when two whale-ships meet during a cruise, if there are no signs of whales near, an exchange of visits always takes place. the two captains foregather on board one ship, the two chief mates on board the other. while the officers are thus enjoying themselves, it is usual for the boats’ crews to go forrard and while away the time as best they can, such visitors being always welcome. this practice is called “gamming,” and is fruitful of some of the queerest yarns imaginable, as these sea-wanderers ransack their memories for tales wherewith to make the time pass pleasantly.
on the occasion of which i am writing, our ship had met the coral of martha’s vineyard off nieuwe, and gamming had set in immediately. one of the group among whom i sat was a sturdy little native of guam, in the ladrone islands, the picture of good-humour, but as ugly as a joss. being called upon for a song, he laughingly excused himself on the ground that his songs were calculated to give a white man collywobbles; but if we didn’t mind he would spin a “cuffer” (yarn) instead. carried unanimously—and we lit fresh pipes as we composed ourselves to hear of “the calling of captain ramirez.” i reproduce the story in a slightly more intelligible form than i heard it,[303] the mixture of spanish, kanaka, &c., being a gibberish not to be understood by any but those who have lived among the polyglot crowd in a whaler.
“about fifteen years ago now, as near as i can reckon (for we don’t keep much account of time except we’re on monthly wage), i was cruising the kingsmills in the old salem, captain ramirez. they told me her name meant ‘peace,’ and that may be; but if so, all i can say is that never was a ship worse named. why, there wasn’t ever any peace aboard of her. quiet there was, when the old man was asleep, for nobody wanted him wakened; but peace—well, i tell ye, boys, she was jest hell afloat. i’ve been fishing now a good many years in yankee spouters, and there’s some blood-boats among ’em, but never was i so unlucky as when i first set foot aboard the salem. skipper was a portugee from flores, come over to the states as a nipper and brung up in rhode island. don’t know and don’t care how he got to be skipper, but i guess jemmy squarefoot was his schoolmaster, for some of his tricks wouldn’t, couldn’t, have been thought of anywheres else but down below. i ain’t a-goin’ to make ye all miserable by telling you how he hazed us round and starved us and tortured us, but you can let your imagination loose if you want to, and then you won’t overhaul the facts of his daily amusements.
“well, i’d been with him about a year when, as i said at first, we was cruising the kingsmills, never going too close in, because at that time the natives[304] were very savage, always fighting with each other, but very glad of the chance to go for a ship and kill and eat all hands. then again we had some kanakas aboard, and the skipper knew that if they got half a chance they would be overboard and off to the shore.
“sperm whales were very plentiful, in fact they had been so all the cruise, which was another proof to all of us who the skipper was in co. with, for in nearly every ship we gammed the crowd were heart-broken at their bad luck. however, we’d only been a few days on the ground when one morning we lowered for a thundering big school of middling-size whales. we sailed in full butt, and all boats got fast. but no sooner was a strain put on the lines than they all parted like as if they was burnt. nobody there ever seen or heard of such a thing before. it fairly scared us all, for we thought it was witchcraft, and some of ’em said the skipper’s time was up and his boss was rounding on him. well, we bent on again, second irons, as the whales were all running anyhow, not trying to get away, and we all got fast again. ’twas no good at all; all parted just the same as before. well, we was about the worst gallied lot of men you ever see. we was that close to the ship that we knew the old man could see with his glasses everything that was going on. every one of us knew just about how he was bearing it, but what could we do? well, boys, we didn’t have much time to serlilerquise, for before you could say ‘knife’ here he comes,[305] jumping, howling mad. right in among us he busted, and oh! he did look like his old father satan on the rampage. he was in the bow of his boat, and he let drive at the first whale he ran up against. down went the fish and pop went the line same as before. well, i’ve seen folks get mad more’n a little, but never in all my fishing did ever i see anything like he showed us then. i thought he’d a sploded all into little pieces. he snatched off his hat and tore it into ribbons with his teeth; the rattle of portugee blasphemion was like our old mincing-machine going full kelter, and the foam flew from between his teeth like soapsuds.
“suddenly he cooled down, all in a minute like, and said very quiet, ‘all aboard.’ we were all pretty well prepared for the worst by this time, but i do think we liked him less now than we did when he was ramping around—he looked a sight more dangerous. however, we obeyed orders smart, as usual, but he was aboard first. my! how that boat of his just flew. ’twas like a race for life.
