, streaming upwards in innumerable radiations, with every combination of shade which these colours could produce. Another night we saw a bright crescent, and from it feathery-edged rays, of a pale orange colour, branched off in every direction, while across it a succession of the prismatic colours appeared rapidly to flit. Indeed, it is difficult to describe the various forms which the Aurora assumes.

One of the most curious sights I ever beheld we witnessed some time after this. It was the appearance of the sun and moon above the horizon at the same time: the moon, which was nearly full, throwing her light—stolen from the sun, which blazed forth at the same time—on the world of icebergs. It was as if we had been looking on two distinct scenes. On one side, the bright rays of the luminary of day were throwing a golden hue on the vast mountain masses of ice which floated on the blue waters; on the other, the pale orb of night cast a silvery fringe on the clouds which surrounded it. There was, indeed, no night; the binnacle-lamp was not even lighted; and we were able to continue, without cessation, trying-out a whale, whose carcase floated alongside. Among other curious things I observed, were large masses of rock—boulders they are called—embedded in the base and centre of icebergs. It shows that they must originally have been formed on shore, and then floated away by some unusually high-tide or commotion of the sea. It explains also the appearance of boulders in places where it would be difficult otherwise to account for their being found.