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Title: The Deep Sea Hunters
       Adventures on a Whaler


Author: A. Hyatt (Alpheus Hyatt) Verrill



Release Date: April 19, 2020  [eBook #61867]

Language: English

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THE DEEP SEA HUNTERS


      *      *      *      *      *      *

BY A. HYATT VERRILL

  THE DEEP SEA HUNTERS
  THE BOOK OF THE MOTOR BOAT
  ISLES OF SPICE AND PALM

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

Publishers New York

      *      *      *      *      *      *


[Illustration:
  We’re homeward bound, may winds blow fair!
    Good-bye, fare ye well!
    Good-bye, fare ye well!
  Wafting us true to friends, waiting there.
  Hurrah, my bullies, we’re homeward bound!]


THE DEEP SEA HUNTERS

Adventures on a Whaler

by

A. HYATT VERRILL

Author of “The Real Story of the Whaler,” “Isles of
Spice and Palm,” “The Book of the Motor Boat,” etc.






D. Appleton and Company
New York : : 1922 : : London

Copyright, 1922, by D. Appleton and Company

Printed in the United States of America




CONTENTS

    I. The Boys Make a Bargain
   II. Outward Bound
  III. There She Blows!
   IV. A Narrow Escape
    V. Strange Visitors
   VI. An Island Quite Out of the World
  VII. How Cap’n Pem Lost His Leg
 VIII. Elephant Island
   IX. Spinning Yarns
    X. Lost
   XI. A Strange Message
  XII. The Raiders
 XIII. Homeward Bound
  XIV. The Boys Make a Discovery


THE DEEP SEA HUNTERS

CHAPTER I

THE BOYS MAKE A BARGAIN


“Oh, Tom!” cried Jim Lathrop, as he dashed into his chum’s den, “what do
you think? They’re fitting the _Hector_ out for a cruise!”

“Come on, I don’t believe it. You can’t fool me that way,” replied Tom,
tossing aside his book. “What’s the joke? Why the old _Hector_ wouldn’t
float—she’s had grass growing out of her seams for years.”

“Honest, they are, though,” asserted Jim. “If you don’t believe it come
along and see.”

Grabbing his cap, Tom hurried out with his friend, and the two boys ran
down the shady, sleepy streets of old Fair Haven towards the water
front.

It was little wonder that Tom was incredulous of Jim’s news, for, to the
boys, the ancient whaling bark _Hector_ was as much of a fixture as the
village church or the town hall. As long as they could remember the old
ship had lain on the mud flat beside the abandoned old whaling docks,
her dingy, weather-beaten sides rising far above the rotting
stringpieces of the wharf; her spars, gray from countless storms and
years of sunshine, sagging and awry; her tattered and frayed standing
rigging slack and her deck warped and with open seams. Built nearly one
hundred years ago, the _Hector_ had for generations been the pride of
the great New Bedford whaling fleet, but, long before either of the boys
had been born, she had been towed to her resting place upon the Fair
Haven flats and abandoned to the elements.

But to the boys of the village she had been a source of never failing
amusement. Upon her decks they had played pirate, buccaneer and whaler
by turns. Within her tumble-down deck houses imaginary mutineers and
freebooters had massacred innumerable officers. From her broad, stout
crosstrees the boys had peered forth at countless treasure islands, and
within her dark and musty hold they had languished in chains or had
stowed away on imaginary voyages.

Somehow, upon the old ship, the boys seemed actually to live in the
stirring days they reacted, for old Capt’n Pem, the dock watchman, had
spent many an afternoon spinning yarns of his youthful whaling days
while seated on the heel of the _Hector’s_ bowsprit. He had related
stories of cannibal attacks, of mutinies, of boats stove in and ships
rammed by frantic whales. The boys had listened breathlessly to his
accounts of men drifting in open whaleboats for thousands of miles after
being towed out of sight of their ships by whales, and as he had served
as mate on two voyages of the _Hector_, the boys had but to close their
eyes to see the characters he described and the exciting events in which
he had taken part. Moreover, Jim, or, as his friends called him,
“Jimmy,” had found the old log of the _Hector_ in the Historical
Society’s museum across the river in New Bedford, and the boys had read
it word for word and had found it more fascinating than any book of
fiction, for they knew every inch of the old bark as they did their own
homes. They knew the very yardarm from which a mutineer had once been
hung; they could still see the holes made by the bullets of Chinese
pirates in the stout cabin door; they searched for and found the very
bunk wherein the mate had been pinned down by the spear of a Solomon
Island cannibal, and the criss-cross cuts where poor “Crazy Ned” had cut
his “baccy” on the fo’c’sle steps were still visible. Tom, too—who was
forever reading books on strange, far-away lands—had told the other boys
of the places the old ship had touched on its many cruises. He painted
vivid word pictures of the desolate Croisettes, of little-known Gough
Island and volcanic Kerguelan in the storm-lashed Antarctic. He
described the queer penguins and broad-winged albatrosses, the
palm-fringed coral isles of the tropics, the swift proas of the Malays,
the frozen wastes of the Arctic and the blistering doldrums, until he
and his friends could transport themselves at will to any part of the
world, or any spot in the seven seas, merely by clambering on to the
_Hector’s_ warped old decks and setting sail in make believe on a three
years’ cruise.

