My Father.

MEMORIALS OF THE SEA.
My Father:

BEING RECORDS OF THE ADVENTUROUS LIFE OF THE LATE

WILLIAM SCORESBY, ESQ.

OF WHITBY.

BY HIS SON

THE REV. WILLIAM SCORESBY, D.D.

FELLOW OF THE ROYAL SOCIETIES OF LONDON AND EDINBURGH;

MEMBER OF THE INSTITUTE OF FRANCE; OF THE

AMERICAN INSTITUTE, PHILADELPHIA,

ETC. ETC.

LONDON:

LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS.

1851.

LONDON:

PRINTED BY M. MASON, IVY LANE, PATERNOSTER ROW.

TO THE LADY MATILDA MAXWELL,

WHOSE DISCERNMENT OF AN UNUSUAL AND SUPERIOR

CHARACTER IN A MERCHANT SEAMAN,

WHEN KNOWN ONLY BY REPORT,

FIRST LED TO THE GATHERING OF RECORDS

CONCERNING HIM;

AND TO WHOSE EXPRESSIONS

OF DEEP AND ADMIRING INTEREST IN THE RELATION,

REPEATEDLY SOLICITED,

OF MANY CHARACTERISTIC INCIDENTS,

THEIR PUBLICATION IS STRICTLY DUE,—

This Volume,

COMPRISING THE OFT-TOLD STORIES, WITH

ADDITIONAL RECORDS,

OF THE ADVENTUROUS LIFE OF

His Father,

IS, WITH GREAT RESPECT AND SINCERE REGARD,

NOW ADDRESSED,

BY HER LADYSHIP’S

FAITHFUL AND OBLIGED FRIEND,

THE AUTHOR.

Torquay, Feb. 3, 1851.

My Father.

CONTENTS.

MEMORIALS OF THE SEA.

My Father.

Chapter I.
EARLY LIFE AND PROGRESS AS A SEAMAN.

Section I.—My Father’s early Life.

The name of Scoresby, it is believed, is entirely unknown, in this country, except in the case of the family, and one or two relations, of the subject of the present records.

My Father’s “more immediate ancestors,” as a short biographical account of him by a friend, states,[A] “occupied respectable stations in the middle walks of life, supporting, in each case, unblemished character, and possessing, at times, considerable property;” and, in periods rather remote, holding conspicuous stations.

In Drake’s History of York, the family name, varying in the spelling in a progress through several centuries, repeatedly occurs. But the single line traceable through my Father’s ancestors, now alone appears to exist in Britain. Walter de Scourby was “bayliffe of York,” in the year 1312; and in the seventh and ninth years of Edward III., Nicholas de Scorēby, it appears, was Member for York. Subsequently, we find, under the date of 1463, Thomas Scawsby, holding the office of Lord Mayor of that city. Some member of the family, after the name assumed its present form, must have given the designation of “Scoresby Manor” and “Scoresby Lodge,” to places still known in the neighbourhood of York.

At the period, however, of this memoir, the family occupied more humble stations in life, chiefly in the class of yeomen,—a class once of much importance in this country, but now, unhappily, so diminished in numbers, under the absorbing influence of extensive properties, as to be scarcely recognised as a designation.

William Scoresby, my Father, ‘was born on the 3d of May 1760, on a small estate farmed by his parent, called Nutholm, in the township of Cropton, about twenty miles south-west of Whitby, in the county of York. In this place the periods of his childhood and boyhood were spent.’

The memoir, here again quoted, refers to some incidents among his earliest recollections, by which his life was greatly imperilled, marking ‘the superintending providence of God, which, on all occasions, he gratefully acknowledged.’

At an endowed school, in the nearest adjoining village, Cropton, his early, and indeed chief, education was received. But the distance being considerable, and the roads indifferent, his attendance was much interrupted, and, in winter, totally suspended. His progress, therefore, was far from being satisfactory. Nor was this disadvantage compensated by any long continuance of opportunities for obtaining scholastic instruction; for, at the age of nine, he was removed, and from that time forward employed, as his strength and years might qualify him, in occupations among the cattle, and about the farm.

Occasionally, during his advance towards manhood, he was engaged with the neighbouring farmers, when, during such occupation, an incident, of apparently no material importance, occurred, which constituted, under the ordering of an allwise and gracious Providence, the grand turning-point in his destiny, from a probable ordinary and unobserved occupation, to a stirring, adventurous and conspicuous life. The change was induced by some unpleasant treatment he received from the family with whom he was residing. He became disgusted with a position which, without satisfying the natural capabilities and enterprise of his mind, exposed him to such indignities. The idea had, probably, been often in his mind before; but he now first resolved on leaving the occupation for which his father had destined him, and on trying at the nearest sea-port, Whitby, the adventure of a seafaring life.

It is somewhat curious that the course of life, in respect to the adoption of a seafaring profession, of two individuals,—Captain Cook and my Father,—whose names are associated with much of interest in the history of Whitby, and who became, in their relative degrees, conspicuous as adventurous seamen,—turned upon apparently trifling incidents; and, as to the exciting of feelings of disgust with their previous occupations, of a similar character.

James Cook, like my Father, was, in early youth, employed along with his father, in agricultural labours.[B] His turn of mind, however, being suited to something requiring more tact than the ordinary toils in which farmers’ boys were wont to be engaged, he was removed from the work of the field to that of the counter, with the view of learning the business of a country shopkeeper. It was at the fishing town of Staiths, about ten miles north-west of Whitby, and at the shop of a Mr. W. Sanderson, haberdasher, where Cook, at the age of sixteen or seventeen, entered on his new employment; and it was whilst there that the incident, which led to his abandonment of domestic trade for sea-life, occurred.

It happened, as the early record goes, that, at a period when the coinage generally in circulation was much defaced and worn, a new and fresh looking shilling was paid in by a customer. Cook, attracted by the comparative beauty of the coin, and thinking with regret of its going forth again in the ordinary progress of business, substituted the sterling value, and appropriated the new coin, as “a pocket-piece,” to himself. It was ill-advised that he did so without previously asking permission or intimating his purpose; for the shilling had been observed by his master, its abstraction was detected, and Cook was suspected and charged with dishonesty,—a charge which the production of the shilling from his pocket seemed to confirm. His keen sense of right feeling, and of what was due to himself, rendered this incident so painful, that he determined, if he could get permission to do so, to leave his employment, as a shopkeeper, and, indulging a strongly imbibed prepossession, turn to the sea. The unmerited suffering was abundantly compensated by that good and gracious Providence, whose dispensations reach to the humblest, and specially regards the oppressed. The young shopkeeper—turned apparently by this fretful incident from his monotonous pursuits, and stimulated to seek an adventurous profession, and not opposed, but kindly aided, by his master, who had become perfectly satisfied of his integrity—was led into those paths of distinction whereby he became so highly conspicuous, if not chief among the circumnavigators of the globe!

“It is worthy of remark,” says Dr. Young, in his life of Cook, “that the coin which so forcibly attracted his notice was what is called a South-sea shilling, of the coinage of George I., marked on the reverse S.S.C., for South-sea Company; as if the name of the piece had been intended to indicate the principal fields of his future discoveries.”

If the result of disgust at his experienced indignity turned not to account, with my Father, in so eminent a degree,—it yet was so over-ruled for good as to place him at the head of the adventurers engaged in the whale-fishery of the Greenland seas, and to render his example, perseverance, and talent, highly beneficial to his country in the furtherance of that, then, extremely important branch of national enterprise.

It was in the winter of 1779-80, that my Father proceeded to carry his resolve into effect, by leaving his place and travelling to Whitby. Guided by the suggestions of a relative, to whom he had communicated his intentions, he was recommended to Mr. Chapman,—an opulent and respectable ship-owner, and a member of the Society of Friends,—with whom he engaged himself to serve as an apprentice, for three years, in a ship called the Jane, commanded by a son of the owner.

As his services, however, were not required till the ensuing spring,—because of the practice, as to ships trading to the Baltic and Archangel, “of laying them up” for the winter,—he returned immediately home, informed his father of what he had done, and then, at his suggestion, went back to the farm he had somewhat abruptly left, and there remained until his place could be satisfactorily supplied. This being speedily accomplished, he set himself arduously to work to the studying, by the help of whatever suitable books he could get hold of, of the subjects connected with his new profession.

On the 1st of February 1780, according to previous arrangement, he repaired to Whitby for the ratification of his agreement, and for receiving directions as to when and how his services would be required. His anxiety on this occasion, to proceed with his studies in the manner in which he found himself making gradual and encouraging progress, led him at once into an adventure of much peril, and into circumstances in which his acquirements in the principles of navigation had their first, yet most successful and important, application.

Finding that his services would not be required until the month of April, he determined, being full of ardour for self-improvement, not to lose a single day; so that, although the afternoon had arrived before he finished his arrangements with Mr. Chapman, he set out on his pedestrian course towards the Moors, intending to sleep at the village of Sleights. Urged, however, by his feelings, and tempted by the fineness of the evening, and the brilliant sunset, by which the distant hills (then covered with snow) were illumined and gilded, he resolved on proceeding to Salter Gate, a position, in the midst of the Moors, eight miles further in advance, and attainable only by a not very well-defined line of road across a heath-clad and totally uninhabited country. It was a region, therefore, of complete desolateness, through which he prepared to pass, and, on occasions of snow-storms, one of great danger to any travellers who might be unfortunately overtaken by them whilst in the midst of the Moors;—for, at the period of which we now write, there were neither fences to confine, nor poles (as in subsequent years were erected) to mark, the line of road, so that an hour’s continuance of thick drifting snow might totally obliterate, in many places, the distinctions betwixt the highway and the general trackless heath. Hence it happened, that scarcely a winter passed over without yielding the records of perilous or fatal adventures; and, whenever snow-storms abounded, of travellers, more or less in number, perishing by being overwhelmed in the snow-drifts.

It was not long before our traveller, advancing rapidly with vigorous and elastic step within the region of lonesome moorland, became aware that he had entered upon a critical adventure; for having arrived near the sixth milestone on the high-moors over Whitby, he became unexpectedly encircled by a dense and gloomy cloud, attended with a sudden and furious storm of wind and fleecy snow, the snow descending so thick as to envelope him in such dark obscurity, that, for some little time, he could neither see his way to advance nor to return.

Recovering somewhat from his first embarrassment, and considering what might be well to be done, he determined, adventurous as the attempt might be, to go forward toward Salter Gate, yet six miles distant, and not a house on the road. He had made but little progress, however, in advance, before he found he had gone off the turnpike-road; nor did his first attempt, as by a nautical traverse, seem to improve his situation. When brought to a stand in this perplexing condition, it was, that his naturally reflective mind suggested an use of his humble geometrical acquirements, which afforded him essential service. He had observed how the wind first assailed him, with reference to the direction of the line of road, which, fortunately for him, like the roads of ancient construction, generally, followed a steeple-chase directness, regardless of hill or dale, for the point aimed at; and by adjusting his progress on the same angle, in respect to the course of the wind, he hoped to be guided in his now perilous undertaking. “Taking his departure” from this incidental starting-point, he set forward with as much speed as the nature of the ground and the resistance of the storm could well admit, and, proceeding in a straight direction, over hill and dale, through moor and bog, he accomplished another mile, and that so successfully as to reach its termination, to his great satisfaction, scarcely twenty yards from the seventh milestone. Encouraged by this success, he now advanced, in spite of storm and blinding snow-drift, and under painfully reduced strength, approaching at the last very near to exhaustion, until his enterprise and tact were happily rewarded by arriving at Salter Gate, where, in the house for which he originally aimed, he was enabled to obtain both shelter and refreshment. The rest of the enterprise, after encountering various difficulties, from the continuance of the snow on the ground, was in like manner accomplished, so that with no great loss of time he was welcomed in safety at his father’s house.

During this arduous and hazardous journey, as his biographer remarks, “he proved the value and accuracy of his geometry whilst traversing the high-moors, the importance of perseverance, and the gracious care of Divine Providence.”

Section II.—His first year’s Apprenticeship.

In the quiet of a country home, my Father now resumed those studies which bore more immediately upon the profession he had chosen, and perseveringly continued them till the time appointed, the middle of March, for his joining his ship. His preparations towards the supplying of his maritime costume and equipment being already made, he repaired to Whitby, and was duly set to work, with others of the destined crew, to rig and fit out the ship. Towards the end of the month the arrangements were so far advanced, that she was hauled down the harbour into a berth convenient for putting to sea. But whilst here a hard gale set in from the north, which brought so heavy a sea into the harbour that the Jane was in danger of breaking adrift. This circumstance called for the prompt and active exertions of the crew to get out cables and hawsers for additional security, an occasion on which my Father received his first lesson on mooring a ship,—a lesson which could not be lost upon one who associated with great physical strength and energy so observant and reflective a mind.

Early in the month of April, the weather proving favourable whilst the spring-tides prevailed, the Jane put to sea, and for a time made pleasant progress. Nearing the Naze of Norway, however, they were overtaken at night, and that suddenly, by a heavy gale of wind, which in its effect was in no small degree alarming, and from the quality of the crew, indeed, twelve out of about twenty hands being apprentices, some mere lads, and several quite inexperienced, eminently perilous,—for the ship being lightly ballasted, was quickly thrown upon her “beam-ends,” the water rising over the lee gunwale till it reached the “combings of the hatches,” whilst the requisite measures, demanding instantaneous promptness, were seriously delayed by the general inaptitude of the crew. They were enabled, however, in time to save them from the threatened foundering, to get the sails clewed up, whereon the ship righted, though the sails were left fluttering, the sport and prey of the storm, until the morning. The gale then happily abating, and veering to a favourable quarter, the canvas, as far as preserved to them, which so recently had threatened their destruction, became available for the furtherance of their voyage, and enabled them without further adventure to reach Memel, the port of their destination.

But when outward danger had been safely passed, and nothing but a feeling of perfect security could naturally be realized, the object of this memorial became sensibly alive to the impressiveness of the solemn sentiment of our Church’s funeral service—“In the midst of life we are in death!” The ballast had been taken out, and the hold and ’tween-decks cleared to make way for the cargo, when my Father, being below, near a “raft-port,”—an opening at the bow or stern by which a timber cargo is received into the hold,—heard the voice of the Captain calling for a boat’s crew to put him on shore. There being no deck now laid upon the hold-beams, but only a series of “carlings” from beam to beam, the summons was attempted to be answered by running along these very narrow supports. Ill directed, however, by the very deceptive light admitted by the raft-port, my Father’s head came in contact with an unobserved break in the upper deck, by which he was precipitated into the hold, a depth of about twelve feet, and was taken up by his comrades in a state of insensibility. In this alarming condition he remained for several hours, being meanwhile carried for surgical assistance on shore.

He was but barely passed out of the immediate hands of the surgeon, who contemplated his case hopefully, when the carpenter of the Jane was borne to the same place, having also fallen into the hold in a similar way, with an adze in his hand, a fearful cut from which in his forehead added to the severe effects of so considerable a fall.

Under careful and skilful assistance, however, both the endangered sufferers were soon restored, being enabled to return to the ship in about eight days’ time,—the carpenter, indeed, with his wound but imperfectly healed, and with a long and conspicuous scar which might have been admonitory for the rest of his days. The lesson to my Father had not been forgotten when, near half a century after, on recurring to the adventure, he remarked, “This was another kind interposition of Providence which has a claim on my grateful homage.”