“we were no sooner on board than we hoisted boats and made them fast. then the skipper yelled, ‘all hands lay aft.’ aft we come prompt, and ranged ourselves across the quarter-deck in front of where he was prowling back and forth like a breeding tigress. as soon as we were all aft he stopped, facing us, and spoke. ‘somebody aboard this ship’s been trying to work a jolt off on me by pisonin’ my lines. now i want that man, so’s i can kill him, slow; ’n i’m going to have him too[306] ’thout waiting too long. now i think this ship’s been too easy a berth for all of you, but from this out until i have my rights on the man i want she’s agoing to be a patent hell. make up yer mines quick, fer i tell yer no ship’s crew ever suffered what you’re agoin’ to suffer till i get that man under my hands. now go.’
“when we got forrard we found the fo’c’s’le scuttle screwed up so’s we couldn’t get below. there was no shelter on deck from the blazing sun, the hatches was battened so we couldn’t get into the fore-hold, so we had to just bear it. one man went aft to the scuttle butt for a drink of water, and found the spigot gone. the skipper saw him, and says to him, ‘you’ll fine plenty to drink in the bar’l forrard,’ and you know the sort of liquor that’s full of. some of us flung ourselves down on deck, being dog tired as well as hungry and thirsty, but he was forrard in a minute with both his shooting-irons cocked. ‘up, ye spawn, ’n git some exercise; ye’r gettin’ too fat ’n lazy,’ says he. so we trudged about praying that he might drop dead, but none of us willing as yet to face certain death by defying him. the blessed night came at last, and we were able to get a little rest, he having gone below, and the officers, though willing enough to keep in with him at our expense, not being bad enough to drive us all night unless he was around to see it done. along about eight bells came the steward, with a biscuit apiece for us and a bucket of water—about half a pint each. we were so starved and thirsty that the bite and sup was a godsend. what made[307] things worse for us was the suspicion we had one of the other. as i said, we was, as usual, a mixed crowd and ready to sell one another for a trifle. he knew that, curse him, and reckoned with considerable certainty on getting hold of the victim he wanted. well, the night passed somehow, and when morning came he was around again making us work, scouring iron-work bright, holy-stoning decks, scrubbing overside, as if our very lives depended on the jobs being done full pelt.
“we was drawing in pretty close to a small group of islands, closer than we had been yet in those waters, and we all wondered what was in the wind. suddenly he gave orders to back the mainyard and have the dinghy lowered. she was a tiny tub of a craft, such as i never saw carried in a whaler before, only about big enough for three. a little scotchman and myself was ordered into her, then to our amazement the old man got in, shoved off, and headed her for the opening through the reef surrounding the biggest island of the group. it was fairly well wooded with cocoa-nut trees and low bushes, while, unlike any of the other islets, there were several big rocks showing up through the vegetation in the middle of it. we weren’t long getting to the beach, where we jumped out and ran her up a piece so’s he could step out dry. we waited for a minute or two while he sat thinking, and looking straight ahead of him at nothing. presently he jumped out and said to me, ‘come,’ and to sandy, ‘stay here.’ off he went up the beach and straight[308] into the little wood, just as if somebody was calling him and he had to go. apparently there wasn’t a living soul on the whole island except just us three. we had only got a few yards into the bush when we came to a little dip in the ground: a sort of valley. just as we got to the bottom, we suddenly found ourselves in the grip of two kanakas, the one that had hold of the skipper being the biggest man i ever saw. i made one wriggle, but my man, who was holding my two arms behind my back, gave them a twist that nearly wrenched them out of their sockets and quieted me good. as for the skipper, he was trying to call or speak, but although his mouth worked no sound came, and he looked like death. the giant that had him flung him on his face and lashed his wrists behind him with a bit of native fish-line, then served his ankles the same. i was tied next, but not so cruel as the skipper, indeed they didn’t seem to want to hurt me. the two kanakas now had a sort of a consultation by signs, neither of them speaking a word. while they was at it i noticed the big one was horribly scarred all over his back and loins (they was both naked except for a bit of a grass belt) as well as crippled in his gait. presently they ceased their dumb motions and came over to me. the big one opened his mouth and pointed to where his tongue had been, also to his right eye-socket, which was empty. then he touched the big white scars on his body, and finally pointed to the skipper. whole books couldn’t have explained his meaning better than i[309] understood it then. but what was coming? i declare i didn’t feel glad a bit at the thought that captain ramirez was going to get his deserts at last.
