In the spring of the year 1798, the Dundee, according to the arrangement made, was, after being strengthened and fortified for the navigation of the formidable ices of the north, fitted out, and set forth on her first voyage to the fishery. The result far more than realized the hopes and expectations of all the parties interested in the adventure; for, in a surprisingly short interval of time, the return of the Dundee to the Thames was announced, with the exulting and almost incredible report, that she brought the spoils of no less than six-and-thirty captured whales! The report proved true; and, although many of the whales were of small size, yet a quantity of produce, in oil and whalebone, such as no other adventurer had hitherto obtained, was yielded by this extraordinary “catch.”
During subsequent adventures, with but one exception in a series of five years, my Father’s high reputation for pre-eminent skill and success, was amply maintained. In one of these voyages (that of 1801) twenty-three whales were captured, which yielded the previously unequalled quantity of 225 tuns of oil;[E] and the voyage following, which terminated his command of the Dundee, produced twenty whales, yielding 200 tuns of the best kind of train oil, with a proportional weight of whalebone.
These voyages were not only unequalled in the Greenland whale-fishery in their measure of success, but likewise in the quickness with which they were accomplished. Ordinarily, my Father’s ship, not sailing earlier than his competitors in general, not only brought home the largest cargo of any in the fleet, but returned amongst the soonest. The produce in oil, therefore, partly from the freshness of the blubber when it was brought to the “coppers,” and partly from the care taken, under his direction, in the process of boiling, was, as I have advisedly designated it, of the best quality.
Section II.—Dangerous Accident—Admirable Tact.
Whilst pursuing for a long series of years, so adventurous a profession as that of the whale-fishery, accidents of a peculiar nature were not unfrequently occurring. On such occasions, my Father’s promptness and judiciousness of action were as admirable as they were characteristic.
But leaving such incidents, as far as may be, to their place, chronologically, in our present Memorials, we adduce here a single example, which may serve at once to illustrate and to justify this observation. The case, indeed, though pertaining to his professional pursuits, did not occur when at sea; but during the process of reducing the blubber of the whale into oil, after the return of the ship into port.
The ship Dundee, whilst commanded by my Father, had but recently returned from one of her usually successful voyages, and was laid, for discharging at the quay, in Blackwall Dock, near to the premises in which the oil was being boiled. My Father, during the most active part of the operations of discharging and boiling, was in the habit of sleeping on board the ship; and, at the time of the accident referred to, I, then a boy, happened to be with him. Sometime during the night, we were all awoke by loud and fearful shrieking, from the direction of the boiling-house. My Father, instantly apprehending some accident there, jumped from his bed, and, just as he was, flew up on deck and over the ship’s side, and in a few moments of time was at the spot from whence the shrieks proceeded. The idea that had at once flashed upon his mind was appallingly realized. One of the poor fellows, engaged at the reducing of the blubber, was in the condition of being dragged out of the boiling cauldron by his associate in the work!
My Father’s most powerful helping hand was opportunely available, and, with the quickness of thought, he plunged the appalled sufferer into a large cistern of cold oil and blubber, resting on the platform above the copper,—a cistern, or “beck,” as it is called, out of which the contents of the copper, after being boiled and emptied, were to be renewed. In this most appropriate bath, the poor fellow was for a considerable time kept immersed. My impression is that he was kept there until means were obtained for his removal; and then he was conveyed, without further delay, to the London Hospital. His life, notwithstanding the terrible severity, was thus happily saved. My Father’s conduct was highly commended and applauded by the medical staff of the Hospital, both for his discernment of the best treatment, perhaps, which could have been administered, and for his so promptly giving the sufferer the advantage of it.
The cause of this appalling accident, was, I believe, the breaking of the staff of the stirrer, which the night-watch over the boiling was required to have continually in motion, to prevent the “finks” (the cellular substance of the blubber) sticking to the bottom or sides of the copper when boiling. By the sudden failure of the staff, against which he pressed his shoulder, he was projected forward, but, providentially, not so as to fall headlong,—his effort to recover himself so far succeeding as to cause him to plunge feet foremost, whilst he sunk, on attempting to reach the shelving side of the copper, up to the waist in the horrible bath!
I yet remember, young as I then was, the return of the debilitated but happy sufferer, after his discharge, “as cured,” from the Hospital. The man, whom I had known familiarly as a stout, lively, good-natured fellow, was now reduced into a mere shred—a poor, pallid creature, an almost skeleton of a man! But his ultimate restoration, I believe, was quite complete. He knew and appreciated the wisdom with which he had been treated—he felt and acknowledged that to my Father, under Providence, he owed his life.