Their cargo of timber being completed, they immediately sailed from Memel, and joining convoy at Elsinore, safely reached the Thames, whither their cargo was destined.

Whilst the ship was lying at Limehouse, my Father and another of the apprentices obtained leave, on a Sunday, to go on shore and visit the great Metropolis, where they met with another, and to them a previously unknown, species of adventure. On reaching the city they were accosted by a man dressed in regimentals (apparently a serjeant), who, pretending that he was a Yorkshireman and knew them, contrived to insinuate himself into their confidence, and offered to guide them in their object of sight-seeing, remarking particularly that they had a fine opportunity of seeing the King, who was about to attend a general review in Hyde Park. Catching at a suggestion so naturally pleasant, they, without an idea of mistrust, put themselves under his, apparently, friendly guidance, and proceeded in the direction of the Park. On reaching Temple Bar he invited them to accompany him into an eating-house, where he ordered refreshments.

But the landlady, on making her appearance—a respectable and benevolent person, as they subsequently had good reason to know—observed and surveyed the little party with a very unusual kind of scrutiny, first looking the soldier sternly in the face, and then, with an expression relaxed into compassion, turned her gaze on his youthful and obviously too confiding associates. Repeating her scrutiny of their pretended friend till assured of his identity, she addressed him with an air of stern authority, and commanded him to leave the house. The man affecting surprise, and ‘presuming that she must have mistaken him,’ endeavoured, by a well-practised self-possession, to avoid the threatened defeat of his insidious purpose. But she, persisting in her knowledge and accusation of him, and threatening to call in a constable to her aid, succeeded in causing him to feel that it might be for his safety to take himself off.

On his departure she turned to the wondering young sailors, and to this effect addressed them:—“I perceive, young men, you are from the country, and are strangers in London. I am from the country myself, but I know that man to be a villain. Not long since he stole some articles from this very house, and I am fully assured he will wait for you to get you trepanned; you shall therefore not leave my house this night.”

They accordingly remained her guests till the morning, when she allowed them to depart for their ship; but on offering her compensation for her kindness, she refused to take anything more than was barely sufficient to pay for their moderate refreshments.

“This act of generous friendship,” remarks the writer of the Memoir, “deserves to be recorded on three accounts: first, for the honour of our common nature; secondly, to be contrasted with the villany of the pretended soldier; and thirdly, to illustrate the watchful Providence of God.”

Having delivered their cargo at Limehouse, and taken in ballast, they sailed on their second voyage, to St. Petersburgh, for a cargo of hemp and iron. Here they were unfortunately caught in the formation of ice, with but little expectation of escaping during the winter. But on the 4th of November, a gale from the eastward having broken up the impeding ice, they immediately sailed, and in four days reached Elsinore, where they expected to join convoy for England. All the men-of-war from home, however, having sailed, they joined a fleet of similarly unprotected ships, numbering altogether six-and-twenty sail, and together proceeded for England. About half-way across the German ocean, they proved the advantage of their mutual association for defence, a large cutter privateer having hove in sight, and attacked the rear of the fleet. For a considerable time the enemy’s fire was directed from a respectful distance against the nearest ships, which they, according to their proportion of armament, as actively returned,—so actively, indeed, that, in their ill-provided warlike stores, they soon expended the greater part of their ammunition. The enemy, however, ignorant of this circumstance, and unable to detach any single vessel, kept aloof, probably for the chance of the night; but the night proved dark, and afforded them a screen from the prowler, and they all escaped unscathed into port.

They reached Portsmouth, their new destination, about the middle of December, and delivered their cargo among the naval stores of the King’s Yard.

During the discharging of the cargo, my Father received vexatious abuse, without any provocation on his part, from the chief-mate of the ship, which so annoyed him that, under the impulse of a strongly excited feeling, he had resolved to quit the Jane, and enter on board His Majesty’s ship the Royal George, just then passing them from the graving-dock, where she had been undergoing repairs. But reflecting on something which, in the bustle and confusion amongst her crew as she hauled away, he had observed incongruous with his feelings, he happily paused in his hasty resolve, and ultimately decided on submitting himself to a continuance, though under the constant exposure to like arbitrary annoyance, of the duties of his humble station, with a view to the fulfilment of the engagement he had entered into with the owner of the Jane. And, as estimated by the probability of his being involved in the disaster of that ill-fated ship, had he entered on board of her, the decision appeared to be Providentially guided; for at no long interval after this time it was that the Royal George came to her end so strangely, as to place the catastrophe alone and without parallel, amid the varied and marvellous records of our naval history. The story is well known. She was “careening,” for the purpose of having some caulking of her seams effected, or damage of her copper sheathing repaired, whilst anchored at Spithead, with her lower-deck ports open in all imaginable safety. A sudden squall, whilst the ship swung across the tide, laid her on her beam-ends; the water poured in by the open ports in such force and quantity, that she sunk in less than eight minutes, involving officers, men, and visitors, so generally in the common catastrophe, that out of about 1200 souls, or upward, on board, only 331 escaped alive! The brave Admiral Kempenfelt, an experienced and accomplished navigator, who, through many perils of war and tempest had passed unscathed, suffered among the rest, a fate which, very probably, had been that of my Father, had he carried out his impetuously-formed design. But, with the good hand of God upon him, he escaped the then unimagined peril.

On the laying up of the Jane for the winter, the seamen, as usual, were discharged, and the apprentices sent by a coasting vessel passengers to Whitby. My Father repaired to his country home for the interval of service, until summoned again to London, in the early spring of 1781, to join his ship on her being chartered for a voyage to Riga, for a cargo of deals for the Government.

Section III.—His Progress as a Seaman, with Incidents of Sea-Life.

Entering the sea-service as a profession or business, as an unaided adventurer, my Father felt, and ever acted on the feeling, that, under the blessing of Providence, to which he distinctly looked, he must be the fabricator of his own fortune. To learn his profession, from the very elements of a seaman’s duty to its most manly and skilful perfection; to acquire a knowledge of navigation, of which he had anticipated but little, and to extend that knowledge to the highest style of seamanship,—constituted the scheme and aspiration of his naturally vigorous and enterprising mind.

But in beginning, as a country lad, at the beginning, with nothing of position, or education, or influence, to raise him above the common and ordinary class of learners in the school of maritime practice, he met with no small difficulty in raising himself, as his purpose was to do, in character and pursuits, above his fellows. His habit was—as soon as raw inexperience enabled him to form a habit—to spend his leisure time, when not on watch, aloof from the galley-congregation of idle, and often profane, companions. And instead of following the useless and time-wasting practices of those around him, his habit was, as opportunity offered, to endeavour, by the help of a few appropriate books, to carry out his former humble acquirements in figures into the really practical “working of a day’s work,” and “the keeping of the ship’s reckoning.” Nor, in the ordinary “watch,” did he associate intimately with the general body of the crew, preferring, unless he could find a somewhat like-minded aspirant after a better position, to walk alone on the main-deck or forecastle, holding companionship only with his own thoughts.

Two incidents, in connection with this period of my Father’s personal history, are fresh in my recollection,—one of them illustrative of his difficult position in refusing familiar association with his fellow mariners; the other illustrative of his success in the acquisition of nautical knowledge, by his own persevering and unaided application.

A marked degree of ill-will, on the part of several of the crew in one of his early voyages, followed his prevailing separation from familiar association with them. This was exhibited by innumerable tokens and expressions, both in word and action. Jeers, insinuations and ridicule, were indulged in with painful and increasing frequency, and these not unmixed with contemptuous or offensive actions. Naturally spirited and quick-tempered, as the subject of this ungenerous behaviour was constitutionally, it was hard to restrain the expression of indignation, or to resist the urgent impulse to a just retaliation. But, acting on the system of non-retaliation, so long as they kept “hands off,” he bore this persecution with extraordinary forbearance. For constitutionally strong and energetic, few would have been able to compete with him, as the issue proved, if the lion in him were roused. His height was now near six feet; his frame was strong-boned and muscular; his vigour and activity were unusually great. But he restrained himself to the utmost, and his great strength, as to the perceptions of his associates, continued long unknown.

At length the time of resistance, which he could not but feel must some time or other arrive, came. It happened in this way. My Father had descended the deck after his watch, and with the view, I believe, of retiring, as usual, to a quiet part of the vessel alone, when two of the crew made on him a premeditated attack—a kind of half-joking assault by no trifling hits, rudely grasping him at the same moment, one on each side. Endeavouring to shake them off without coming to extremities, he quietly requested them to desist. Their sinister defiance and rudeness in grappling him increased in offensiveness. “You had better be quiet;” “Do be quiet;” “Let me alone;” and other peace-desiring solicitations of like kind, were tried. But the attack and effort to throw him became more determined. At length, after a firm and decided utterance to the command “Hands off!” indicating that the spirit was up, the attacked party in his turn grappled the necks of his assailants, one with each hand, and, taking advantage of the muscular reaction, after they had made a simultaneous but ineffective thrust against him, he flung them, by a Samson-like impulse, right and left, and both of them fell, heavily, prostrate on the deck! So unawares was the throw, and so totally unsustained by cautionary preparation, that, as to one of them, the subject of this self-earned retribution, lay motionless, insensible, and bleeding! Others of the crew who had noticed the scuffle came up, and seeing the man lie so helpless, and apparently inanimate, exclaimed, “He is dead! Scoresby has done for him!” Happily, the catastrophe was not so serious. By and by there was a return of motion, and obvious reflux of life; but when at length the prostrate had, with much difficulty, gathered himself up, he contrived to stagger meekly enough away, without noticing the author of his humiliation, or ever after attempting either a renewal of his bravadoes, or a retaliation for his severe punishment.

It is hardly needful to say that, from that time, my Father was allowed to pursue his own way without further molestation or offensive remark; and that the respect which seamen are generally ready to yield to true bravery and superior skill was as generously bestowed by the right-minded of the crew, at least, as the fine and successful effort of the unfairly assaulted one deserved.

The other incident was of a totally different character.

My Father had early discovered, on his studying out the rules and practice of navigation, as set forth in the comparatively humble nautical works of that period, that there was much that was gratuitous, or arbitrary and uncertain, in the allowances and corrections proposed to be made on the “ship’s log.” On these things he made his own observations, and, in calculating the ship’s position, which he was now tolerably well able to accomplish, he made his own corrections, instead of those marked on the “log-board” by the officer of the watch. His position, in consequence, often differed very materially from the ordinary reckoning, as well as from that kept by one of his associates among the apprentices, who, like himself, was anxious for advancement in his profession.

At the time referred to he was in progress of his third voyage in the Jane, when, having taken in their cargo of spars for masts, at Riga, they were on their return towards Elsinore.

On the third day after their departure from Riga, a little after twelve at noon,—the wind being easterly and the weather foggy, and the ship under studding-sails, making a progress of about five knots,—the two young navigators finished the day’s reckoning, and then proceeded to compare the results. The position of the ship, as calculated simply from the register on the log-board, necessarily differed from that deduced from the same data on which the judgment had been exercised, and various allowances and alterations made. Observing the nature of the difference, which amounted to several miles, the intelligent youth exclaimed, “Why, by your account, we are just running down Bornholm; but my journal is the same as the ship’s, and we are going round to the northward of the island.” The question being discussed with considerable animation betwixt them, it excited observation among the crew, and reached the ears of the Captain. A sharp look-out for land was ordered, when, in brief space, the look-out on the forecastle shouted “Breakers a-head!” “Put down the helm—Let go the anchor!” cried the Captain. The manœuvre was just in time to save the ship from destruction. When she swung to her anchor it was in four-and-a-half fathoms water; the breakers were close by the stern, and the stern not above twenty fathoms from the shore,—and the shore, as had been predicted, was that of the island of Bornholm!

The weather soon cleared up, when they found themselves in a sandy bay on the south-east side of the island. The sea not being considerable they soon got under weigh, and sailing round the island to the southward, they reached Elsinore the next day. “It was to this private reckoning kept by Mr. Scoresby,” observes the writer of the Memoir of which I have here and elsewhere availed myself, “and the debate to which it led, that the preservation of the ship and cargo may evidently be ascribed.”

“The reward which Mr. Scoresby received for this piece of essential service was such,” adds the biographer, “as the deserving too frequently obtain from their superiors in office, who feel themselves insulted when their deficiencies are exposed by the efforts of their superiors in merit. The preservation of the ship and cargo,” by the superiority of a mere tyro in seamanship—a young apprentice, “drew upon him, especially, the envy of the mate, who, it will be remembered, had aforetime shown a painful measure of ill-will, and the disapprobation of some of the inferior officers. These ungenerous influences, in their combined effect, rendered his situation so uncomfortable that, on reaching the Thames, he left the ship, and engaged in an Ordnance-armed storeship, the Speedwell cutter, destined to carry out stores to Gibraltar.”

This step, which it is to be apprehended had not the sanction of the parties to whom he was apprenticed, was attended with consequences which, with one whose mind was early directed to regard a Providential hand perpetually engaged in guiding, controlling, or, for merciful ends, rebuking the affairs of man, could hardly fail to be impressive, and to yield salutary convictions of the error into which a manly indignation at ungenerous usage and jealous antipathy had urged him.

Section IV.—Capture by the Enemy, and Escape from a Spanish Prison.

The Speedwell was soon equipped, and, the service being urgent,—the relief of the garrison at Gibraltar,—with all haste got to sea. But admirably as this fast-sailing cutter was adapted for a service requiring all possible despatch, the weather proved very unfavourable for making a satisfactory, much less a rapid, progress.

The delay was additionally trying to those on board the cutter, from the deprivations in which the unexpected length of the voyage, by reason of calms and adverse winds, involved them. For, economical of room for the requisite stores whilst on the passage to the Straits, the Speedwell was sent out so inadequately supplied with water, that the crew were reduced to a distressingly short allowance.

This incident, however, afforded occasion and opportunity for the development of my Father’s peculiar acuteness of intellect, and the exercise of his natural science. Whilst suffering greatly from thirst, the idea occurred to him that some refreshment might possibly be derived through the medium of the pores of the skin by bathing—an idea which the calmness of the weather enabled him to put to the test and satisfactorily to verify. For on undressing and taking a rope for his security, and jumping overboard, he realized, even beyond his expectations, a decidedly refreshing influence—such as, under his report, to induce most of the officers and crew not only to try the same experiment, but to render it a prevailing practice, whenever the state of the weather would permit.

But a new incident soon substituted for this another species of deprivation and suffering. They had advanced within sight of the Spanish coast, when, on the 26th of October 1781, being off Cape Trafalgar, they fell in with a force so overwhelmingly superior, as to render resistance useless. The cutter became a prize to the enemy, and my Father, with his associates, prisoners of war. They were taken into Cadiz Bay, and he, with some others, were marched into the interior of the country, to St. Lucar la Major, a small town of Andalusia, seated on the river Guadiana, a tributary of the Quadalquiver.