“suddenly the giant histed the skipper on his shoulder as if he had been a baby, and strode off across the valley towards the massive heap of rocks, followed by his comrade and myself. we turned sharply round a sort of gate, composed of three or four huge coral blocks balanced upon each other, and entered a grotto or cave with a descending floor. over the pieces of rock with which the ground was strewed we stumbled onward in the dim light until we entered water and splashed on through it for some distance. then, our eyes being by this time used to the darkness, the general features of the place could be made out. communication with the sea was evident, for the signs of high-water mark could be seen on the walls of the cave just above our heads. for a minute or so we remained perfectly still in the midst of that dead silence, so deep that i fancied i could hear the shell-fish crawling on the bottom. then i was brought a few paces nearer the captain, as he hung upon the great kanaka’s shoulder. taking my eyes from his death-like face i cast them down, and there, almost at my feet, was one of those enormous clams such as you see the shells of thrown up on all these beaches, big as a child’s bath. hardly had the horrible truth dawned on me of what was going to happen than it took place. lifting the skipper into an upright position, the giant dropped him feet first between the gaping[310] shells of the big clam, which, the moment it felt the touch, shut them with a smash that must have broken the skipper’s legs. an awful wail burst from him, the first sound he had yet made. i have said he was brave, and he was, too, although such a cruel villain, but now he broke down and begged hard for life. it may have been that the kanakas were deaf as well as dumb; at any rate, for all sign of hearing they showed, they were. he appealed to me, but i was as helpless as he, and my turn was apparently now to come. but evidently the kanakas were only carrying out what they considered to be payment of a due debt, for after looking at him fixedly for awhile, during which i felt the water rising round my knees, they turned their backs on him and led me away. i was glad to go, for his shrieks and prayers were awful to hear, and i couldn’t do anything.
“they led me to where they had first caught us, made me fast to a tree, and left me. overcome with fatigue and hunger i must have fainted, for when i come to i found myself loose, lying on the sand, and two or three of my shipmates attending to me. as soon as i was able to speak they asked me what had become of the skipper. then it all rushed back on me at once, and i told them the dreadful story. they heard me in utter silence, the mate saying at last, ‘wall, sonny, it’s a good job fer yew the kanakers made ye fast, or yew’d have had a job ter clear yersef of murder.’ and so i thought now. however, as soon as i was a bit rested and had something to eat, i led them to the[311] cave, keeping a bright look-out meanwhile for a possible attack by the kanakas. none appeared though, and the tide having fallen again we had no difficulty in finding the skipper. all that was left of him, that is, for the sea-scavengers had been busy with him, so that he was a sight to remember with a crawling at your stomach till your dying day. he was still fast in the grip of the clam, so it was decided to leave him there and get on board again at once.
“we did so unmolested, getting sail on the ship as soon as we reached her, so as to lose sight of that infernal spot. but it’s no use denying the fact that we all felt glad the skipper was dead; some rejoiced at the manner of his death, although none could understand who called him ashore or why he obeyed. those who had whispered the theory of the finish of his contract with jemmy squarefoot chuckled at their prescience, as fully justified by the sequel, declaring that the big kanaka whom i had seen was none other than satan himself come for his bargain.
“matters went on now in quite a different fashion. the relief was so great that we hardly knew ourselves for the same men, and it affected all hands alike, fore and aft. the secret of the breaking line was discovered when mr. peck, the mate, took the skipper’s berth over. in a locker beneath the bunk he found the pieces of a big bottle, what they call a ‘carboy,’ i think, and in hunting up the why of this a leakage through the deck was found into the store-room where the cordage was kept. only[312] two other coils were affected by the stuff that had run down, and of course they were useless, but the rest of the stock was all right. now, i don’t know what it was, nor how it came there, nor any more about it, and if you ain’t tired of listening i’m mighty tired of talking. pass that ‘switchel’this way.”
