Poor Peter, wet as he was, and the sailmaker had to go at once into the hold to see what damage had been done. They were down there three hours, but could find no damage, and the ship was not leaking more than she did before, which was but a few strokes a day, and just enough to keep her sweet—if a whaler can be called sweet. The whale must have struck square upon the keel, not with full force. Meanwhile we pulled back again, got the stove boats and their gear, and pulled to the ship. More work for Peter. But that whale tried out over ninety barrels.
That was the last fighting whale that we met. We were very nearly filled up, but Captain Nelson could not seem to let well enough alone. We kept on taking whales, easily taken and of a good size, until the ship would not have held another bucket of oil anywhere. Even the try-pots were full, and the cooling-tank, and the spare pots on deck, and every receptacle that he could think of. He went so far as to get some of our water-casks on deck, empty out the water, and fill them with oil, saying that there were plenty of places where we could get water on the way home. He was going home by Cape Horn. I only wonder that he did not fill the copper dippers and the tin cans with oil. No doubt he would have done so if they had held enough to make any appreciable difference. We had over twenty-six hundred barrels of oil on board, and twenty-four hundred was all we were supposed to hold.
He went back to take a last look at the islands, and make more careful observations. It did not take long, only a few hours, for it happened that they were in sight at our last trying-out. In all our cruising in that neighborhood we had never been far from them, often within thirty miles or so, their barren heights in plain sight on a fairly dear day. I never saw a figure of greater dejection and melancholy than Captain Nelson when we came in sight of the leeward side. There was a school of large whales, perhaps twenty-five or thirty of them basking on the surface. They were very tame, so tame that we nearly ran into two of them before they would move out of the course of the ship. They seemed to know that we were a full ship, and that we could not take any more if we wanted to. Captain Nelson almost groaned aloud.
We bore away to the southward, intending to make Tahiti, to get more water-casks, and a fresh supply of water. Tahiti lies about southeast from our point of departure, but we were obliged to start to the south to take advantage of the trades. Peter was busy in making new boats out of the remains of the two which had been stove two or three weeks before. He did not hurry at his work, for he was pretty tired, as we all were. The rest of us did nothing to speak of, merely such patching of rigging as was necessary.
CHAPTER XXXV
There was no incident until we got within sight of Tahiti. I was leaning against the bench, watching Peter’s leisurely progress with the boat. This boat was the one which had been cut in two by the whale. The other one was finished, painted, and bottom up on the after house. Captain Nelson meant to trade all his spare boats, which had been stove, among the islands. Not that those boats were not good and seaworthy—Peter’s workmanship could not be other than that; but the captain seemed to think that they were more desirable for trading purposes than for chasing whales. I did not know about that, but there was no more chasing whales to be done on that voyage. Whaleboats were much in demand in all the islands, and would bring a good price in trade. So these boats, glistening in their coats of fresh paint, were put on the after house, and covered with an old sail to keep them from blistering in the hot sun.
Peter had been saying nothing, but pottering pleasantly about his pleasant work, a half-smile on his leathery face. There was a fascination for me in watching Peter, and I had said nothing either. There is always a fascination in watching a thoroughgoing workman, but especially a boatbuilder or a shipbuilder or a blacksmith; a real smith, not merely a shoer of horses. It is so with me, at least, although there is almost as much in watching a really skilful cabinet-maker like Oman. I suppose the cabinet-maker’s work should possess more fascination, as such a man has progressed several grades beyond the others. Perhaps it is a little beyond me, or it may be because of my contempt for glue. A cabinet-maker uses a deal of glue.
Peter looked up at last, and glanced ahead. When he looked down at his work again his half-smile had broadened into a grin.
“There ’s Tahiti, lad,” he said.
I nodded. “Yes, I know. There ’s nothing to see yet.”