And, best of all, the boys’ parents encouraged them, for they all were
of old whaling stock and had almost as much fondness for the old
_Hector_ and the past glories of the whaling fleet as did the boys.
Moreover, the boys’ fathers were not slow to notice that, by playing
about the old bark and listening to Cap’n Pem’s yarns, the boys were
absorbing a vast amount of useful knowledge of the sea and of
seamanship, as well as of foreign lands and people. They had learned to
climb aloft, to run up the ratlines and to man the yards like real
sailors, and they acquired a full command of nautical terms, orders and
phrases. And in this old Cap’n Pem had been their instructor. He had
shown them how to knot, splice and bend ropes; he had made them repair
the rotting ratlines and footropes; he had insisted that they must be
“proper sailor men” in their play; and, in order to teach them how to
swing and square the yards, clew up the sails and otherwise “navigate”
the old hulk, he had helped them rig braces, halliards, clewlines and
other running rigging from odds and ends stowed in his cozy little home
at the head of the wharf. Under his tutelage the boys had learned how to
box the compass, how to steer, how to give orders for trimming sail, and
both Tom and Jim had gone a step farther and had learned how to “shoot
the sun” and work out latitude and longitude.

Often, the old seaman would take a part in the boys’ fun himself;
sometimes as captain, at other times as able-bodied seaman, which he
always took as a huge joke, remarking with a chuckle that, “I’ve seen a
mighty queer lot o’ timber a-callin’ o’ theirsel’s sailors; but I’ll be
stowed if I ever seen a wooden-legged A. B. afore.”

But despite his wooden leg, Cap’n Pem managed to get about as lively as
any of his young friends, and he would tail on to a brace and roar out
some deep-sea chantey with the boys joining in the chorus, with as much
vigor and heartiness as though the _Hector_ were once more plowing her
way through blue seas instead of being high and dry on a mud flat.

But neither Cap’n Pem nor the boys had ever dreamed of the _Hector_
going to sea in reality. From her opened seams, grass and weeds were
growing luxuriantly; within her hold the tide rose and fell exactly as
it did outside and, as the old salt vowed that New Bedford whalers were
built to last forever, the _Hector_ seemed doomed to be a permanent
landmark at the end of the elm-shaded street.

So, as the two boys hurried to the dock, Jim found it hard work to
convince Tom that they were about to lose their wonderful playground.

“I just went down to see if you or any of the fellows were there,”
explained Jim, “and I found a whole crowd of workmen. They had a truck
full of rope and tackle and paint and tar and everything. Some of them
were on board and others on the dock and they’d already taken off a lot
of the old rigging and were tearing the grass and stuff out of the
seams. Cap’n Pem was there too and I asked him what they were doing and
he chuckled and said, ‘Didn’t I tell ye, Jimmy, a New Bedford ship
weren’t never too old to go a-cruisin’? They’re a-fittin’ of the
_Hector_ fer a v’yge.’”

“I’ll bet he was just jollying you,” declared Tom. “Perhaps they’re
going to fix her up and take a movie of her, just as they did on the
_Viola_, you know. Perhaps that’s what Cap’n Pem meant—a movie voyage.
Why, Jimmy, the _Hector_ couldn’t go to sea.”

“Well, we’ll soon know,” replied Jim. “Look at that now! They’re taking
down her yards.”

The boys had now reached the dock, and sure enough, as Jim had said, a
crowd of laborers were busy on the wharf and on the _Hector_, and the
sound of hammers and axes, of loud orders, and the creak of tackle
blocks awoke echoes which the dock had not heard for generations.

Already nearly all the yards of the old ship had been taken down and
were laid upon the dock where men were planing and cutting them; the
grass and weeds had been removed from the cracks in the planking and men
were busy cutting and tearing out the old caulking. The ragged shrouds
were being taken off and, on a hanging stage under the bowsprit,
carpenters were working on the massive stem.

“Gosh! It does look as if you’re right,” admitted Tom, as the two boys
stopped, and with wonder, gazed upon the bustling scene. “Oh, there’s
Cap’n Pem! Let’s go and ask him all about it.”

Approaching their old friend, the boys plied him with questions.

“Sure, they’re a-fittin’ of her out fer a cruise,” he avowed, seating
himself on one of the yards. “Reckon ’iles so almighty sky high—what
with this ’ere war an’ all—that old man Nye jest couldn’t resist the
temptation o’ fittin’ out fer a cruise.”

“Where’s she goin’?” he continued in answer to the boys’ queries.

“Gosh hanged ef I know! Any seas mos’ likely. Ain’t nary one o’ the
chaps here as knows nothin’ ’bout it. Jest had orders ter overhaul the
ol’ _Hector_ an’ git her ship-shape an’ ready fer sea. Jake Potter’s
gang ’tis. Ain’t seed Jake or I’d know more erbout it.”

“But aren’t you surprised?” asked Tom. “When Jim told me, I wouldn’t
believe it. Why, it don’t seem possible. How on earth can that old hulk
float?”

“Surprised?” chuckled the old salt. “Say, son, time ye git as ol’ as I
be an’ been to sea fer a matter o’ forty year, ye won’t find nothin’ to
surprise ye. ’Sides, what’s so surprisin’ ’bout a good ship goin’ t’ sea
after a bit o’ rest? Float? Course she’ll float. Why, boys, I’ve been
a-cruisin’ fer sparm in the western ocean an’ jammed in the ice in
Behring Sea fer five years in a ship what was jes’ punk ’longside o’
this ’ere _Hector_. Float! Why, bile me down fer blubber, if she ain’t a
floatin’ long after these ’ere new-fangled, sawed-timber jimcracks o’
ships what the gov’ments a-buildin’ of has been scrapped fer a hundred
year. Why, boys, don’t ye know the ol’ _Hector_ well enough to know
she’s jes’ as sta’nch an’ sound as the day she was built? Long’s her
timbers ’re sound an’ her keel an’ garboard strake’s not rotten, she’s
all right; an’ I’ll bet my wooden leg ’gainst a chew o’ baccy thet she’s
as sound as a trivet to-day.”

“But won’t it cost more to fix her up than to build a new ship?” asked
Jim.