Here, they were not ungenerously treated; whilst the rigour of imprisonment, as at first practised, became gradually relaxed under the imagined security of the captives. The degree of liberty, indeed, after awhile became such, that the prisoners were entrusted to go unguarded, to some distance from their quarters, to fetch water. In this indulgence my Father saw a chance of escape, which, being participated in by one of his associates, a spirited young sailor and friend, they privately conferred thereon, and ultimately arranged to encounter the difficulties and risks of the adventure.

Availing themselves of an occasion when various circumstances gave favour to the experiment, they proceeded, in their usual manner, to the place where water was procured; and, finding themselves unobserved, they walked away, as if incidently strolling about, until they had obtained shelter, I believe, from a wood. Here they pushed rapidly on, dropping their water-vessels in a place of concealment, until having made what they deemed a sufficient progress to baffle an ordinary pursuit, they hid themselves for the remainder of the day. Then, with the stars only for their guidance, they travelled, as by a steeple-chase route, throughout the night towards the coast. This, indeed, became their prevalent plan of proceeding, to rest in some concealment by day, and to travel by night.

Their progress proved, indeed, fully as adventurous, consistently with their safety, as the liveliest imagination could have pictured. The perils and difficulties they encountered from native Spaniards, or from the pursuit of troops sent after them; from their imperfect concealment during the day, or critical exposure in their progress during the night; from the applications which they were necessitated to make on the generosity of the enemies of their country for relief and sustenance,—for they had been deprived of everything they possessed except two little bundles of clothing which, in contemplation of the adventure, they had previously concealed beyond their prison; from their suspicious appearance in the dress, and with the language of foreigners, inducing attempts to give them up to the public authorities; with the aid and consolations, on the other hand, which they occasionally met with from the sympathies of the gentler sex, even whilst others were seeking their recapture,—yielded altogether a series of exciting and anxious incidents, which, if the particulars could be thoroughly recalled, might afford materials for a history of really romantic interest. The fact of kind and generous sympathy, and effective aid from women, I well remember as constituting a touching element in the relation of their perilous undertaking. As Mungo Park, in his varied and perilous travels, ever found kindness, in the instinct of a sympathising nature, from women, savage though their race might be, so did my Father and his associate realize, among the Spanish peasants, the like experience. Once, in particular, I remember its being stated, that when our adventurers had confided themselves to the supposed friendly shelter of a cottage, the master of the cottage stepped away, in order to give information about the fugitives at some neighbouring magisterial or military post, whilst his wife, compassionating the proscribed strangers in a foreign land, meanwhile contrived to give them a secret warning of their peril, and at the same time to provide the means, by the back of the cottage, for their prompt and effectual escape.

The remainder of the story, so far as relates to their escape from the Spanish shores, may be summarily given.

Under the guidance of a gracious and prospering Providence, they arrived safely at the coast, and, happily, when circumstances proved singularly favourable for the completion of their adventurous project. For it so happened (and happened it not by the providential ordering of times and circumstances to fit each other for an issue accordant with confiding trust and fervent prayers?) that when they reached this most critical position, they found a cartel—an English vessel which had disembarked her freight of prisoners of war, brought out in exchange—just preparing to depart for the land of their hopes!

Penniless and friendless, as our now reanimated adventurers were, besides being specially exposed to detection on the well-watched shores of an enemy’s country, it required no little management and tact to get off during the night; that so, fugitives as they were on the one part, and intruders on the other, they might elude the observation both of the Spanish officers and the captain of the cartel. But the same gracious furtherance, as heretofore they had experienced, continued to prosper their way, and all difficulties and hazards were safely accomplished; and, by the friendly aid of the crew, upon whose humanity they cast themselves, the means of concealment were provided until the circumstances of present risk and anxiety should have passed away.

Section V.—Rewards of Masterly Seamanship.

We are here brought to the describing of an incident particularly characteristic of my Father’s talent as an accomplished practical seaman.

After the vessel was fairly at sea, and, furthered by a favourable wind, in encouraging progress on her way to England, my Father and his gallant associate ventured to appear upon deck. The natural surprise of the Captain, on finding two intruding auxiliaries amongst his people, assumed no very friendly character, even when the daring and almost romantic undertaking of the strangers had been made known to him. On the contrary, he received their explanation with no small measure of anger, and followed up his pitiless inconsideration with heartless threatenings. He threatened, with much apparent determination, either to land them again amongst their enemies, or give them up as a boon, though of most unwilling hands, to some English ship-of-war. Their appeals to his sympathy and benevolence were unavailing. Their offer “to work their passage,” which they thought might be a compensation for their provision, was slighted, on the ground that “the crew was sufficient.” But at length the Captain suggested the alternative, at which he evidently aimed, of their paying for their accommodation and passage to England. Being, as we have shown, absolutely penniless, this was a difficult requirement, though the Captain got over it by proposing that they should sign a document pledging themselves, on arrival in England, to a payment which they deemed most exorbitant. With this demand the urgency of their own purpose, and the fear of the threatenings of the Captain, obliged them to comply, and the paper was drawn up and signed.

Fortunately for them, the Bay of Biscay maintained its too dreaded celebrity at the season referred to, by becoming the scene of a formidable sea and storm. The gale commenced rather suddenly, and became rapidly so fierce, that the seamen, who were quite inadequate in number, as well as in capabilities, were unable to get in the sail within the limits of safety. The canvas was flapping furiously aloft, and all efforts to reef were distressingly slow. Meanwhile my Father and his comrade were eyed with indignation and surprise by the Captain, as they moved on the deck, or stood holding by the “weather-rail,” with quiet composure, as if ignorant of, or indifferent to, the increasing peril of the position of the ship. At last, an exclamation of astonishment burst from the Captain, that, regardless of the general safety, they should not offer a helping hand. They replied most coolly, “that the crew, they understood, was ample, and needed no help of theirs, and they were but passengers!” The perplexed commander turned away in ill-concealed vexation. Still the gale increased in severity, till the ship was thrown almost on her “beam-ends,” and their situation became quite alarming. He then renewed his application under a severe taunt, as if it were unmanly to allow the crew to struggle so against the difficulties of the storm, and they, two able and efficient seamen, looking on! “Destroy the paper,” they said, “and let us work our passage, and we shall be ready for your orders.” Desperate now, in his anxiety to save the canvas and spars, and, indeed, to secure the safety of the ship, the Captain produced the important and vexatious paper, and tearing it passionately into pieces, he scattered its fragments on the wild waste of waters to leeward.

Forthwith the two emancipated passengers spring forward to their duty as members of the crew. They could not have been unobservant of the slovenly manner in which yards and sails had been prepared for the operation of reefing,—so ill-arranged, indeed, with a ship heeling almost yard-arm in the water, and sails flying over the yards to leeward, as to render the operation scarcely practicable. First of all the yards are, in a seamanlike manner, laid to pass; braces are hauled taught, and lower yards steadied by the “trusses” and “lifts;” “reef-tackles,” with a helping hand probably by the men aloft, are well hauled out, and the inflated and flapping canvas pressed in by the “buntlines” to the yards,—and then, bounding into the rigging, their feet scarcely touch the “ratlines,” as, aided by the elasticity of tension in the shrouds, they ascend up the mast. Way is instinctively made by the previously dispirited hands for my Father to the “weather-earing” of the topsail, and for his friend to leeward. Here, as in most other operations, his singular energy, strength and skill, render him wonderfully efficient. Seated across the yard-arm, with shoulder steadied and supported by the “lift,”—the “earing” passed round and reeved in the “reef-cringle” of the sail,—he is enabled, with little aid from the hands on the yard, to haul out the sail by vast muscular strength, skilfully applied, to the fitting position, when the cry “Haul out to leeward,” is replied to by his associate there with similar vigour and celerity of action, so that the enclosed section of the sail, previously so intractable under other hands, is in a few moments laid compact on the yard, and securely enfolded within the “reef-points.” Thus reef succeeded reef, till the broad flapping sail displayed but its smallest dimensions—the “close-reef” adapted for the storm, whilst corresponding operations were performed on the other sails with marvellous smartness and despatch; for the superior energy and commanding efficiency of these leaders, of a previously heartless and dispirited crew, had happily infused into all a new spirit of confidence, and stimulated to unwonted effort to imitate their admired ability, and thus to become useful helps in the task to be accomplished.

Within a less interval of time, perhaps, than had previously been wasted in inefficient endeavours to accomplish the duties required by the sudden violence of the storm, topsails are reefed and set compactly to the wind; courses and other sails are reefed or made snug by handing; top-gallant-yards, with spars and flying gear aloft, are sent down upon deck; and the ship, now no longer pressed down by overwhelming top-weight and fluttering sails, is restored to the desired equilibrium, and snugly prepared to encounter and weather the storm!

From this time the duty of the ship was well and smartly done. The superiority of my Father as a thorough practical seaman must have been both felt and acknowledged: the distance at which he soared beyond the others was too great and obvious for the intrusion even of that bane of social concord—jealousy; and the effect seems to have been the infusion of a higher character into the ordinary crew. Well, therefore, did our fugitives from a Spanish prison repay to ship, captain, owners and crew, the benefits they themselves received.

Section VI.—Entrance on, and Progress in training in, the Greenland Whale-Fishery.

After his exciting adventure in escaping from imprisonment in an enemy’s country, my father retired, for a season, from his seafaring pursuits. He returned to the homestead of his fathers, where, assisting in the management of the farm, he remained about two or three years. During this interval he married; the object of his choice being Lady Mary, (viz. Mary, with the prefix of Lady, taken, not ostentatiously, but in rural simplicity, from the characteristic designation of the day of her birth, which was on Lady-day), the eldest daughter of Mr. John Smith, of Cropton,—a rural district about five-and-twenty miles from Whitby,—who resided on a small landed property which he had inherited from his ancestors.

By no means satisfied, however, with this retirement,—which recent hard and perilous service had, for a time, rendered congenial to his feelings,—and as little contented with the limitation of his unusual energies to such a contracted scope of employment, he turned his attention again to the sea. And in this object he at length found a congenial opening, in a region and employment admirably adapted to his physical constitution and adventurous spirit, the Greenland Whale Fishery; a trade which, at this period, the latter end of the eighteenth century, was pursued with considerable enterprise from the port of Whitby.

On this new species of maritime service he embarked in the ship Henrietta, Captain Crispin Bean, in the spring of the year 1785, as one of the seamen. Of the incidents of his training in this adventurous and stirring profession, we have, unfortunately, no special records. To the requirements, however, in every species of knowledge and duty connected with the Arctic navigation and the capture of the huge cetacea of the north, he gave himself with such tact and perseverance, that, on his sixth voyage, we find him to have risen over the heads of all his original associates, and occupying the position of second officer, the specksioneer of the ship.[C]

A single incident, though of the most trifling nature, has been preserved in connection with this period of my Father’s life, which I am induced to record, simply because there was something in it illustrative of character.

As the ships employed in the whale fishery in the spring and summer were usually laid up during the rest of the year, it was the frequent practice of the officers, who were generally engaged from year to year, to embark as seamen in the coasting trade during the interval of winter. My Father, habitually energetic and industrious, and having now an increasing family to support, adopted this commendable course. On one occasion it so happened that he was employed in a vessel whose chief officer, the mate, was a young man possessing a full share of self-conceit, evinced by a not unfrequent exhibition of supercilious assumption of superiority—characteristics excessively obnoxious to my Father’s manly disposition. But, notwithstanding the occasional exhibition of an offensive manner towards himself as well as others, such was always his high sense of the duty of obedience to superiors, and of the importance, in principle, of proper subordination, that he bore with restrained feelings in silence this youthful and vexatious folly. An occasion, however, occurred, in which he might legitimately suffer the fault to chastise itself, and it is to that to which my story refers.

The vessel was lying in port about to take in ballast. In this operation, which is often effected (as in this case) by the shovel of “ballast-heavers” out of loaded “lighters” laid alongside the ship, there is a liability to scatter a good deal of the shingle or other material, so as to fall overboard to the encumbrance of the harbour. To prevent this damage to the navigation, it is in many places a harbour regulation that a canvas screen or sail, called a “port-sail,” should be placed below the small port-hole cut in the side of the ship for the reception of ballast, so as to catch the ballast-heavers’ scatterings.

In the good ship, the ——, however, this canvas protector happened to be wanting when ballast was about to be taken in. The mate, with a manner (it is presumed) of excessive superciliousness, came to my Father with a “bolt” (or roll) of canvas, asking him, as if doubting his capacity, whether he could make such a thing? and then requesting him to set immediately to work to supply the lack of port-sails. Assuming a look of meekest simplicity, which for such a just retribution my Father could well put on, he quietly asked, in reference to the order to make port-sails, “how many he was to make?” Mistaking the look of simplicity for simpleness itself, the young officer, as he turned jeeringly away, replied, “half-a-dozen, to be sure.”

One only, or two, at the most, could possibly be required; but, to punish arrogancy, the order was strictly regarded. Some hours subsequently the mate returned to the place where the work of the sail-needle was being actively carried on, when, to his astonishment and vexation, he found the deck covered with the breadths of canvas cut out for the half-dozen port-sails, and some two or three of them already seamed together! His fierce demand, “Why have you cut up the whole bolt of canvas?” was responded to in the former quiet manner of simplicity, “Did you not order me to make half-a-dozen?”

Whilst thus justly chastised for his own folly, and biting his lips with vexation,—the vexation being the more exciting because consciously self-earned,—he could not refrain from resorting to abuse, where reason and justice must fail him. But singularly enough it happened, whilst the altercation which ensued was being carried on, and when it had been broadly intimated to him, I believe, that his further services could be well dispensed with, that a letter, just then brought by some one coming on board, was put into my Father’s hand, offering him the unexpected appointment and preferment which constitute the subject of our next chapter. He was thus enabled, with no small advantage of position over the still fretted and abusive officer, to say, “If you are not satisfied with what I have commenced, I can leave you to do it yourself.”

In concluding this chapter, it comes appropriately in connection, to mention something of the state of my Father’s mind and feelings with respect to the grand object of this probationary state with man—the attainment and furtherance of a religious life.

On this topic I am the better enabled to write satisfactorily, because of the repeated references to it which I have heard my Father make in after-life. At all times, within my own recollection, he evinced a very marked regard for religion, with a clear apprehension of the great principles of our holy faith, and an ardent desire for the experience of its divine consolations. But he used to refer back, with a kind of longing regret, to the days of his youth, when he had felt the consolations of godliness, and realized the happiness of heavenly meditations. Often (as I have heard him intimate) whilst pursuing his agricultural labours, and not unfrequently, too, when walking to and fro in his night-watch at sea,—he had been privileged to realize that enviable feeling of peaceful happiness, in the lifting up of the heart in pious meditations and communings heavenward, which constitutes at once an experimental evidence and present reward of the reception of the Gospel of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. For, however it may fall short in the ardency of its perceptions, or however it may be liable to be confounded with the hasty and transient impulses of mere excitement, yet, in its nature, and according to its degree, the feeling thus realized belongs, I doubt not, to that truly enviable class of Christian experiences described by St. Paul, as “the peace of God, which passeth all understanding,” and as the rejoicing “with joy unspeakable and full of glory.”

FOOTNOTES:

[A] “Memoir of William Scoresby, Esq.” by the late Mr. Samuel Drew, in the “Imperial Magazine,” for 1822.

