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 imaginable, as these sea-wanderers 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 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 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 by telling you how he us round and starved us and tortured us, but you can let your imagination loose if you want to, and then you won’t 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 , 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 , 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 , 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 , and some of ’em said the skipper’s time was up and his boss was rounding on him. Well, we 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 , 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 of Portugee blasphemion was like our old mincing-machine going full kelter, and the 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 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 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 like a breeding tigress. As soon as we were all aft he stopped, facing us, and . ‘Somebody aboard this ship’s been trying to work a 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 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 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 -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 , ’n git some exercise; ye’r gettin’ too fat ’n lazy,’ says he. So we 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 , with a biscuit apiece for us and a bucket of water—about half a 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 vi............