The old skipper shook his grizzled head. “No, sirree,” he declared.
“Ships is mighty costly these days, an’ ’sides, where ye goin’ ter find
any one thet knows how ter build a proper whale ship? Why, blow me, ye
can’t find a man what knows a blubber-hook from a fluke-chain nor a
clumsy-cleat from a scrap-hopper outside o’ New Bedford. Course she’ll
need a bit o’ tinkerin’, few new planks an’ riggin’; a bit o’ caulkin’,
and like as not, some new spars. But shucks, that ain’t much. Reckon’
they’ll have her all fine an’ dandy an’ ready fer sea inside a month.”

“But how are they going to caulk her and fix her here in the mud?”
inquired Tom. “Won’t they have to tow her over to the dry dock?”

Cap’n Pem roared with merriment.

“Bless yer heart, no!” he cried when he could control his laughter.
“Didn’t ye ever see a ship hove-down? But o’ course ye haven’t. Why,
they’ll jes clap a tackle on to her mastheads and heave her down till
they git to her bottom, easy as eatin’ pie.”

“Well, I’ll like to see that,” declared Tom. “I should think it would
pull the masts out or crack her wide open.”

“Nary a mite,” the captain assured him. “Whale ships is made fer hard
work an’ knockin’ about, not fer looks. Course there ain’t many o’ these
’ere schooners nowadays what’ll stand fer it; but ye jes wait an’ see
how the ol’ _Hector_ takes it.”

For the rest of the afternoon, Tom and Jim, in company with a number of
boy friends who joined them, stood upon the dock watching with interest,
and not without pangs of regret, the rapid dismantling of the bark.

“Reckon ’tis kind o’ hard on ye kids,” remarked Cap’n Pem, when one of
the boys expressed his sorrow at losing the old ship. “Durned if I don’t
hate ter have her go myself. Kind o’ like losin’ of an ol’ friend. Jest
hope I’ll be spared ter see her comin’ hom’ ag’in. Bet she’ll be full up
and with a shark tail on her jibboom.”

Not until the laborers knocked off work did the boys turn from the dock
towards their various homes, and by then, the _Hector_ had been stripped
bare of her rigging; huge pieces of rotten wood had been cut from her
stem; planks had been torn from sides and decks; her cabin and galley
had been ripped out; and, as Tom remarked, she looked more like a wreck
than ever.

As Jim lingered to talk with Tom before the latter’s home, Mr. Chester
drove up in his car, and instantly the two boys told him the wonderful
news of the bark.

“Yes, boys, I heard about it,”’ he replied. “Mr. Nye was in the office
to-day to see about outfitting. He’s fitting the _Hector_ out for a
voyage to the South Shetlands for sea elephant oil. Come in and have
dinner with us, Jimmy, and I’ll tell you both all about it.”

“Gosh, that’s way down by the South Pole,” exclaimed Jim as the two boys
followed Tom’s father into the house. “Say, Tom, what are sea elephants?
You never told us anything about them.”

“I don’t exactly know myself,” admitted the other. “Seems to me I did
read something about them in some book; sort of a giant seal, I think,
but I don’t understand how a whaler can go after them for oil.”

Tom’s father, however, soon explained all about sea elephants, the
gigantic seal-like creatures with trunklike noses, which dwell in the
Antarctic seas and upon the desolate islands there.

Formerly, Mr. Chester told them, the sea elephants congregated in herds
of countless thousands upon the shores of the South Shetlands,
Kerguelan, the Croisettes and other Antarctic islands, but as they were
stupid creatures and had never seen men, they fell an easy prey to
whalers who killed them for their blubber. So rapidly were they
slaughtered that they would soon have become as extinct as the Dodo or
the Great Auk, if the European governments, who owned the islands, had
not taken steps to protect them and prevent hunting them.

“Then how can the _Hector_ go after them?” asked Tom.

“Because, owing to the war, there has been such a shortage of oil that
the British government has given permission to hunt them under special
license,” replied Mr. Chester.

“Do you really think the old bark ever will get there?” asked Jim.

“I haven’t a doubt of it—unless she’s sunk by a submarine. Those old
ships were built to last forever, as Captain Pem says, and Nye’s had the
_Hector_ looked over and her timbers and most of her planking are sound.
It will be a far more difficult matter to find a crew than to get the
bark into seagoing shape.”

“Golly, wouldn’t that be a dandy cruise to take!” exclaimed Tom. “Just
think of seeing penguins and albatrosses and sea elephants and icebergs
and everything!”

“Yes, and think of really going whaling on the old _Hector_!” cried Jim.

“Sea elephanting, you mean,” laughed Tom. “Say, father, will they call
the crew ‘sea elephant men’?”

“They’ll do considerable whaling too, I expect,” laughed his father,
“and no matter what a whaleman does he’s still a whaler—even when they
went to Africa after slaves in the old days and never hunted whales.”

“Then ’twould be all the more fun—if they hunted whales, too,” declared
Tom. “Gee, I do wish we could go along. Couldn’t we go as part of the
crew or something, Dad? You always said we’d ought to go on a real
cruise, you know.”

“Nonsense,” said Mr. Chester. “You two boys would be a nuisance, and
besides, even if Nye would let you go, and I didn’t object, and the
captain gave his consent, your mother and Jim’s parents would be worried
to death. The ship might be sunk by a submarine, and she’ll probably be
away for a year or more and where we never could hear from her. Besides,
you’d be sick and tired of the trip before it really began. You don’t
realize what a whaling cruise is like. Go over and see Nye to-morrow and
he’ll tell you a few truths that will make you change your views about a
whaling life being a lark.”

“Well if we don’t, and Mr. Nye will let us go, and Jimmy’s folks will
let him go, and the captain will sign us on, then will you let me go?”
teased Tom.

“There are altogether too many ‘ifs’ in that,” laughed Mr. Chester, “but
I’ll make a bargain. If Nye and his skipper are fools enough to let you
two go and all the other ‘ifs’ are eliminated I’ll give my consent on
one condition, and that is, that old Captain Pem is the mate.”