[B] Life of Captain James Cook, by the Rev. G. Young, of Whitby.

[C] The title “specksioneer,” derived from the Dutch, is applied to the officer who has special charge of the fishing apparatus, and the conduct of the flensing operations in the fishery. He is also a principal harpooner.

Chapter II.
HIS COMMENCEMENT AND PROGRESS IN WHALE-FISHING ENTERPRISE, AS A COMMANDER.

Section I.—Disappointment in his first Command.

In the history of men who, relatively to their prospects by birth, have attained to distinction in life, there will generally be found some special incident, sometimes apparently trifling in itself, or some particular circumstance, or chain of circumstances, in their professional career, on which, under Providence, their fortune manifestly turned.

Both the incident and the circumstance referred to were clearly and strikingly marked in my Father’s history. The incident appears in what occasioned the disgust which he took in early life at farming occupations, whereby he was stimulated to enter upon a seafaring life. The circumstance, or chain of circumstances, we find in the important preferment which unexpectedly, as to the occasion, was given to him when, over the heads of many associates, he was appointed to his first command.

Crispin Bean, the captain under whom my Father had had his training and experience in Arctic adventure, was, for his time, a successful whale-fisher. For, in the course of from seventeen to twenty years in which he followed this commerce, he realized a small fortune, sufficient, at least, with a little patrimony, to satisfy his very moderate desires and requirements, and to induce him to retire, whilst in fulness of vigour, from his arduous profession. He was a man of excellent character, and one for whom my Father always retained a sincere regard, and towards whom he was ever ready to show kindly consideration, when his means for subsistence and comfort were less sufficient in after-life. A vivid remembrance of Mr. Bean’s regard and preference for him, on the turning point of his temporal destiny, was observably retained, and was elicited, as I had myself not unfrequent opportunities of noticing, both in his manner of speaking of his former commander, and in his readiness to minister to him in acts of kindness.

It was after his voyage in the year 1790, that Mr. Bean announced to his owner, Nicholas Piper, Esq., of Pickering, his intention of relinquishing his command, and retiring from the sea. Himself entirely unprepared for appointing a successor, Mr. Piper enquired whether there was any one, among the officers of the Henrietta, whom he (Mr. Bean) could recommend for a Master? Mr. Bean, well observant of my Father’s persevering energy, seamanlike talent, and general superiority, replied,—“There is Scoresby, the specksioneer, who, I think, is the man for the duty.” And to him, with but little delay in further investigation, the command, to the agreeable surprise of my Father, and the jealous vexation of some of his brother officers, was transferred.

Mr. Piper, however, whilst so promptly exercising this generous confidence in his appointment, failed, in consistency, when proceeding with the measures for carrying it into effect. Considering his limited measure of experience, when contrasted with the much longer engagement in the fishery of the then chief officer, and some of the leading harponeers, he, unfortunately, took upon himself to re-engage these men for the ensuing voyage,—a proceeding which, however prudential, my Father felt to be at once uncourteous and unwise, though a measure which he was by no means in a position either to contravene or satisfactorily to resist. Every ground of hope, however, which he might have indulged in respect to any favourable views of such a principle, in its working, failed, whilst his very worst apprehensions were more than realized.

This result, indeed, came out the more characteristically, because of the singular unfavourableness of the season, wherein he made his first trial, for the objects of the adventure. The fishery, in general, proved unprecedentedly unsuccessful. Of seven ships which set out from Whitby, (the port from whence the Henrietta sailed,) one, the Marlborough, was lost; four returned “clean,”—that is, without any cargo; and two had but one fish each—one of them very small. Tradition has it—and the tradition I can well believe to be a historical fact—that the cargoes of the whole Whitby fleet of Greenland whalers (except one) from the fishery of 1791, were carried overland to Pickering, a distance of 21 miles, in one wagon!

It was in the worst class, that of “clean ships,” in which the Henrietta stood at the conclusion of this unpropitious season. But she so stood, not by any means deservedly, as regarded either the talent and perseverance of her new Captain, or the opportunities which his enterprise had afforded to his officers and crew for a position of, at least, leading prosperity. My Father, indeed, whilst often speaking in after-times of this trying, mortifying, and, as to his prospects in life, perilous failure, was known to remark, that such were the opportunities which his own people had, of doing as well as the most successful of his competitors, that there was scarcely a “fish” caught by the whole Greenland fleet, but whilst the Henrietta was in company, or during the capture of which he was not within view!

It was not the wish of the leading officers of the Henrietta, however, that their position should be different. A strong feeling of jealousy was injuriously cherished by certain officers over whom my Father had been preferred; and so far was this carried, and so variously indicated, that it became evident that their wish and design was, that their commander should be found in the most humiliating position amongst his fellow fishermen. The reality of the existence of this feeling was manifested in various ways. Among the early indications of a conspiracy which my Father clearly detected, was the positive and wilful inattention of some principal officers to the objects of their enterprise, when he was in bed, with the substitution of idle, if not venomous, converse, for officer-like diligence and watchfulness. For on one occasion, when being on very promising fishing-ground, he had sent a boat “on bran,”—the term used for designating the condition of a whale-boat when stationed afloat, with the crew ready for instant action, watching for the incidental appearance of a whale,—he heard, whilst lying anxiously awake in his bed, the subdued creaking of the “tackles,” as of a cautious and surreptitious hoisting up of the boat; and, on afterwards going unexpectedly on deck, he found the “watch,” both officers and men, engaged as we have just stated.

Attempts on the part of the officers to direct or dictate, not unfrequently made, failed, as was right they should do, except in one instance (judging from the case being often alluded to by my Father with regret), where the yielding to a proposition against his better judgment met with its consistent rebuke. A number of whales had been fallen in with, and the greater part of the boats had been sent out in pursuit. Reckless and ill-conditioned they pulled about hither and thither, frightening many, but harpooning none, of the objects of chase. For a considerable period the same folly or inefficiency was being enacted, and yet “fish” in encouraging numbers were still to be seen. The chief mate, one Matthew Smith, came to my Father to remonstrate with him for keeping the boats so long abroad without something to exhilarate the men,—urging, that spirits, as he said was usual, should be sent to them, or it could not be expected that they could either succeed or persevere. Though more than doubtful of the wisdom of employing stimulants in an adventure requiring the greatest coolness and self-possession, my Father unfortunately yielded, and ordered the steward to supply a quantity of brandy for being carried out to the absent sailors. But the mate’s boat, which was sent with this refreshment (?) was seen, after it had proceeded a mile or so from the ship, to cease rowing, and “lie to on its oars;” and there, as my Father’s sure telescope told him, they remained, till the crew had “drank themselves drunk.” Then, in their mad folly, they proceeded to the field of fishing enterprise, and effectually marred any chance of success, if a single honest harpooner were there, and gave a new and additional impulse to the existing recklessness and disaffection.

But private resistance of orders, as well as apparent neglect of opportunities frequently afforded them of advancing the grand object of the voyage, ultimately grew into the most aggravated form of insubordination—mutiny.

On one occasion, when the Henrietta had been pushed into an unwonted position of imagined peril among the ice by her commander’s adventurous spirit, the alarm of her crew urged their disaffection into open mutiny. They gathered themselves together, and proceeded to the quarter-deck, to demand (as I have understood the incident) their being released from so perilous a situation. My Father’s disregard of their remonstrances, and expressed determination to persevere, were at length met by brute force and open violence. One of the men, excited by his companions’ clamours, and his own dastardly rage, seized a hand-spike, and aimed a desperate blow, which might have been fatal, on the head of his Captain. But, now roused to the exertion of his heretofore unimagined strength and tact, he, whilst warding the blow with his hand, disarmed the assailant, and seizing him, as I have been told, in his athletic arms, actually flung him headlong among his associates, like a quoit from the hands of the player, filling the whole party with amazement at his strength and power, and for the moment arresting, under the influence of the feeling, the unmanly pursuance of their mutinous purposes.

The power of one against so many who had committed themselves to a penal act and assault, however, not being likely to continue to avail him, my Father, with a decision of purpose scarcely less surprising than his power of action, ordered a boy to take the helm, and whilst himself and others, whom his example might influence, “squared the yards,” directed the ship’s course (the wind being fair) homeward. Their demand to be released from the ice being thus yielded, and, with circumstances so very different from what they had expected, reduced, for a while, both the mutinous and insubordinate of the crew, to a sort of dogged quiescence. But when the ship, having cleared the ice, was still kept on the same course, and when ice and haunts of whales began to be left far astern, anxiety and alarm took place in the breasts of the authors of the mischief, who now, in their turn, felt just cause for dreading the issue of a proceeding which they had thus unexpectedly provoked. Words of unwonted calmness were now dropped by one or other of the officers, in hopes of eliciting some indication that the homeward direction was but a threat. Hints of the loss to the owners and himself were thrown out, if he followed out his apparent purpose; but all to no purpose—the Henrietta still wended her way before the home-blowing breeze with steady and unrestrained progress. At length, so great was the alarm excited, that the bold and blustering mutineers became subdued, and they came forward, backed by their subordinates in the crew, humbly soliciting that the ship might be hauled on a wind again for Greenland, and promising that themselves, and every man aboard, would submit to orders, and do their utmost to further the object on which they had embarked.

To have persisted in a purpose undertaken from necessity, the result of which could only be of unmixed injury to his employers as well as himself, when yet there was a chance, however faint, of doing something in respect to the intention of the adventure, might have been deemed an act of obstinacy, rather than wisdom. Not, therefore, to lose any chance of success, which this demonstration of better feeling might seem to promise, the ship was forthwith hauled to the wind, and, as circumstances of wind and weather allowed, every effort of seamanship was employed for hastening their return to the fishing-ground northward. The sunshine, however, which had rendered the gathering in of a limited harvest possible, was now departed, and all subsequent endeavours to make up for lost time and opportunities proved fruitless, so that the talented and efficient commander of the Henrietta had the mortification of reporting the result of his first and trial adventure as “a clean ship!”

On their arrival in port, the designs of the disaffected became gradually developed. It was hoped, and evidently expected, that my Father, failing of success, would be superseded; and it ultimately came out, though not until the whole scheme of this nefarious conspiracy had been enacted, and the failure of the experiment determined, that it had been matter of promise or arrangement, in the event of the chief officer obtaining the command, that the other officers in succeeding ranks should have a step in the way of promotion; and that the men, generally, should have better, and more equal treatment, and, as they were vainly flattered, be rewarded with higher wages!

Indications of this dastardly attempt to arrest the advancement of a young and enterprising commander appeared in two or three circumstances, which occurred soon after the Henrietta’s return to Whitby. One of these was the discovery of a letter, fastened conspicuously on one of the sails, addressed to Mr. Bean, the former captain, “requesting him to procure another master, Captain Scoresby having left the vessel, or gone ashore.”

Another circumstance, of a bolder character, I remember being related, which, however, operated in a manner directly the reverse of what was designed by the originators of the ungenerous device. A party of the officers, three or four in number, proceeded to the owner’s residence—I believe over the Moors to Pickering—for the express purpose of complaining of my Father’s unfitness for the command. One of their reasons, more curious than manly, was founded on observation of their commander’s fearless and adventurous practice, as a navigator,—entirely different from the habit of the times. The complaint was to the effect, “that, instead of keeping the ship clear of danger in the fishery, he was continually running them into the ice; and his daringness was such that, if he should be continued in the command, he would lose the ship and drown them all!”

On a sensible man like Mr. Piper, the information, as to enterprising character, conveyed by objections of this kind, was by no means lost. His reflection thereon, as I understood it to have been, was, “Why this is the very sort of man we need!”

My Father was not, of course, without his anxieties as to what the issue might be. He had embarked in a post of great responsibility, where, beyond the ordinary qualifications of the navigator, success as a fisherman was looked for, and so prominently regarded, too, that successfulness, above all other qualities, stood absorbingly pre-eminent. Having failed on his first, and most critical, trial, he anxiously expressed his regrets at his failure, when he first met his disappointed and suffering owner. But he, having meanwhile, I believe, spoken on the subject to his former captain (Mr. Bean), replied encouragingly, “It can’t be helped: you must try again.” The confiding owner, however, could not but be a little surprised when, on the first fitting occasion after the intimation of his re-appointment, my Father, meekly, but firmly, informed him, “that if he again took the command he must have the appointment of all the hands—both officers and general crew.” Mr. Piper’s usual “Pooh! pooh!” at a demand so unexpected, produced no change in the reasonable requirements of his anxious, but decided dependent. He consulted Mr. Bean thereon, and he, it is reported, recommended acquiescence on the part of the owner. At all events the owner did acquiesce. The happy effect and result will appear in our next section.

Section II.—His Second Adventure, and commencing Prosperity.

Under the fitting authority yielded to my Father, in respect to the absolute selection and engagement of his officers and crew, he acted with equal wisdom and decision. His first act was to discharge the whole of his old and self-assumed accomplished or experienced officers, and to replace them with younger and more tractable men; some of those who had served with him in his first command, whose characters he had appreciated, being advanced from inferior stations to places of responsibility.

The principle that had been conceded by the owner to his captain, as to the absolute selection of his crew, was, however, in a very minor appointment, attempted to be interfered with; but it only served to bring out in greater distinctiveness the character with whom he had to deal. The circumstance was this:—On the fitting out of the ship in the spring of 1792, my Father, on going on board one morning for his usual superintendence of the work, observed a stranger,—one whom he had not himself engaged,—busily employed, as if quite installed in office, about the cooking department. In surprise he asked the would-be cook “who had sent him there?” “The owner,” he replied, “had shipped him as the cook.”

Without a word further, and without regarding consequences, so momentous to himself which might result, he gave himself up to the manly impulse of his mind, determining either to have the appointment revoked, or to relinquish a post which had formed at once the object of his aspirings and the summit of his hopes. His manner on the occasion, whilst most respectful to his superior, was as unequivocally firm, as his mind was decided. Taking the “ship’s papers” from their safe custody in a compartment of the cabin, viz. the ship’s register, certain bonds claimed by the Customs and Excise, and other documents required to be held by the ship’s commander,—he proceeded immediately on shore to Mr. Piper’s apartments, at once presenting them, and in so doing, resigning his command into the hands of the astonished owner. His astonishment was hardly lessened when, on being asked the reason of this strange conduct, my Father referred him to the appointment, without his personal sanction, of a cook to the ship. The remonstrative “pooh! pooh! pooh!” proved of no more avail than on a former occasion; but Mr. Piper’s naturally good sense prevailing over his mortified pride of authority, he conceded this point also, and my Father, returning on board with his papers, sent the intruding cook to the right-about, leaving him and Mr. Piper to settle the disagreeables as well as they might.

The principle, the firmness, and the tact of my Father, in respect to the engagement and selection of his crew, were amply vindicated in the happy result of his second adventure as commander. Men who had been selected and appointed by him, readily deferred to him. Men who, contrary to ordinary slow progress, step by step, had been advanced, per saltum, to places of responsibility, gave spontaneous respect and honour to one who could so estimate ability, and confide in the application of untried talents. Discipline was easily preserved, and active, confiding, and cordial obedience succeeded to the former disaffection. The commanding talent of the director of the adventure thus obtained its proper scope, and resulted in an almost unprecedented measure of success.[D] No less than eighteen whales were captured, yielding 112 tuns of oil, on this, to my Father, very momentous voyage; for, whilst a second failure might have permanently blighted his hopes and prevented his prosperity, this extraordinary success directed admiring attention to the commander, who had had largeness of mind to contemplate, and superiority of ability to accomplish, so enterprising and profitable an advance beyond what his predecessors from the port of Whitby had either deemed in any way practicable, or had been limited, by their too narrow conceptions of sufficiency, from attempting.

Section III.—Further Successes, with their comparative Relations, in the Ship Henrietta.

Future results clearly indicated the source, under a favouring Providence, of my Father’s prosperity. These first fruits of adventure were justified by the subsequent harvest, as the legitimate proceeds of superior management. Merely accidental circumstances may yield, for an occasion or two, or for several occasions, felicitous results; but where adventures involving mind and talent for their conduct, prove, through a long series of repetitions, under all the diversities of times and seasons, unusually successful, they give evidence of a master-mind directing the operations.

During the subsequent five years of my Father’s enterprises in the same ship—from 1793 to 1797 inclusive,—the Henrietta’s cargo stood generally, I believe, at the head of the list of successful voyages amongst the whole fleet of Greenland whalers. The least successful voyage was liberally remunerating to the owner—the most successful, unprecedentedly so. The total captures in whales, during the six successful years, including that of 1792, was no less than eighty; and the produce in oil, (considered as wonderful for that day,) 729 tuns.

Before the introduction of this species of energetic enterprise, the adventurers, as a class, were content with small things. We have the commendatory record concerning Captain Banks, of the Jenny, of Whitby, who was esteemed a talented and successful fisherman, that he brought home sixty-five whales in ten years, or six and a half per year; whereas the average captures by my Father, during the period referred to, was thirteen and one-third whales, or more than double the number of this successful predecessor.

The catch in his fifth year of command reached the then extraordinary amount of twenty-five whales; and in his last year, the proceeds in oil were greater, being 152 tuns, than had before entered the port of Whitby in any one ship.

Whilst giving the first detailed and authentic records of a Father’s life and enterprises, it may be permitted, I trust, in the son, to dwell still further on these comparisons, whereby the enterprises referred to may obtain their just estimation in their bearing on the commercial prosperity of the nation.

The comparison of my Father’s successes with those accustomed to be realized by the northern whale-fishers in general, will afford to him, as may have been anticipated, a highly commendatory result.

The most distinguished whale-fishers in the world, during a century and a half, or more, were the Dutch, with whose ordinary successes the comparison may, with propriety, first be made. Within the long interval of 107 years, ending with 1778, the produce of 57,590 whales was brought into Holland by 14,167 ships, (reckoning repeated voyages,) yielding an average of four and one-fifteenth whales per ship. During the ten years more immediately preceding my Father’s commencement,—from 1769 to 1778, for instance,—the average produce of the Dutch Greenland whale-fishery, per ship, a year, (ninety ships, on an average being employed,) was about three and a half “fish.” In the ten years beginning with 1779, (sixty sail being regularly sent out,) the average was about three and three-quarters. And in the ten years, from 1785 to 1794, passing within the period of my Father’s early enterprises, (sixty ships being then also annually engaged in the fisheries of Greenland and Davis’ Strait), the catch was 2294 whales, giving an average of three and eight-tenths whales per ship for each year. Hence my Father’s success, compared with these various averages of the Dutch fleet, rises, in respect of the number of whales captured, in the remarkable proportion of above three and a half to one.

But we turn to home comparisons, which as to the object in view is of more importance to us,—though the materials for obtaining general results are, I regret to find, but very scanty.

As to the whale-fishery of Great Britain, in 1787 and 1788, we find (Arctic Regions, ii. p. 112,) 505 cargoes were obtained in the two years, amounting to 15,894 tuns of oil, or 31·5 tuns per ship a year.

The records in hand of the Greenland fishery from Scotland, in the years just preceding my Father’s commencement, relate only to the period from 1785 to 1788. In each of the two latter years, when thirty-one ships were employed in the trade, the average success per ship was only two and four-fifths whales. The general average for Scotland seems, indeed, at this period to have been low; but, soon after the commencement of the present century, the enterprise and perseverance of our northern sailors began, not only to assert their proper position, but to recompense for past inferiority,—their whale-fishery of these more recent times becoming second to none, either in the ability with which it was pursued, or the success with which it was rewarded.

With the port of Whitby, from whence the Henrietta sailed, we have already drawn certain comparisons. We only add the general result of the fishery of 1786, 1787, and 1788, when twenty ships sailed from this port yearly for Greenland. The catch per ship, for each of these years, was about three and a half whales; but, including the next three years, one of which was most disastrous, the average catch would hardly reach three fish per ship.

But the best comparisons of my Father’s successes are with those of the Greenland whalers from Hull; these comparisons being rendered most satisfactory because of the ample records before me of the whale fishery of that port. The records referred to are comprised in an elaborate and carefully kept manuscript, kindly entrusted to me for the present object, belonging to Mr. James Simpson, painter, of Hull, in which an admirable abstract is preserved of the whale-fishing enterprise of the port during a consecutive period of fifty-nine years, from 1772 to 1830 inclusive.

From this document, for the comparison at present designed, we obtain the following information:—During the twenty years, from 1772 to 1791, reaching my Father’s commencement, 266 ships (including repeated voyages) sailed from Hull to the Greenland whale-fishery, and obtained, altogether, an amount of produce of 9377 tuns of oil, averaging 35·25 tuns a voyage for each ship. In the six years before my Father’s commencement,—1786 to 1791,—158 ships (gross amount) obtained 4975 tuns of oil, or 31·5 on the average. And in the next six years, corresponding exactly with those of my Father’s successful enterprise in the Henrietta,—1792 to 1797,—ninety-two Greenland whalers, from Hull, procured 5464 tuns of oil, or 59·4 tuns per ship a year.

My Father’s average success, taken in comparison of these various home results, we hence gather, was about four times as great as the ordinary success (within the limited periods specified) of the British whalers generally. It was also four times as great as the usual average of the Whitby whalers; in like proportion above the average of the Hull whalers during the previous twenty years; and more than double the Hull average for the same actual period!

But to institute the most severe comparison with the successes of his competitors in this important field of commercial enterprise, we may notice that during the period of his command of the Henrietta (omitting, for reasons already assigned, the first year only), the amount of my Father’s cargoes exceeded, by 151 tuns of oil, that of the most successful of the Hull ships of the time, amongst more than fifteen annual competitors; and was larger even than the amount attained by the six united cargoes of the most successful ship out of the whole of the whalers from the port, taken year by year! And, it is believed, could the comparison have been made with the entire fleet of whalers proceeding from Britain to the Greenland fishery, my Father, under this severest possible test of competition, with all the disadvantages of time and chance against him, would still be found at the head!

Among the captains of the Whitby fleet, no one, I believe, at all approached his successes; and among those commanding the Greenland whalers of Hull none came at all near him, except one—Captain Allan,—whose name I feel it but justice to record as the most successful fisherman of his port, and one of the first of his day. Captain Angus Sadler, whose remarkable successes we hereafter notice, did not commence until 1796. And Captain John Marshall, who afterwards became so celebrated among his compeers, was but, as yet, rising towards superiority; besides, his enterprises, after he became so signally successful, were conducted in Davis’ Strait,—a branch of the fishery to which our comparison may not fairly extend.

The result of the enterprise of the other captains of this period was, in each case, so far below that of the subject of these memorials, as only, in two or three cases, to reach one-half his success. Captain Taylor, of the Fanny, brought home 400 tuns of oil within those six years, and Captain Wilson, of the Caroline, 318; but my Father’s catch, as above stated, yielded no less an amount than 729 tuns! And when it is understood that the Henrietta was of but small tonnage, (254 tons,) whilst many of the Hull ships were from 50 to 100, or even 120, tons larger, the comparison instituted becomes the more remarkable.

In these successes of my Father, the people of Whitby felt an universal and exciting interest, for most of the principal inhabitants, as well as a large body of those in the middle and lower classes, were, more or less, directly or indirectly, participators in the gains of the whale-fishery. But whilst all were astonished at the results of enterprises so unquestionably due to an individual guidance, no small number were moved to feelings of jealousy in consequence of successes, to which the fruits of their personal ventures in other ships bore no reasonable proportion. The modes in which this baneful feeling towards my Father was evinced, were as various as they were sometimes annoying. At first, the extraordinary results were ascribed to “luck;” and, subsequently, when more than luck was too obvious to be denied, the waning phantom of superstition was resorted to in order to escape the commendation of a frank acknowledgment of superior merit. Some persons there were of an order of mind so simple, as actually to believe what was jocosely told, that he “knee-banded” a portion of fish in one year to facilitate the success of the next. Jeers and lampoons were made use of as outlets for the expression of narrow and jealous selfishness,—annoyances which the substantiality of my Father’s advantages enabled him very well to bear, but which were often keenly felt when played off against the less stern materials of his amiable and tender-minded wife and susceptible young family.

The working of this principle, in envious manifestations of word and feeling, presents a painfully characteristic fruit of human degeneration from original perfectness. And the manner and sphere of its working yield very characteristic instruction on the nature of the deteriorated mind. Mankind can well bear, and be free to commend in generous frankness, successful enterprise in other departments than that of their own sphere. Nay, by a strange concession of the secret mind, when under a disposition to withhold the meed of praise in the department which trenches on self-interest, or self-consequence, we find many disposed to bestow an utterly extravagant measure of adulation, where it may be popular to do so, on individuals and enterprises distinctly separate and remote from interferences with themselves. But let a man be “ploughing in the same field” of enterprise, or intelligent research; let the admired results of the labour of one but stand out on the sculptured tablet of fame in bold relief of the mere groundwork surface of the other explorers of like mysteries; or let the profitable fruits of the industry of one contrast with the sad failures or meagre successes of others engaged in the self-same species of enterprise, and then we shall find, more or less developed, among the many whose efforts have been overtopped and eclipsed, and among the multitudes, perhaps, associated relatively or interestedly with the mortified competitors, the feelings of envy and jealousy, sometimes of hatred and malice, most sadly conspicuous and dominant.

In my Father’s case, where sometimes the owners, captains, and crews of near a dozen ships sailing from the same port had their most ardent enterprises, year by year, altogether eclipsed by his superior success,—and where, by reason of relative or interested association, the majority of a town’s population became participators in the mortifying competition,—the measure in which the ungenerous feelings might possibly have their existence and impulses, may be well imagined to have been very extensive. That it was so in an extraordinary degree in the early progress of my Father’s adventures, and during many years of his singular prosperity, every member of his family had too painful evidence.

But as to the observant and intelligent classes separate from this baneful prejudice, and as to some of more dignified minds amongst parties who were personally interested in whale-fishing concerns, the character and merits of the subject of these records were sufficiently appreciated and acknowledged.

The fame of his successes reached throughout the commercial ports of the realm, and applications of a very tempting nature came unsolicited upon him, for transferring his guidance and energies to other associates in Arctic enterprise, with encouraging promise of far more profitable results.

My Mother, who was much attached to Whitby, as a place of residence, viewed these repeated offers with much anxiety, feeling that my Father’s taking a command elsewhere must involve her either in the trial of leaving Whitby, or in the great inconvenience of a much more considerable period of severance than the mere Greenland voyage required, of the family circle. For awhile her objections prevailed; but ultimately, as in another chapter we shall have to record, these objections sunk under the advantages elsewhere proffered.

Section IV.—Episodical Incident—the Rescue of endangered Pleasurers.

Before carrying forward the records of my Father’s new adventures in a more promising field for his personal prosperity, I shall introduce an incident of a very peculiar and interesting description, belonging to the period, though not to the business of the fishery, whilst he still held his command of the “good ship” Henrietta. It occurred whilst the ship lay at anchor, incidentally, in the river Tees, on one of her most successful voyages, homeward bound, when I was myself on board. Though I was but a child, I remember the time well. The novelty of my position in being taken on shipboard by my Father, when, a few days before, he had been on shore at Whitby, and the interesting circumstance, to me, of the capture of a small sand-bird, which I anxiously fed and endeavoured to keep alive, made an indelible impression on my youthful recollection. The incident, however, constituting the present story, I did not well understand till long afterward, but which I now record with much confidence of being substantially correct in every detail, from hearing it repeatedly related in after-life.

The incident consisted in the interesting and gratifying circumstance of the saving of the lives of two individuals moving in an upper sphere in society, by my Father’s habitual facility and accuracy in the use of the pocket telescope, and by the information derived therefrom being made use of with his characteristic forethought and energetic promptness of action.

The success of the voyage had been such that the largest amount of whales yet captured in the then progress of the fishery, being twenty-five in number, had enriched by their produce this single adventure. Beyond the capacity of the casks taken out for the reception of the cargo, a large quantity of blubber “in bulk,” or in massive flitches, had been stowed on the top. The draught of water of the ship, thus unusually loaded, was found on their arrival in Whitby Roads, which was just after the spring-tides had passed off, to be too great for the flow in the harbour. Whilst waiting the advance of the succeeding spring-tides, therefore, the ship was taken northward to the river Tees, the nearest accessible port, and a supply of empty casks sent thither by a small coaster, whereby the men were usefully and savingly occupied throughout the interval in chopping up the loose blubber, from which its valuable contents in oil were perpetually oozing out, and securing it from further waste in the auxiliary casks.

Whilst this operation was still in active and greasy progress, my Father, in walking the deck, remarked on a large patch of sand, about a mile from the ship, a gig, occupied by a gentleman and a lady, driving pleasantly up and down. The day was fine, and the recreation of driving on a smooth and extended surface of sand, so singularly firm that the wheels did not penetrate beyond the slightest impression, was very enjoyable. But, as it soon appeared, and as my Father providentially anticipated, it was by no means—on the place selected—a safe recreation.

The bank of sand referred to, of which there are many such within the wide extent of the Tees, appeared uncovered at about half ebb, and became accessible soon afterward by the drying of a slightly depressed channel lying betwixt it and the shore. Previous to this time of tide the party had been driving nearer the fields; but tempted by the fine smooth expanse of surface of the outer sand, and encouraged by its admirable firmness on trial, they forthwith limited their driving to the breadth of the continuous surface, and continued to enjoy themselves in this recreation and their social converse, unconscious of danger, till after the tide had long been rising.

My Father, who continued observing them anxiously with his glass, had noticed the rapid rising of the tide, which he soon found was entering the channel, and separating them unconsciously from the shore. Engrossed as they seemed in their pleasant recreation, he inferred, and that justly, that their lives would soon be imperilled. Anticipating the danger, he ordered a boat to be got ready to push off at a moment’s notice, should the absorbing inattention of the strangers continue. At length he saw that they had become aware of their position, and were driving their vehicle into the narrow channel into which the tide had recently flowed. With palpitating anxiety he perceived that the water was deeper than they had imagined, and that the previously firm ground, disintegrated by the action of the tide, had turned into the treacherous quicksand. He then saw the horse take alarm, the gig sink down to the axles of its wheels, and the lady and gentleman jump out in obvious terror behind, and with difficulty regain the broad surface of the yet dry, and, happily for them, firm sandbank.