“Hurrah!” cried the boys in unison.

Mr. Chester chuckled.

“I’m perfectly safe in making that bargain,” he declared. “There’s about
as much chance of a wooden-legged mate on a whaler as there is of the
_Hector_ coming back with a load of ambergris!”




CHAPTER II

OUTWARD BOUND


The boys scarcely could wait to finish their breakfasts, so anxious were
they to see the owner of the _Hector_. Arriving in New Bedford across
the harbor, they at once hurried to Mr. Nye’s office, only to find that
he was not in and was not expected for an hour.

“Let’s go over to the museum,” suggested Tom, and the two boys hurried
downstairs, turned into a waterfront street, and a few moments later,
reached the Old Dartmouth Historical Society with its wonderful whalers’
museum.

Here they always found plenty to interest them and the time passed
quickly as they studied the fascinating exhibits of whaling weapons and
utensils, old prints, log books, and, best of all the half-size model of
a New Bedford whaling ship complete in every detail.

As they were about to leave the building and passed by the office, they
noticed the genial curator talking with a man whose back was towards
them.

“Hello, boys!” called the curator, “I understand you’re about to lose
your ship. Where are you off to now?”

“Yes,” replied Tom, “but we’re going to try and go on her. We’re going
to see Mr. Nye now and ask him if we can.”

The curator laughed.

“Want to turn real whalemen, eh? How about your parents’ consent?”

“Oh, they’ve consented,” replied Jim, “that is, Tom’s father said he
could go if Mr. Nye and the captain were willing and if Cap’n Pem went
as mate and my folks said they’d agree to that, too.”

“Well, well!” chuckled their friend. “So now you’re going to ask Nye and
try to get him to ship old Pem just to help you, I suppose! Well, there
are worse mates than he’d make. Come in here, boys, I want you to meet
an old friend of mine.”

As they entered the office the stranger turned and the boys saw he was a
clean-shaven, leather-faced old man with a merry twinkle in his keen,
blue eyes.

“Captain,” said the curator, “here are a couple of boys who want to ship
on the _Hector_, Jimmy Lathrop and Tom Chester. You know Chester, the
ship chandlery and hardware man, Tom’s father. How do you think they’ll
do for whalemen? Boys, this is Captain Edwards of the _Hector_.”

Shaking hands cordially, the old whaleman considered for a moment.

“Hmm,” he said at last, “what’s your rating, boys, A. B.’s, boat
steerers, coopers, cooks, cabin boys, navigators or just ordinary deck
hands?”

The boys laughed.

“I don’t know,” admitted Jim. “Anything, if we can go, except cooks or
coopers or boat steerers.”

“Then you’ve had previous experience, eh?” asked the captain striving to
maintain a grave face. “What ships have you been on?”

“The _Hector_,” promptly replied Tom, with a grin. “We’ve been
everything on her from stowaways to captain.”

Captain Edwards burst into a hearty laugh. “So you’re some of the
youngsters that have been using my ship for a playground, eh?” he
exclaimed. “And now you’d like to take a real try at the game. And your
dads said you could if I’d take old Pem for mate, eh?”

“Yes, sir,” said Tom, “and father said that was just about as likely as
for the _Hector_ to bring back a load of ambergris.”

The captain and the curator burst into hearty laughter.

“That’s pretty good!” declared the old skipper at last. “But stranger
things _have_ happened to whalemen, boys. Many a ship’s brought home a
mighty good cargo of ambergris and I’ve sailed with a wooden-legged
captain, let alone a mate.”

“These boys can navigate,” put in the curator. “Cap’n Pem’s taught them
nearly all there is to know about handling a ship, except going to sea.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed the captain with new interest. “Now, boys, let me
ask you some questions.”

For the next half hour Captain Edwards plied the boys with queries on
seamanship, navigation, ropes and rigging, handling sails, nautical and
whalemen’s terms, and in fact, everything he could think of. Then,
banging his fist on his knee, he exclaimed, “Why, hang it all, Frank!
These two kids could get second officer’s tickets to-morrow, if they
were old enough. Boys, come along over to Nye’s office.”

“Gosh! I’d forgotten about seeing him,” cried Tom as he and Jim rose and
hurried out with the captain.

Arrived at the ship owner’s office, the boys quickly told Mr. Nye of
their desire to go on the _Hector_ and repeated the conditions on which
their parents had consented. Then, when they had finished, the captain
drew the owner to one side and conversed in low tones with him for a few
moments.

“Well, boys,” said the _Hector’s_ owner, resuming his seat, “I have no
objection if Captain Edwards hasn’t, and he tells me he’d be glad to
take you, as you might be useful. You see, it’s mighty difficult to get
a crew of any sort now and navigators are scarce as hens’ teeth. Of
course, he wouldn’t count on you as full-fledged officers; but he thinks
you’d be more useful than ornamental and that two husky, wide-awake boys
who really know the old _Hector_ from stem to stern would be worth their
keep—might help in breaking in the green hands, you know. Of course,
you’d find it a mighty rough life—not all beer and skittles by any
means—and a dirty job too. But I was younger than either of you when I
first went on a cruise and it did me a pile of good—made a man of me and
taught me a lot—and hard work never hurt any boy yet. Yes, as far as I’m
concerned, and Captain Edwards too, you’re more than welcome on the
_Hector_; but, of course, that doesn’t mean you’re going. Don’t forget
old Pem is one of the conditions, and I’ve never had a wooden-legged
mate on one of my ships yet!”

“Oh, darn!” exclaimed Jim, “I think they might let us go, anyway.”

“I’m not going to be discouraged yet,” declared Tom. “I’ll bet I can
tease dad into letting us go, even if Cap’n Pem isn’t mate.”