Promptly he summoned the crew of the boat, whom he had previously advised of the probable result of this adventure, and sent them off with the urgent and stimulating command, “Pull as for your lives, or they will be lost!” Bravely and humanely did the sailors perform their cheerfully undertaken task: every nerve was strained to give speed to the boat, whilst the steersman, as he is wont in the pursuit of the whale, no doubt urged their nervous and energetic efforts by the oft-reiterated cry “Give way! Give way, or they will be lost!”

With intense anxiety and interest my Father watched every oar’s stroke in the progress of the boat, and every action of those whose rescue he sought. He marked the gradual rise of the tide, till it just washed the highest part of the surface on which the dismayed party now stood. He perceived that the sand became softened, and that they began to sink; but, with a well-tutored judgment, he marked also, to his heart’s great joy, that the boat would be in time. It approached them as they were gradually sinking, when the lady threw herself forward in the water to anticipate the rescue, and both in a few moments exulted, with nervous trepidation, in their now conscious safety from a justly-dreaded watery grave. It was a touching, heart-stirring result, realized as well by the author, under Providence, of the timely relief, as by the generously sympathising sailors and the parties themselves.

They were of course conveyed at once to the safety of the proximate shore, and, being landed there, the seamen returned to look after their horse and gig, which were all but submerged. The horse, with no small difficulty, they got disengaged from its entanglement with the vehicle, which, fortunately, had still energy enough left to enable them to swim it to the shore. The gig was then sought after, secured, and floated to the same place of safety. And, ultimately, the horse was reharnessed by their active aid; and the two individuals, who had experienced such a providential rescue, drove forthwith away from the scene of this memorable adventure.

The gentleman was found to be a Mr. M——, nephew to a dignitary of the Cathedral Church at York; his companion, Mrs. S——, a lady of fortune. The wife of the one, I understood, and the husband of the other, were also spending the morning together mutually reciprocating in a social drive; but they had chosen the common road of the highway, and, of course, ran no risk of a similar adventure.

One would have been glad to have had to record, in connection with such an unusual incident, that the preservation from a premature death, by the sailors’ cheerfully devoted energies, had met with something like a grateful recognition of the service rendered. The only acknowledgment, however, which was made for this timely and momentous aid, whereby a carriage and horse, besides the lives of two individuals in a genteel position in society were saved, was the reward of a guinea to be divided amongst the whole boat’s crew. The high-minded philanthropist feels sufficient reward in the satisfaction of being privileged to be the instrument of yielding distinguished benefits to his fellow-creatures; but every right-minded person loves to see some fitting evidence of a grateful apprehension of benefits conferred. As to the paltry offering to the sailors, I remember my Father being grieved and vexed,—vexed that they should have condescended to accept any reward, where the offering, in reference even to the efforts made, much less to the service conferred, was so contemptible. As for my Father himself, the opportunity of saving the lives of two of his fellow-creatures was the source, in itself, of fervent and permanent satisfaction, affording him, no doubt, one of the most peculiarly pleasant and grateful recollections of his adventurous life.

Section V.—The Greenland Doctor.

Some circumstances of a more playful nature belonging to the period embraced by the present chapter may here be introduced, with a view to vary and perhaps enliven these parental records.

The subject I select belongs to the history of a kind of steward-surgeon,—the humble class of medical practitioners usually employed at the period of my Father’s early career, being designed, on the one part, to fulfil the technical requirements of the law, that a whale-ship claiming the advantage of the Government “bounty,” must carry a surgeon; and, on the other part, to gratify the officers in the captain’s cabin by the improvement of the common culinary operations of the ship’s cook, by the hands of the doctor or second-mate acting as cabin-steward and pastry-cook. To my Father’s credit, however, it should be stated, that he was the first, as I have understood, who sought out a more fitting person for this department, and, obtaining a medical student from Edinburgh, employed him strictly as a medical officer, and gave him the advantage of a gentleman’s position.

On one occasion, during the period referred to, my Father had not succeeded, when the time for the arrangement became pressing, in engaging a surgeon for the voyage. Hearing, however, of a person living in a village near Whitby, who had, according to repute, sundry qualifications appropriable to the station as its duties were then ordered, my Father sent to inquire whether he would like a situation, the emoluments of which might far exceed his usual earnings from a multifarious profession. The “doctor,” (as we shall hereafter call him,) forthwith proceeded to Whitby, and, on being particularly questioned as to his various capabilities, gave a most ample schedule of the duties he was qualified to undertake. He could bleed and draw teeth—the two essentials for the surgeon;—he could shave and dress hair—the qualifications of the barber;—he could make pastry and bake—the chief requisites of the cabin cook.

But, in order to his passing the mustering-officer of the Customs, a medical certificate, to be obtained only by personal examination, he, somewhat to his discomfiture, was told would be requisite. After some consideration, as to the difficulties of such an ordeal, and the probabilities of failure or success, he expressed his willingness to submit to an examination. Whatever his anxieties might have been, in prospect of the trial, my father could hardly be less solicitous than the doctor himself about the result, as the sailing of the ship might possibly be delayed if the present candidate for the post of medical-officer should fail.

An appointment was forthwith arranged for this serious affair, Doctor R——, of Whitby, being the examiner, and the Angel Inn, the place for the exercise. My Father, who had accompanied his candidate officer to the place of meeting, sent him, under guidance of a waiter, to a private room, where Dr. R—— was waiting for him, wishing him, with no small measure of anxious misgivings, good-luck in his examination. But the doctor was a wise man, and his simple-minded forethought did him essential service.

In a very few minutes, to my Father’s much surprise and disappointment, as he naturally anticipated, the doctor returned. “How is this?” he exclaimed, “What is the matter, that you have returned so soon?” “Oh,” said the doctor, with a curious mixture of expression of subdued happiness and self-sufficient gratulation, “it’s all over—I’ve passed.” “Passed!” ejaculated my Father, “how is that possible? Doctor R—— had no time to examine you.” The doubt was settled by the handing over of a slip of paper containing a sufficient certificate. All curiosity to know how such an issue could have been attained in so limited a space of time, my Father impatiently asked, “But how was it, doctor? How were you examined?”

The doctor described the scene, as I well remember my Father’s account of it, in about the following terms:—“When I went to Doctor R.,” said the now happily appointed surgeon, “I spoke first; I said to him, Doctor R., the long and the short of the business is this—if I can do no good, I’ll do no harm.” “Then,” after a moment’s pause and consideration, with some little expression of cool surprise, as the candidate described it, “Then,” replied the examiner, “you’ll do better than half the doctors in England;” and, without a word more, he proceeded to write out a certificate.

Anecdotes of the doctor were not unfrequently told, with evident pleasant recollections, by my Father, who seemed, in an unusual degree, to have exercised a playful pleasantry with this simple-minded officer of many departments.

The cookery he managed with a fair measure of ability; and the breakfast cakes, though not always so fair as they might have been, were sufficiently enjoyable in comparison of hard coarse biscuits. But a little disrelish was threatened by an accidental sight of the process of cake-making, which it required the full measure of indifference to trifling unfitnesses among the sailors of the mess to get over. One morning, early, my Father happened to pass by the place where the doctor was industriously preparing the paste for the oven. To his surprise he observed, and uttered an exclamation expressive of the surprise, that the hands of the manipulator of the elements of bread were not only unwashed, but most remote from the ordinary colour belonging to cleanliness. The doctor bore the exclamation with the coolest perseverance, and without even lifting his eyes from the bowl in which he was mixing the materials, contented himself with remarking, in reduplication of expression, the but ill-consoling fact, as to the effect of the operation on his hands, “the paste will clean them! the paste will clean them!”

The doctor was ambitious of practice in shooting, and fond of embracing occasions for the purpose. Whilst the ship was incidentally lying close beset in the ice, without the possibility of any movement being effected, my Father, on one occasion, bethought himself of an enlivenment of the general depression incident to such a situation, at the expense of the simple-hearted, good-natured doctor. For this he made the fitting arrangements, and then, calling up the doctor, pointed him out a dark-looking object, apparently a seal, lying at some little distance from the ship, and asked him if he would like to go and try to shoot it? The proposition was too pleasant to the doctor’s wishes to be rejected, and preparations were forthwith made by the bringing up of two guns, with the requisites for loading, upon the deck. My Father took one of the guns to load, handing over the other to the doctor for the same purpose, and then they descended upon the ice, which afforded a sufficiently firm footing for their travelling to the place where the object of the contemplated sport was seen.

As they proceeded, my Father favoured the doctor by offering him the first shot; but supposing his own gun might suit the doctor best, being a finer and lighter piece than the other, he proposed an exchange, which was readily and thankfully accepted.

Coming near the place, they saw the dark-looking back of the creature plainly appearing, with an occasional slight movement indicative of wakefulness, behind a small hummock of the ice; then advancing cautiously, till almost within shot, my Father suggested that the doctor should creep forward, in shelter of the hummock, till he got the animal sufficiently within command of his gun. Having attained the requisite position, my Father, in an audible whisper, cried, “Now, doctor, now’s your time!” The doctor having anxiously taken his aim, and satisfactorily covered the creature with his gun, fired, when, instead of a seal, up started one of the seamen, uttering a terrific shout of “Murder! murder! I’m a murdered man!” My Father joined in the exclamation of horror at what the doctor had done; and the doctor turning ashy pale, his knees tottering and his teeth chattering from terror, had well nigh fallen insensible under his acute emotions—emotions aggravated in intenseness of anxiety, by the cries of the other seamen now rushing in a body to the place, to see the sad catastrophe of “a man shot in mistake for a seal by the fool of a doctor.”

Happily for the dismayed and suffering sportsman, the catastrophe, though almost too painful as a joke, was soon proved to be exaggerated and unreal, by the supposed wounded seaman throwing aside the deceptive character he had assumed, and coming forward to join in the laugh against him.

It is hardly necessary to mention that the whole affair was contrived, and that, by the changing of guns, my Father had secured the well-charged one of the doctor’s, and replaced it with one abundantly furnished with powder and wadding, but devoid altogether of deadly shot.

It is seldom that practical jokes go off so well; for few persons will be content to be made the dupe for others’ entertainment. The potion, therefore, that we should not like to have given sportively unto ourselves, we should be cautious in administering to others. Manifold cases of very serious mischief, extending even to results fatal to human life, have arisen from the unfitting or unseasonable playing off of practical jokes. In the case which I have ventured to describe, however, there was little risk. The position of the author of the joke in respect to that of its subject, on the one part, and the good-natured simplicity of character of the subject on the other, afforded, together, a sufficient security against any essential mischief. Perhaps, too, where an entire ship’s company were in much depression of mind, by reason of the alarming and tedious besetment under which they were suffering, a beneficial and redeeming effect was, on the whole, realised. For the doctor himself, so far from cherishing any painful or unkindly feelings on account of the part he had unconsciously played in the little facetious drama, was too happy in being relieved from the temporarily imagined misery of having, whilst seeking sport, deprived a fellow-creature of life. So effective, indeed, did this influence react upon his feelings of anxiety, that he himself joined in the general hilarity as heartily as any of his amused shipmates.

Section VI.—Taming of a Bear—Interesting Recognition.

The Polar Bear is popularly known as one of the strongest and most ferocious of that class of animals which shrinks not from voluntary conflict with man. The species is often met with, sometimes in considerable numbers, upon the shores of the Arctic lands, and within the region of the ices of the Greenland sea. It not unfrequently occurs of the length of seven or eight feet, and four or five feet high, weighing as much as a small ox. Specimens whose skin measured twelve to thirteen feet in length, have been described by voyagers. The “paw of the bear,” of which there is Scriptural mention, may, in the full-grown animal, as now met with, be from seven to nine inches in breadth, and large enough to overspread two-thirds of a square foot, or more, of the snowy surface on which it treads. Hence its admirable adaptation for the region in which Providence has placed its abode.

Of this animal the Arctic whaler has frequent opportunities of making captures, and, sometimes, of adding a stirring variety to the ordinary scenes of conflict and adventure. My Father’s experience, whilst affording many examples of the former result, had a reasonable share of the latter. It is to a special case, however, as indicated in our head-title, that the present record relates.

On one occasion, when a female bear with cubs had been attacked, one of the young ones was taken alive. It was a fine, and, for a cub, well-grown animal. When first taken on board, it was temporarily secured on an unoccupied part of the deck, but in a place near to which my Father had incidentally to pass. Whilst thus passing, inconsiderate about any risk of assault, the animal very unexpectedly made a spring at him, but fortunately, checked by his rope, failed in the ferocious intent. This circumstance suggested the idea, which he soon proceeded to carry out, not only of chastising, but of subduing the captive animal. The proceeding adopted was as follows:—

The rope already encircling the neck of the bear was put through a ring-bolt on the deck, and the head was thereby drawn so closely down as to limit its capabilities of extension within the range of a few inches, or perhaps about a foot. My Father then took his station in a secure position, and held out his hand invitingly towards it, an action which the irritated creature retorted by a furious roar, and attempt to bite. This act he rebuked by striking it over the snout with the fingers, closely compacted, of one of his hands. At each blow, attempts were vainly made to catch and tear the audacious instrument by which Bruin was thus being chastised. But after very many repetitions of the now keenly-felt strokes of the hand on this tender place of the head, and after as many failures, on the part of the chastised creature, in his endeavours to retaliate, the bear began evidently to feel a commanding influence, as indicated by the frequent effort to avoid the coming blow. Occasionally, however, he would renew his attempts to bite, roaring, with an obviously mixed expression of ferocity and pain. Perseveringly, as the bear continued to resist, the same chastisement was regularly administered, till at last, the recently intractable animal began to be subdued under the master-power with which he struggled.

The effect of the process was, from time to time, tested, by holding out a finger near to the creature’s face. If it attempted to bite, the chastisement was continued until, on the application of the test, there was either a quiet submission, or a turning away of the head. Ultimately the animal was made acquainted with our accustomed modes of expressing approbation, by being patted on the neck or side of the head; and, then, as often as it rebelled, the usual punishment was renewed, and, whenever it indicated submission, it either received the former token of approval, or the more substantial and intelligible reward of being fed by the hand by which it had been wont to be chastised.

The thorough subjection, indeed, of this naturally ferocious creature was soon effected,—within the space, I believe, of two or three days,—and from that time forward my Father’s command over it was uniform and supreme. Nor was the kindness with which he treated the captive lost upon it; for it yielded, as occasions permitted, very decided indications of an inversion of its ordinary vicious propensities in respect to its considerate master. Two illustrative cases belong to this record.

On the arrival of the ship in port, bruin was removed to the oil-yard,—the premises on which the blubber was landed, in order to its being reduced into marketable oil. Its arrival became a subject of popular interest, and the inhabitants of Whitby flocked out in masses to see it.

Whilst so situated, the bear, somehow or other, obtained his release, and escaped into an adjoining covert,—“Cockmill Wood.” The incident soon became known at Whitby. A wild and dangerous animal—now rendered supremely ferocious by reason of the almost perpetual teazing to which he had been subjected from his numerous visitors—at large, within a mile or so of the town, and in a wood intersected by a much-frequented footpath, proved the occasion of great and general excitement. Men and lads, assisted by dogs, and armed with guns and a variety of other destructive weapons, were speedily in progress, and with overwhelming superiority, towards the retreat of the bear, with a view to its destruction.