But despite his statement, the two boys felt downhearted and discouraged
the rest of the day, for it was even worse to have the captain’s and the
owner’s consent and still be unable to go on the cruise than it would
have been had their parents refused to listen to their pleas in the
first place. And that evening, when Tom endeavored to wheedle his father
into withdrawing the conditions he had made, he found him obdurate.
While he was still arguing, Jim and Mr. Lathrop called and the latter
declared that he, too, would stick to his original conditions. Very
disconsolate were the two boys as they sat down to dinner, for they
realized now that their cause was hopeless, that in giving their
conditional consent their parents had known they were perfectly safe.

But presently their spirits began to revive and they were chatting and
laughing as gaily as ever. Then, when the meal was nearly over, the door
bell rang and the servant announced: “A gentleman to see you, Master
Tom. He said to tell you he was mate of the _Hector_. He’s waiting in
the library.”

“Mate of the _Hector_!” exclaimed Tom in puzzled tones, “I wonder what
he wants. I didn’t know Captain Edwards had a mate yet. I’ll bet he’s
come to tell us he’s mate just so we’ll know there’s no chance. Gee! I
think Mr. Nye might have taken Cap’n Pem just for our sakes.”

“Nye’s sending the bark after oil, not to please you boys,” Mr. Chester
reminded him as he left the room.

As Tom reached the library and glanced within, he started as if he had
seen a ghost and stood speechless, staring with unbelieving eyes at the
figure seated in the big Morris chair.

“Reckon I did surprise ye!” chuckled Cap’n Pem. “Jest signed on fer mate
o’ the ol’ _Hector_ an’ kinder thought——”

What he was about to say was drowned in the wild yell Tom let out as,
turning, he dashed down the hall.

“Jim!” he shouted as he burst open the dining room door. “Jim! We’re
going! It’s Cap’n Pem and he’s mate of the _Hector_! Hurrah! Hurrah!”

Leaping from his chair, Jim tore into the library with his friend, both
yelling like Indians and prancing about the old sailor until he thought
they had gone stark, staring mad.

“Avast there! Lay off!” he cried. “What in the name o’ tarnation’s the
matter with ye?”

Presently in disjointed sentences, the two boys managed to explain the
cause of their excitement.

“I’ll be blowed!” exclaimed the old whaleman. “So that’s how the land
lays, eh? So you’re the two third mates ol’ man Edwards was talkin’
erbout. Wondered what in Sam Hill he wanted two fer. Well, well, so
we’re goin’ fer to be shipmates, eh? ’Spect Nye wuz jest jollyin’ of ye
all the time. He knowed I wuz a-goin’ last night. Cap’n Edwards wuz over
ter see me an’ wanted fer me ter go, but I wuz a leedle mite skittish
’bout this timber leg. Then, this arternoon, he come over ter see the
ol’ _Hector_ an’ he sez ter me, Pem, he sez, ye’ve jes’ gotter sign on.
’Lessen ye do I won’t have no other nav’gator erlong. Can’t git ’em
’lessen you come too. So I jes’ signed on then an thar.”

“Hurrah for Captain Edwards!” shouted the boys. Then, as their parents
entered the room, Tom cried: “Now what do you say, father? I’ll _bet_
you’re surprised. Isn’t it bully, though!”

Mr. Lathrop coughed and covered his mouth with his handkerchief and Mr.
Chester strove to conceal a smile and winked at his friend.

“Well, wonders will never cease,” he replied. “Luck seems to be with
you, boys. I hope it will last through the cruise. And it will be some
cruise, eh, Lathrop? Mate with a wooden leg, two boys for third mates,
an eighty-year-old ship and Heaven alone knows what kind of a crew!”

“Don’t ye fear erbout the crew, Mr. Chester,” spoke up Cap’n Pem.
“That’s my job an’ my name ain’t Pem Potter if I don’ git ’em, if I have
ter bust open the jail or the poor house an’ take the critters inside.”

The others laughed. “I shouldn’t be surprised if they’d prove better
than anything you’ll get elsewhere,” chuckled Mr. Lathrop. “The war’s
taken every able-bodied man there is. You won’t find the crowd of park
loafers and bums that used to form the bulk of whaling crews.”

“Who said anythin’ erbout able-bodied men?” exclaimed the old seaman.
“Jes’ so long’s they’ve got two feet an’ two han’s it’s all I ask. Give
me three months at sea with ’em an’ I’ll make whalemen outer anything
what’s human. But I reckon I’ll be h’istin’ to’sails an’ gettin’ under
way. I gotter be mighty busy from now on.”

Bidding them all good night, and with a parting injunction to the boys
to report at the owner’s office and sign articles in the morning, old
Cap’n Pem left the house and went stumping down the street on his wooden
leg and so overjoyed at the prospect of being once more on a cruise that
he broke into a rollicking old chantey.

    Now who d’ ye think’s the chief mate o’ her?
      Blow, boys, blow!
    A big mu-latter come from Antigua!
      Blow, my bully boys, blow!

Long after he was out of sight, the boys could hear the chorus wafted to
them on the soft night breeze.

                   *       *       *       *       *

The next few weeks were busy ones for the two boys. They signed on as
members of the _Hector’s_ crew, although there were difficulties to be
overcome in doing that, for they were too young to secure navigators’
licenses. Finally it was arranged that they should be rated as “boys”
and as such were entitled to “lays” of 1/100 of the ship’s catch or, in
other words, one barrel of oil out of every hundred, for whalers never
work for wages, and when all this was attended to, the boys felt like
real whalemen. Then, at Captain Edward’s suggestion, they worked daily
at the _Hector_, sometimes on the rigging, and still oftener looking
after the gear of the whale boats and the supplies which were being
rapidly gathered together in readiness for the day when the bark would
be ready for sea. It was a never-ending wonder to the boys to find what
an enormous quantity of stores were required. As Tom put it, there was
enough to supply a city and they could not believe that such a vast
amount was necessary. Indeed, when the boys came to total up the lists
of stores which they checked off, they discovered there were over seven
hundred different articles and that the total cost was nearly one
hundred thousand dollars. It seemed a stupendous undertaking to stow all
this away and the ship itself appeared a hopeless tangle of rigging,
fittings and odds and ends. But gradually order came from chaos. The
_Hector_ was spick and span with a fresh coat of paint; her tall,
tapering spars rose high above the docks; her massive yards were in
place; her rigging taut and well tarred; and, at last one day, a fussy,
little tug came hurrying across the harbor, and with a huge, new flag
flying from her mizzen gaff and strings of bright bunting everywhere,
the stout old ship was towed from her berth and moored in the stream. To
the elated boys, standing upon the clean, smooth decks it seemed
impossible that the stately vessel whose shining masts and spars towered
above their heads could be the same weather-beaten, dingy, dilapidated
hulk which for so long had lain upon the mud flat and had formed a
playground for them and their comrades.

Soon lighters were alongside; the countless stores were rapidly put
aboard; the immense sails were bent to the yards; and all was ready for
the voyage, save the crew.

Old Cap’n Pem had had his hands full getting enough men together to man
the ship and do the work when they reached the hunting grounds, and he
vowed, that never in all his experience had he seen such a
good-for-nothing, worthless lot of human derelicts as the sharks had
offered him.

“Bet ye, ye’ll see some fun when we git out o’ soundin’s an’ start to
break ’em in,” he declared. “Mebbe ye boys think as I’m a mighty
easy-goin’ ol’ cuss but I reckon ye’ll think I’m a snortin’, tough ol’
bucko mate when we git to sea. Treat ’em rough’s the only way ter handle
of ’em. Ain’t nary one of ’em thet knows a marlin spike from a
scuttle-butt I’ll bet.”

“Why, aren’t they sailors?” asked Jim.

“Sailors!” cried the old whaleman. “Sailors! Well I’ll be scuttled!
Course they ain’t sailors. Why, bless your hearts, no whaler cap’n’d
ship sailors if they paid their passage. Jest scum they be—gutter
sweepin’s an’ bums on’y worse ’an usual ’cause o’ the war.”

“But if you don’t have sailors, how can you sail the bark?” asked Tom.
“And why don’t you want sailors anyway?”

“The mates an’ the four boat steerers sail the ship,” explained the old
fellow. “Thought I told ye all ’bout sech things long ago. An’ the
cooper an’ steward lend a han’, providin’ they’re needed, an’ arter
we’ve broke in the greenies they’ll han’le the ol’ bark. Why don’ we
want sailor men? ’Cause sailors ain’t any use ’board a whaler. Fust
place they growl an’ cause trouble, secon’ place they desart at the fust
po’t an’ third place they won’t work fer lays. Now I gotter be a-gittin’
along an’ lookin’ arter things. The ol’ man’s given orders we’re a
sailin’ at ebb tide to-morrer, so ye boys be on han’ before ten.”

Despite their eagerness to go on the cruise, and their excitement, still
the boys felt a touch of homesickness and a lump in their throats as
they bade good-by to their parents and their boy friends, the following
morning, and realized that they would not see the quiet, shady streets
of Fair Haven or their own comfortable homes for twelve long months or
more.

When they reached the _Hector_ they found Captain Edwards, the second
mate, the four boat steerers, the cooper, the cook and a carpenter on
board. The second mate, or officer, was a long, lanky, down-east fellow
with a ghastly scar across one cheek and which they learned had been
received when his ship had been sunk by a German U-boat a few months
previously. The boat steerers were all Portuguese from the Cape Verde
Islands; the cook was a coal-black negro from Jamaica; the cooper was a
blond-headed Swede and the carpenter a tiny, dried-up, white-haired
Irishman. Soon after the boys were aboard, two boats approached loaded
with men and with old Cap’n Pem in the first. Running alongside, the men
scrambled and clambered onto the deck and as they stared stupidly about,
the boys thought they never had seen such a rough, unkempt,
disreputable-looking lot of men. Sixteen in all, there was not one of
their number who was not ragged and dirty. They were of every age, color
and nationality from a tousled-headed, pop-eyed “boy” to a gray-headed,
red-nosed, old rascal fully sixty, and several were negroes. But they
had scant time to look about at their new surroundings for scarcely was
the last one on board, before the second mate began to give orders,
hustling the new hands about, and putting them to work, and while some
were inclined to loaf and others were surly and answered back, the
majority fell to and evidently did their best to follow instructions,
although it was plain that the mate’s words held little meaning for
them. Then the capstan was manned, a tug drew alongside and, as the boat
steerers joined the men at the handspikes and walked the heavy cable in,
their voices broke into the old, old chantey of Sally Brown:

    “Oh, Sally Brown of New York City,
      Aye Sally,—Sally Brown,
    Of pretty Sal this is a ditty,
      I’ll spend my money on Sally Brown!”

So sang the men as the great anchor rose slowly to the catheads, and a
moment later, the tug’s propeller churned the water and the boys saw the
docks and buildings of New Bedford slipping slowly astern. The crowd on
the piers and moored ships shouted and waved hats and handkerchiefs. The
tug gave a farewell toot and the boys’ voyage had begun.




CHAPTER III

THERE SHE BLOWS!