Happily for poor Bruin, my Father got timely intimation of the circumstance that had occasioned so much alarm. He proceeded forthwith to the oil-yard, where he provided himself with a short piece of rope, and then climbed the cliff into the wood in search of the stray animal. Guidance was sufficiently afforded by the stream of persons flowing towards the place of his retreat, and, on nearer approach, by the noise and clamours of the assemblage.

It was a curious scene. A motley crowd of men and boys and dogs formed, at a respectable distance, a curvilinear front, with the surprised object of attack quietly standing in the focus. Fortunately no blood had yet been shed; no wounds or bruises yet given. It was the important moment of mutual reconnoissance. It might have been a question how the creature should be dealt with? Whether he should be summarily attacked with fire-arms, or, by the help of the restrained dogs, his recapture attempted?

Any doubts which might have thus occasioned the desirable delay were now speedily settled. My Father, with only the rope in his hand, made his appearance. He passed through the ranks of the would-be warriors in the contemplated fight; when, to their utter amazement, and to the no small alarm of many, he proceeded without hesitation forward. Speaking to the bear, in his usual manner, as he approached, and walking straight up to him, face to face, he patted the shaggy neck, as he placed a prepared noose of the rope around it, and then quietly led away the furious brute, which, under his commanding guidance, became as tractable as a lap-dog!

The other incident connected with this animal is worthy of record, being, if somewhat less adventurous, not less curious.

The care-taking and maintenance of a now considerably grown Polar bear soon became matter of inconvenience. It might, there is little doubt, have been sold advantageously for being itinerated as a show about the country; but my Father imagined a destination for it, where it would be better cared for, by having it deposited along with the wild beasts in the Tower.

It being ascertained that the contribution would be very acceptable, the bear was embarked in a coaster. On its arrival in the Thames, it was received in a manner befitting its importance and security, and safely transferred to its final destination.

It was about a twelvemonth or more, I believe, after Bruin’s regular installation among the wild beasts of the National collection, that my Father, happening to be in London, determined on taking a look at his old acquaintance, Bruin. Proceeding to the Tower, he paid the usual entrance-fee, and without intimating anything about his special object, took the course through the collection, like other visitors, as guided by the exhibitor.

His eye being wistfully directed in advance of his position, he at length got sight of the looked-for object; when, breaking away from those pursuing the prescribed progress, he hurried directly up to where his ursine friend was encaged. A warning cry came urgently from the keeper, who had noticed his near and bold approach to a place of danger—“Take care, sir, that is one of the most ferocious animals in the collection;” but it was disregarded. My Father only paused, whilst, by his familiar and accustomed salutation,—“Poor Bruin! poor fellow!”—he gained the attention of the animal, when, catching its eye, and perceiving he was recognised, he went quietly up, thrust his arm through the cage, and, whilst he patted the neck and head of the evidently delighted creature, received a species of fawning response, which was eloquently interesting and touching. The keeper, who had rushed forward on witnessing the daring intrusion on the interior of the bear’s cage, now stood fixed in almost speechless astonishment. At length, lifting his hands with a characteristic indication of his extreme amazement, he exclaimed,—“Why, sir, I never saw the like of that all the days of my life!”

The subjection of the wildest and most ferocious animals to the authority of man is not so much, we may observe, the result of man’s superiority as of the Creator’s special appointment. It was His design and command, in respect to the inferior creatures, that this should be so. The superiority appointed originally to Adam was, that he should “have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the face of the earth.” But the appointment, which was simple and natural when all was innocency, was afterwards renewed, we find, under a new influence, that of fear, specially induced on the general constitution of the animal creation. For among the blessings graciously assured by the Almighty to the righteous Noah and his sons, on their descent from the Ark, we have this pervading influence set forth in these characteristic terms:—“The fear of you, and the dread of you shall be upon every beast of the earth, and upon every fowl of the air; upon all that moveth upon the earth, and upon all the fishes of the sea: into your hand are they delivered.”—Gen. ix. 2.

FOOTNOTES:

[D] This measure of success, I find, had been in a trifling degree exceeded by vessels sailing from the port of Hull, but only in four instances during the preceding twenty years, comprising the enterprises of 286 ships, reckoning their repeated voyages.

Chapter III.
THE SHIP “DUNDEE,” OF LONDON.

Section I.—Entrance on, and General Results of, this New Command.

The aversion of his wife to a change in the port of sailing, though it might retard, did not prevent my Father’s ultimately making that change. He had been applied to by letter, and with reiterated urgency, and offers of additional advantages, by a mercantile firm in London (Messrs. Edward Gale and Sons) to take charge of a ship of theirs, which they were anxious to employ in the northern whale-fishery. But, finding that the applications by letter failed, or at least led to no satisfactory result, one of the principals of the house determined on an application in person,—an undertaking, at that time, involving a most troublesome and tedious journey,—and, totally unexpected, made his appearance at the residence of our family in Whitby.

The circumstance of Mr. Piper’s early consideration for, and confidence in, my Father, on an occasion which, under the Divine blessing, proved the turning-point of his fortune in life, had induced a feeling of regard and gratitude so decided as to become strongly resistant of the temptation to change. But, on the other hand, he had long felt dissatisfaction at the abridgment of some allowances and perquisites enjoyed by his predecessor in command, and promised to himself, which, though of but small consideration in the meagre extent of the former wonted success, had accumulated, in the estimation made year by year during his extraordinary successful career, to a very handsome amount, in money value. His repeated remonstrances at this deprivation and injustice being always met with a “Pooh, pooh! be content; you have done very well,”—no doubt served greatly to weaken the binding influence of ties otherwise so decidedly felt, and frankly acknowledged. Hence, from an unwise and ungenerous policy, which, in the course of six years had deprived my Father of a sum amounting, as he calculated, to about 300l. out of his rightful earnings, the alliance previously existing betwixt himself and the owners of the Henrietta, was, with due and honourable notice on his part, brought to a conclusion by the visit and liberal proposals of Mr. Gale. These proposals, as I have understood, involved a new and additional advantage to the commander, in a per centage upon the value of the cargo obtained, together with the proffer of a small share in the concern, on terms at once equitable and easy. On this encouraging basis an arrangement was forthwith made with the house which Mr. Gale represented, for the command, by my Father, of the Dundee, of London, a ship much larger and finer than the Henrietta, on a whale-fishing adventure in the Greenland seas.

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.

Section III.—The Dandy Sailor; or, “Fine Tommy.”

In this connection, whilst now story-telling, we may perhaps, as fittingly as elsewhere, introduce a little record, very often told by my Father, for enforcing a moral lesson in respect of a species of folly which we often witness, and from which some of my young readers, peradventure, may not find themselves entirely devoid.

If the sacrifice of personal comfort to the tyranny of fashion appeared to my Father a great absurdity; much more did the risking of health for the indulgence of personal conceit in dress, or the braving of severity of climate, inadequately clothed, from the vanity of singularity in hardiness, seem to him as the very summit and extravagance of folly.

It was in support of his views on this particular subject, when conspicuous instances of such folly happened to come before him, that my Father was wont to tell, as an impressive warning, the instructive story of “Fine Tommy.”

Fine Tommy, who had acquired this appellation by particularity and almost dandyism of dress when at sea, was a smart and well-looking youthful sailor, who had shipped himself with my Father in one of the voyages in which he commanded the “Dundee.” His personal conceit, so unusual with the thoroughbred sailor, was nevertheless associated in him with such a measure of activity and seamanlike acquirements, as to save him from that ridicule of his associates, which in any other case would have been excessive, if not intolerable. Whilst the temperature of the weather was but moderately severe, his appearance on deck in a smart light shore-going jacket, exposed him to little damage beyond the playful salutations of his comrades,—salutations which he was wont good-humouredly to return by speaking with indifference of the hitherto experienced cold, and ridiculing the feminine weakness of a premature muffling of the person with pea-jackets, huge boots, comforters, and mittens.

During most of the progress of the ship northward, Fine Tommy continued successfully and proudly to brave, as I have just intimated, the gradually increasing cold, and that without material inconvenience or damage. But at length, when the region of ice had been some little way penetrated, the previously prevailing southerly or temperate wind happened to shift during the night to the northward, which, with a fresh blowing gale, brought a rapidly lowering temperature, approaching the zero of the thermometic scale. The ship soon became covered with ice, and a chilly penetrating “frost-rime” powdered the hair, or (as in some cases adopted) the rough wigs of the sailors. Before Fine Tommy’s watch was called,—for there were usually three watches in the whale ships, affording eight hours below alternately with four upon deck,—the extreme change, almost from a bearable frostiness to the greatest severity of cold, had taken place. He, incredulous of the influence as well as unconscious of the change that had taken place, came up in his usual clothing, a thin jacket, light shoes, and uncovered hands. Now jeered by his watch-mates as to his perception of cold, he determinately faced the chilling blast, renewing his bravadoes of indifference of feeling even to the then prevailing severity. This lasted during his two watches for the day. All hands besides were muffled up in every species of warm clothing, whilst Fine Tommy still walked the deck and performed his various duties with no other protection against the really Arctic severity of cold than aforetime.

On the calling of the watch the following morning, however, Fine Tommy did not appear. The next day, too, he was absent from his station. When his turn came to take the helm he was not there. Enquiry was made, and my Father found, as he had well predicted, that Fine Tommy was ill, and obliged to keep his bed. Day after day, and week after week, passed over, and the absent one was still unseen. Even months passed over until the voyage, which had been prospered with splendid success, was approaching to a close, so that the attainment of a temperate latitude and a return of warm weather had begun to cheer our northern adventurers with the prospect of a speedy realization of home enjoyment, when, like the hybernating insect revived by the genial influence of the summer sun, Fine Tommy was also resuscitated; and the long prostrate and once foolish defier of the Arctic climate appeared again upon deck to breathe the restorative air as it came pure from the grand repository of the atmosphere, instead of the defiled and mixed vapours of the ’tween decks of a whale-ship.

The lesson thus impressively taught was often read in my hearing; the application, in some cases, possibly, might be intended for myself. If one was seen wading, as it were, in mud with a pair of light shoes inadequate for defence either against cold or wet,—the admonition or remark was ever prompt, “it would be well to mind Fine Tommy.” If a fashionable “dandy” coat, in the days of dandyism, were worn in the severity of winter; if a dress insufficient for protection or warmth were, by either sex, observed to be worn; if the outside of a coach were mounted without an adequate covering, or a ride in an open carriage undertaken with only the habiliments usually worn in walking, the monition became natural, as the moral was apt,—“to remember Fine Tommy.” Whenever, too, I have myself remarked the analogous folly, every where, indeed, more or less observable, of risking health or abandoning personal comfort to appearance or fashion, the moral of this very lesson has constantly been forced on my recollection, tempting to the relation of the story, in order to the more impressive effect of the warning,—“Remember Fine Tommy!”

Section IV.—Unfortunate Voyage, and Adventure in the Greenland Ices.

One of my Father’s voyages in the Dundee, and but one in the various ships he commanded for a period of upwards of a quarter of a century, commencing with the year 1792, proved a failure. The failure, however, arose from one of those incidental circumstances of climate, on the one part, and neglect of a principal officer, on the other part, which no human foresight could have anticipated, or human skill or diligence have remedied, after the perilous character of the ice-entanglement became clearly apparent.

This misadventure occurred, singularly enough, when I happened, though only a boy of ten years of age at the time, to be of the number of the souls on board. On the invitation of my Father, who had landed from his ship in passing Whitby, on his progress northward, to take leave of his family, I had gone off with him, designing to return by the pilot boat, to see the ship. I was astonished with what I saw; I explored with unmixed delight every accessible compartment of the cabins and store-rooms below, and conceived an irresistible desire to remain where I was, and go out on the voyage. At length the call of the pilots for “Master William,” as the day advanced to its close, put my desire to the test of practicability. For a while I remained silent below, and when silence was no longer likely to be available, I contrived the child-like device of hiding my hat, which, on ascending the companion ladder bare-headed, I let it be understood I could not find! My Father having noticed my delight, and interpreting rightly the little device, remarked to the pilots,—“Don’t mind him; he will go along with us.” A mother’s anguish, however, who loved me with the tenderest and most ardent affection, flashed into my mind. It forced utterance in the expression,—“But what will my Mother say?” The reply, curiously enough regarded as being consolatory, sufficed to allay my scruples,—“She will love you better when you come back!” The pilots still urging haste in my embarkation, as the boat was thumping heavily against the ship’s gangway, were at length made sensible of what they at first could not credit, that I was to remain behind; and they set out for the shore in no small condition of amazement, and with no slight feeling of sympathising embarrassment, on account of the report they must yield to one, whom they sufficiently knew as an anxious, susceptible, and affectionate mother!

But my own story must be here suspended, as it possibly may hereafter find a place, if Providence yield me health and life for the undertaking, in the series of the “Memorials of the Sea,” which, sometimes, I venture to contemplate carrying on.

The leading incidents of this disappointing enterprise, I am enabled to give with a satisfactory measure of confidence, from a record made of it, many years ago, in a private autobiography, from which, mainly, I extract the following details.

After touching at Lerwick (Shetland), for the completion of our supplementary crew of boatmen, we proceeded northward towards the usual whale-fishing stations. On arriving in sight of Spitzbergen, and finding the western coast accessible, with a vein of clear water running continuously along shore, we pursued the encouraging opening as far as the northern headland of Charles Island, in latitude 78° 53′ N. Here, tempted by the clear water eastward, we reached into a wide inlet near King’s Bay, when, by a sudden gale coming on from the northward and north-westward, we were driven, encumbered by ice of recent formation, and fragments of old ice, into the opening betwixt the foreland and the main, where the ship ultimately became closely beset in the Bay of Birds of Barentz.

At first, the officers in general thought little of the entanglement, expecting that any favourable change of wind would serve to release us. My Father, however, watching the augmentation in the thickness of the ice, by pressure and frost, received, very early, a more anxious impression. He had observed, indeed, that the ice was not yet thoroughly sealed together and fixed into an immoveable mass. For, periodically, he perceived, that some relaxation in the compactness of the general body of ices took place, which he ascribed to the action of a tide; and, on one evening, before retiring to rest, when a fine breeze, favourable for promoting an opening seaward had begun to prevail, he rather confidently anticipated some relaxation which might be available for our escape at the period of the favourably acting tide. In this expectation, he gave special orders to the chief officer, who had formerly been a whaling commander, and ought to have well appreciated the importance of the instruction,—to call him when the hoped-for relaxation of the ice might take place. But, disappointingly enough, he awoke of himself after a rather long sleep, when, as his watch indicated, the time of favourable tide must be passed. He anxiously dressed himself and hasted upon deck; but, whilst much slack and navigable ice was yet visible at some little distance to the north-westward, all about the ship was close and impenetrable. His enquiry as to whether the ice about the ship had not also slacked? led to the mortifying admission, reluctantly extracted, that the ice had indeed slacked very near to the ship, but, as was intimated in excuse, “it was so rank and difficult that nothing could be done without ‘calling all hands,’ and much trouble; and he,” the chief mate, “thought it would perhaps be more cleared away, by the hopeful breeze, by the time the Captain turned out!”