No sooner had the bark commenced to move down the harbor, than a magic
change appeared to take place. At the wheel, one of the boat steerers
stood staring ahead and deftly gave the spokes a twirl as he kept the
_Hector_ to the tug’s course. Back and forth on the quarter-deck strode
Captain Edwards, hands behind back and hat pulled low over his eyes. At
the break of the poop, stood old Cap’n Pem, his ancient, peaked cap
jammed on one side of his head, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows
and his bushy brows drawn together in a frown. Below him, stood the
lanky second officer, Mr. Kemp, barking out sharp, quick orders. From
the galley, a slender column of smoke rose upwards, showing the cook was
already at work. The crew were busy here and there under the directions
of the boat steerers and the carpenter was wedging down a hatch cover.
It was evident that strict discipline was now in order and the boys,
resolved to do their part and to act as though they were bona fide
members of the crew, commenced coiling down ropes that trailed across
the decks. As they did so, Mr. Kemp grinned and Cap’n Pem winked at the
skipper who stopped an instant in his stride to glance at the busy boys.

Then, Cap’n Pem’s voice roared out orders to loosen sails and the two
boys, anxious to show their skill and knowledge, as well as their
willingness, ran nimbly up the ratlines and were the first out on the
yards. One by one the great topsails were unfurled and halliards were
manned.

    “They call me Hanging Johnny,
      Away-e-Oh!
    They call me Hanging Johnny,
      So hang, boys, hang.”

Thus roared the men, and, as the boys joined in the chorus, the heavy
yards rose slowly, the sails were sheeted home, and as the bark passed
the harbor mouth and caught the fresh offshore wind, the tug cast off
her lines, blew a parting blast on her whistle and the _Hector_, under
her own canvas, headed towards the open sea.

The breeze was fair and steady and under topsails and to’gallant sails
the bark swept smoothly on, a crinkle of white water under her forefoot,
a yeasty wake trailing off astern and the soft hum of the wind in her
taut rigging and great billowing sails. The boys, who had never been to
sea except in steamers, thought they had never experienced anything so
delightful as the sensation of sailing without the throb and noise of
engines and the mess and dirt of smoke and cinders, and they were sure
that they had never seen anything so beautiful as the huge, white sails
straining at their braces, gleaming like silver in the sun, softly
purple in the shadows and swaying majestically across the blue summer
sky as the boys gazed upward at them in admiration.

Dim and hazy in the distance, were the hills and shores; a mere smudge
of smoke marked New Bedford; to port lay Martha’s Vineyard; and straight
ahead was the broad Atlantic.

But the two boys had been too well trained by Cap’n Pem to idle away the
time admiring the pyramids of snowy sails overhead, or the gentle rise
and fall of the deck beneath their feet, but busied themselves about the
ship, coiling down ropes, explaining orders to the green crew, lending a
hand here and there and making themselves generally useful. Presently,
Mr. Kemp approached. “Mr. Potter’d like Mr. Chester and Mr. Lathrop to
step aft,” he said.

For a moment the boys hesitated, puzzled, and then, despite every
effort, laughed, for the officer’s formal method of addressing them
struck them as very funny. They had never dreamed that they would be
treated other than as boys and to be spoken to as officers was a
distinct surprise.

Quickly recovering themselves, however, the two hurried to the poop
where the old whaleman was standing.

“What is it, Cap’n Pem—?” began Tom, but he was instantly interrupted by
the other. “Mr. Potter, sir!” corrected the old man with a twinkle in
his eyes.

“Yes, sir, what is it, sir?” inquired Tom, trying hard to hide a grin.

“Cap’n Edwards wants ye an’ Mr. Lathrop to git ready fer to take
observations, sir,” replied Cap’n Pem. “He says as how he’d like fer ye
two youngs—Oh, gosh-ding it all what’s ther use! I’ll be blowed ef I kin
keep it up. Call me Cap’n Pem ef ye like. I’m a-goin’ ter call ye young
scallywags or anythin’ else same’s I allers has. Well the ol’—Cap’n
Edwards I mean—wants ter hev ye shoot the sun an’ work out the position
so’s he kin see how much ye know. It’s pretty nigh eight bells now, so
hustle down inter my cabin and fetch up them two sextants there, an’ git
busy.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Potter!” chuckled Jimmy, as the two boys dived down the
companionway.

Regaining the deck, the two boys took up positions and commenced
squinting through their instruments, while the old whaleman watched them
critically. Unnoticed by them, Captain Edwards also drew near, and even
Mr. Kemp ceased swearing at his crew long enough to glance at the two,
for it was a novel sight to see two boys standing on the poop of a
whaleship and handling sextants like old hands.

“Eight bells!” cried Tom presently. “Eight bells!” echoed Jim, and at
their words the eight mellow notes rang out from the bronze bell below.

Hurrying down to the cabin, the boys commenced to work out their
latitude while, on deck, Cap’n Pem slapped his thigh and chuckled.
“Han’led them sextants jes’ as well as me or you could!” he declared
addressing the skipper. “Bet ye, ye kin depen’ on ’em jes’ as well as
any orcifer ye’d find. Jes’ wait ’till they give ye their figgers.
They’ll be purty clost to kerect or I’m a Dutchman!”

“Here are the figures and position, sir,” said Tom as he appeared from
the companionway and handed two slips of paper to the captain.

Captain Edwards glanced at them and a satisfied smile spread over his
wrinkled, tanned face. “Your longitude is right,” he said, “and
there’s only thirty seconds difference in your two positions. Neither is
out quite a minute—or less than a knot—and that’s mighty close work for
the first observation you’ve ever taken aboard a ship at sea. You’ve
done very well—er—Mr. Chester and Mr. Lathrop. From now on, you may
consider yourselves as third and fourth officers and entitled to lays of
one in fifty each. I shall expect you to take observations daily.”

“Told ye they’d be derned near _k_erect!” cried Cap’n Pem.

“But, captain, can’t we help with the work just the same, if we are
officers?” asked Tom. “It’s lots of fun.”

The captain rubbed his chin reflectively. “Third and fourth mates
usually have to work a bit,” he replied. “Yes, I guess ’twon’t ruin
ship’s discipline if you’re boys most of the time and officers when I
need you. But don’t get too familiar or friendly with the crew.”