The highly culpable folly of this conduct became too soon apparent to all. For when an easterly, and then a southerly wind blew, without inducing any repetition of the slackness that had been missed; when we found the whole of the accumulated ices frozen into a solid field, without crack, or opening of any kind to be seen from the mast-head; when we marked our position as deeply embayed within the projecting headlands, and the ice everywhere wedged up against and cemented to all the circumjacent shores,—every one became anxious respecting the success of the voyage, whilst some began to entertain the depressing apprehension that the ship might possibly be detained throughout the winter!

The story of our distressing detention, with the measures adopted partly for the employment of the men, but which became ultimately available, even beyond our utmost hopes, for facilitating our release, is too long,—consistently with the extent designed for this volume, and the completion hereafter, possibly, of some personal records,—for being given in detail. It may be sufficient, for our present purpose, now to say, that after the endurance of the misery of an eight weeks’ besetment, release was happily attained, and the Dundee was again free (but not until the season adapted for the fishery had thus been all but wasted) to range through any part of the ordinarily accessible ocean.

Our course being directed towards the north-west, we soon fell in with ships, and learnt that the fishery had been tolerably good, and that two or three ships had already obtained almost full cargoes.

Shortly afterwards we met with fish, and all hands set forth in earnest anxious pursuit. But they were, in fact, too anxious, and, in part, discouraged by the idea that the season was about at an end. Their efforts, in consequence, were ill directed or inadequately followed up, and only mortifying failures resulted. Stimulated by the defects and failures of his harponeers, my Father was induced to try the chase himself. Forthwith taking his post at the bow of one of the boats, he soon gave evidence of his superior efficiency. He “struck” whale after whale to the amount of three; but not being adequately supported by the other boats, one of the first of these escaped from the harpoon, under circumstances such as, he considered, should have led to its capture. Excited by this failure, he changed boats, in one of the other cases, after the fish, under the first harpoon, had reappeared at the surface; and, as the harponeers generally seemed heartless and inert, he changed again, after fastening another harpoon, until he had planted no less than three or four harpoons, in the same fish, with his own hands!

The season, however, soon came to a close, and these two whales, with a dead one which was also discovered by himself, constituted the whole of the Dundee’s cargo in this trying year,—a cargo yielding only five-and-forty tuns of oil, yet amounting, after all, to nearly two-thirds of the general average of the Greenland fishery.

Notwithstanding this serious abstraction from the general average of his five years’ adventures in the Dundee, my Father’s general pre-eminence was, in the issue, still maintained. During these five voyages, ninety-four whales were captured, and an amount of 812 tuns of oil brought to market. The yearly average, inclusive of the year of unavoidable failure, was no less than 18·8 whales, producing 162·4 tuns of oil, besides the fair proportion of whalebone, sealskins, etc.

Compared with the fishery from Hull and Whitby, and, as far as my materials go, elsewhere, this result was considerably beyond that of any other Greenland whaler. With respect to the Hull average for the same period, the Dundee’s superiority was in the ratio of 162·4 to 77·5 tuns of oil, or more than two to one. In comparison with the success of any other individual ship, the Dundee still stood at the head of the list,—the nearest approach in Hull being that of the Ellison, a ship commanded, during four years out of the five, by the same enterprising and talented officer, Mr. Allan, as we had occasion to notice, so favourably, in a former comparison. The Molly, Captain Angus Sadler,—a hardy adventurous and able commander, who, in subsequent years, became chief amongst his competitors from Hull,—obtained, during my Father’s command of the Dundee, the next highest amount of cargoes,—the total, in the five years, being 689 tuns of oil. The Egginton, Wray, (one voyage under another captain) obtained, at the same time, 508 tuns; the Symmetry, Rose, 481 tuns; the Fanny, Jameson and Taylor, 460 tuns; the Manchester, Matson, 417 tuns, etc.;—the Dundee’s cargoes, as has been shewn, being, in the same period, 812 tuns.

But, besides these comparisons, in all respects so favourable, we may again venture, up to the end of eleven years of consecutive adventures, to take the severest test of competition; viz. a comparison betwixt the Dundee’s cargoes, and that of the select cargoes, for the five corresponding years, of the most prosperous Greenland-man, from Hull, of each year. And under this amount, being 806 tuns of oil, the Dundee is found still to stand the first.

Section V.—Successful Stratagem in War.

An incident of a very stirring and exciting nature occurred in the very outset of the unfortunate voyage just referred to, which I here take occasion of introducing, as very characteristic of my Father’s tact and cool self-possession.

A day or two after leaving the coast of Yorkshire, from whence I had myself embarked,—the weather being fine with a brisk and favourable wind, and the ship going steadily and swiftly under her ample and well-trimmed sails,—all hands were set to work, my Father superintending, in clearing the ’tween-decks of a variety of stores hastily taken in, and confusedly scattered about, in order to make all snug and secure for the North-Sea passage. So much were all hands, men and officers, engrossed by this important labour of clearance and order, that, some how or other, the “look-out” had been for awhile neglected, when, suddenly it was announced, by a voice calling out from the deck at one of the hatchways—“a ship bearing down close upon us!”

It being a time of war, and the North Sea abounding with ships of war and privateers of the enemy, the announcement produced an instant suspension of the work going on, and drew universal attention to a circumstance which might possibly involve the safety of life and property in the ship.

My Father’s quick eye, and sure telescopic glance, discovered at once the characteristic marks of an enemy, and vessel of war. She was bearing down, steering easterly, exactly so as to intercept our track, but not on any of the courses usually steered either for England, France, or Denmark. Already she had approached within a little more than a mile of our position, and so that in about a quarter of an hour we must be within hailing distance.

With the promptness and coolness characteristic of the Dundee’s Commander, measures for self-defence, and skilful strategy, were arranged and progress commenced. These measures, I conceive, are worthy of some particular notice.

His habit, it should be observed, was to endeavour to anticipate, in quiet contemplation, the various contingencies pertaining to his enterprise, which, peradventure, might be considered as not unlikely to happen. The meeting of an enemy, therefore, was one of those incidents that had been regarded as by no means improbable, and the dealing with which, by what ingenious tact or device might be available, had been well considered. For to fight with an enemy, where stratagy might answer for an escape, was justly held as most unwise, where success in conflict could gain no prize;[F] where failure must issue in loss of property, voyage, and personal liberty; and where either failure or success must probably involve a loss of life, for which there was neither call of duty to risk, nor possible compensation to justify.

Fortunately, had the extremity required, he was in a position calculated for a brave defence. The Dundee was as well armed as she was well manned, carrying twelve guns, eighteen pounders, I believe, with a crew of betwixt fifty and sixty men. The guns were already loaded, and in every way fit for immediate service.

The stratagy, in this case, contemplated, was to give, to the threatening assailant, the surprise of a concealed armament, and the impression as of a designed deception in the class of ship assumed.

And fortunate it was, that there were circumstances connected with the qualifications of the crew, and the construction of the ship, admirably adapted for the experiment proposed. For contemplating, as we have intimated, such a risk as that now threatening him, my Father had selected out of the variety of hands offering themselves for the voyage, two men of rather unusual qualifications,—one, who was an adept in beating the drum, the other “in winding a boatswain’s call.” These qualities, amongst seafaring men, being almost peculiar to classes employed in vessels of war, induced a preference, in respect to them, over others, though the drummer might by no means be equal to some who were rejected, in regard to general seamen-like attainments.

The construction of the ship, too, was well adapted for the execution of the proposed surprise, being “deep-waisted” with a high quarter-deck, and having her guns entirely below, with no outward indication, at a distance, of either ports or armament.

On the first alarm, the hands, with one accord, had begun to swarm up on the deck, but their retirement was promptly commanded. The men required for the guns were sent to their quarters, with orders to make all ready for action, but to lift no port. The hands above, whilst requiring to move about, were kept as much as possible on the leeside of the deck, where, from the heeling of the ship and the enemy’s windward position, they were in sufficient concealment. The drummer and boatswain, now most important elements in the plan, had their special instructions, whilst the crew thus became generally sensible, by means of the orders given, of the ingenious device of their commander, so as to be well prepared to give to it its utmost impression.

Short as the time was,—the coolness of the commander being communicated to the men, so as to relieve the urgent haste from any embarrassing confusion,—all arrangements had been completed before the enemy came within hailing distance. At that period (as apparently from the first), everything visible on board the Dundee indicated an unconcerned quietness, and utter unconsciousness of danger from the stranger’s approach. The men on deck were laid down flat on their faces. My Father coolly walking the quarter-deck, and the helmsman engaged in his office of steering, were the only living beings who could be discerned from the deck of the assailant.

Without showing any colours, in answer to our English ensign waving at the mizen-peak, the stranger came down to within short musket-shot distance, when a loud and unintelligible roar of the Captain, through his speaking-trumpet, indicated the usual demand of the nation or denomination of our ship. A significant wave of my Father’s hand served instead of a reply. The drum beats to quarters, and whilst the roll yet reverberates around, the shrill sound of the boatswain’s pipe is heard above all. And whilst the hoarse voice of this officer is yet giving forth the consequent orders, the apparently plain sides of the ship become suddenly pierced; six ports on a side are simultaneously raised, and as many untompioned cannon, threatening a more serious bellowing than that of the now astonished Captain’s trumpet-aided voice, are run out, pointing ominously toward the enemy’s broadside!

The stratagem was complete; its impression quite perfect. The adversary seemed electrified. Men on the enemy’s deck, some with lighted matches in hand, and plainly visible to us by reason of her heeling position whilst descending obliquely from the windward, were seen to fall flat, as if prostrated by our shot; the guns, pointed threateningly at us, remained silent; the helm flew to port, and the yards to the wind, on our opposite tack; and without waiting for answer to his summons, or venturing to renew his attempt on such a formidable looking opponent, he suddenly hauled off, under full sail, in a direction differing, by some six points, from that in which he had previously intercepted our track!

Section VI.—Extraordinary Exploit in “cutting-in” single-handed, a moderately-grown Young Whale.

The tardy formality with which the “flensing” of the whale was accomplished, irrespective of the particular magnitude of the animal to be despoiled of its blubber and whalebone, was frequently a source of great annoyance to my Father. The number of cuts, with the placing of straps, and attachment of tackles, had become—like the skeleton forms issued by public offices—an established system; and, cumbrous as it was, with respect to fish of smaller growth, it was made generally applicable to all. The effect of this was, that whilst the largest sized fish would be flensed in about four hours, the taking in of one of the fourth, or sixth part its size would occupy nearly half as much time. An hour and a half at least, but more frequently two hours, at that period of the fishery, would be expended upon one of the ordinary small-sized whales. The poor little carcass, indeed, was encumbered by the number of the harponeers (to whose province belongs the fixing of the tackles and the cutting away of the blubber) congregated upon, or about it, whilst flensing.

As every instance of remonstrance, whilst failing in producing any improvement, regularly induced unpleasantness of feeling, my Father was at length provoked to put forth a challenge, to which his officers were able to offer no possible objection, except the indication, by look and gesture, that they would derive some recompense for the rebukes passed on them, by certain and signal failure. His adventurous challenge was, that, with the assistance of only one-third part of the available crew, he would go on a fish, and send it in, single-handed, in half the time occupied by the four or six harponeers with the help of all hands!

Opportunities for the experiment being at this time abundantly afforded, he forthwith prepared himself for this trial of skill. The available hands—that is, excluding cook, steward, surgeon, etc.—were usually about forty-five or forty-six in number. Out of these he took, not a picked set, but only two boats’ crews, with their supernumeraries, according to their existing classification, comprising about sixteen men. These he appointed to their several stations about the deck; eight to the capstan, four, perhaps, to the “crab” or “winch,” and the rest to manage the “tackle-falls,” to cut up the blubber and heave it into the “flens-gut,” or receptacle for it below. The two boys who were appointed, on the usual plan, to hold the boat in which he was to stand whilst flensing, were, perhaps, extra; but this I forget.

Previous to the commencement of the experiment, the preparing of his cutting instruments, viz. a “blubber-spade” and “blubber-knife,” became matter of personal and special attention. The spade, (an instrument with the cutting part about eight inches broad, and used in the manner of the “hay-spade,”) was not merely ground to a fine edge and then sharpened with an oil-stone, but the sides (ordinarily left black with varnish, or encrusted with rust,) were reduced by the grindstone to a bright and smooth surface. His blubber-knife (an instrument with a three feet blade and three feet straight handle) was, in like manner, carefully ground, sharpened, and polished; so that these instruments, presenting the least possible resistance, from the adhesion of the metal to the blubber, when in use, the muscular strength of the flenser might, in no respect, be uselessly expended.

All things being ready, and the men duly distributed, the time was noted, and my Father, single-handed, as I have said,—except as to a man to put in the straps[G] and attach the tackles, that he might not have occasion to wet or grease his hands,—proceeded to the trial on his apparently presumptuous challenge.

The plan he had previously determined on, and which subsequently became very common in the flensing of small fish, was the following:—

The under part of the head (always being placed upward for flensing), with the jaw-bones, “lips,” and tongue, is first attached to the capstan tackle, and, being separated as it is hove up, is taken on deck altogether. Meanwhile the skull, with the whalebone and upper part of the head,—which is brought in sight, clear of the water, by the strain hove upon the other section or lower jaw,—is secured by the second tackle, and speedily made to follow its companion in the ascent to the deck.

One of the fins, having a strap previously put round it, is next hove upon, till (the fish being free to roll over, so as to adjust its position to the direction of the strain,) it is well raised upward, and, the blubber annexed to it, put upon the stretch. The fin is then easily “unsocketed,” and the blubber on the seaward side being cut across beyond it, it becomes the attachment for heaving up a long slip of three or four feet in width, and extending, with its upper part, high above the level of the deck. As this ascends, (the fish meanwhile spontaneously “canting” outwardly from the ship), the other fin appears in sight, and, being embraced by another strap, is, in its turn, hove up by the “fore-tackle” correspondently, as to its further progress, with its fellow. When the attachment of the second, or fore-tackle, rises to about the level of the deck, the blubber-slip is cut across, just above the place of that attachment, and the separated portion, being lowered down upon the deck, is cut up, with singular celerity, into square lumps, adapted for being easily thrown about by the “pick-haak” men; and these, as rapidly as they are cut out, are made to disappear through a hole in one of the main-hatches into the flens-gut below.

The moment the first, or “after-tackle,” is released, it is overhauled again over the ship’s side, and, a fresh strap being fixed in the continuous slip, (which, to preserve its continuity, is cut spirally from the carcass,) the progress of the operation goes on, without ceasing, till the whole superficies of blubber is removed.

The progress in the case referred to must, doubtless, have been regarded with strange feelings of astonishment and mortification by the severely rebuked harponeers; for, on the completion of the operation, the watch being again appealed to, the adventurous challenge was found to have been triumphantly vindicated. Instead of the work being effected, as challenged to be done, in half the time which had been expended by thrice the force in the number of men, it was found to have occupied but little more than a third part of that interval. With all hands to help, the time frequently expended by the harponeers in flensing a small fish had been nearly two hours; my Father, with a third part of the crew, had, single-handed, done the same thing in almost forty minutes!