“What in Sam Hill’s the matter now!” exclaimed Cap’n Pem a few moments
later, when angry shouts from Mr. Kemp were heard.

Following their old friend to the break of the deck, the boys saw the
second officer shaking his fists and yelling at a ragged man who stood
before him with a vacant, noncomprehending expression on his face, and
moving and wiggling his fingers in a curious manner.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Kemp?” called the captain.

The second mate turned and glanced up. “It’s this greenie, sir,” he
replied. “Just up from the foc’sle, an’ jus’ stands here and looks
silly, twiddlin’ his thumbs. Don’t answer back or nothin’ and won’t obey
orders. Don’t know if it’s some new kind of jag or if he’s just plain
crazy.”

“Aye tank he bane daf an’ doomb, sir,” put in the cooper, approaching
and touching his cap. “Aye haf daf an’ doomb coosin bane twoggle fingers
same vay. Mebbe Aye bane able talk mit him.”

“Reckon Ole’s right,” agreed Cap’n Pem.

“Try it and see, Swanson,” ordered the skipper.

Standing before the man, the cooper moved his big, knotted fingers, and
instantly, a look of understanding passed over the other’s features and
his hands moved swiftly.

Presently, the Swede turned towards the watching officers. “Yas,” he
said “he bane daff an’ doomb. He say he bane shanghaied. He never bane
sailor man before.”

“’Spect like enough he was shanghaied,” growled Cap’n Pem, “but we can’t
help that none. What we goin’ fer to do with him, Cap’n? Blow me if I
ever run afoul o’ a dummy han’ on a whaleship afore.”

“He can work just as well if he is deaf and dumb,” replied Captain
Edwards.

“Yes, but how’n tarnation’s he goin’ fer ter take orders?” exploded the
old whaleman. “’Twouldn’t do no harm if ev’ry one o’ the critters was
dumb. Wish t’ they was. But a deaf han’ ain’t worth nothin’. Dern the
shark what shipped him!”

“Swanson,” called the skipper, “take charge of this man. You’re the only
one can talk to him. Teach him what you can and make him work at
something, sharpening spades and irons, or anything else.”

No further incidents of note occurred during the day and the following
morning the boys came on deck to find the _Hector_ out of sight of land
and rolling majestically to the long, blue swell of the ocean.

“Reckon this is a purty good day to begin breakin’ in the greenies,”
remarked Cap’n Pem at breakfast. “Have the starboard boats cleared and
ready to lower, Mr. Kemp. It’s mighty good weather for breakin’ of ’em
in to the oars arter we’ve had a bit of a set-to with ’em in the
riggin’.”

When they reached the deck, Cap’n Pem had Mr. Kemp summon the green men
aft, and standing at the break of the poop, he gave them a short
harangue on what was expected of them.

The boys felt really sorry for the men, for, with few exceptions, all
were deathly seasick, and terribly frightened at their surroundings.
Every time the bark rolled, they uttered doleful groans and clutched
wildly at the nearest backstay or shroud, and when the old whaleman
spoke of going aloft and the poor fellows glanced up at the soaring,
lofty mastheads, their faces blanched with terror.

As Cap’n Pem finished speaking, the second mate ordered the men into the
rigging. For an instant, they stood hesitating, terrified at the mere
thought of climbing the ratlines rocking back and forth to the roll of
the bark. But as Mr. Kemp started towards them, a rope’s end in one hand
and a belaying pin in the other, the men fled before him, and flattening
themselves against the shrouds, crawled up for a few feet above the
deck. Only two went further, the pop-eyed youth who the boys had noticed
and a huge, gorillalike negro, both of whom ran nimbly to the to’gallant
crosstrees and seated themselves as comfortably as if they had been
sailors all their lives.

Only one man had remained on deck, a gray-headed old reprobate. “Here
you!” yelled Mr. Kemp with an oath, “Get aloft there and be durned quick
about it!”

“Not a bit!” replied the old fellow insolently. “’Tis none av thim
monkey shines Oi’ll be afther tryin’, an’ me wid me wooden lig!”

The second mate, who had started forward with belaying pin raised
threateningly, stopped short and dropped his arm. “Well I’ll be—,” he
began and then, turning, he shouted, “Mister Potter, here’s another of
’em—first a dummy an’ next a timber leg! Them sharks must have thought
we was a floatin’ horspittel!”

“What’s that ye’re sayin’?” shouted old Pem. “What’s this erbout a
timber leg?”

“This old cove here,” explained the other, “says as how he can’t go
aloft cause he’s got a wooden leg.”

Old Pem was fairly bristling. “Sojerin’!” he yelled. “Git erloft there,
ye ol’ bum!” and then, forgetting himself in his excitement, he added,
“Ye ain’t no more one-legged than I be!”

“B’gorra Oi’d be hopin’ not,” burst out the other. “Faith, an’ Oi’d like
to see yez a shinnyin’ up thim ropes wid a lig like this, ye ould
omathon!”

As he spoke, he drew up his trouser leg and exhibited the artificial
limb beneath.

“Sass me back, will ye!” roared the old whaleman, purple with rage. “By
blastarnation, ef ye wasn’t a cripple I’d skin ye alive!”

“Cripple yerself,” shouted back the other. “Come down out of that an’
Oi’ll lick the stuffin’ out av yez, ye ould shellback!”

The boys fully expected to see Cap’n Pem dash down to the deck and rush
at the impudent old fellow, but instead, he suddenly doubled up and
roared with hearty laughter.

“I’ll be keelhauled!” he cried. “Ef this isn’t the dod-gastedest crew
what ever sailed on a whale ship. Reckon misery loves comp’ny. Two
timber-legs an’ a dummy! Mr. Kemp, muster them hands aft an’ see how
many more derelicts ye’ve got ermong ’em.”

Grinning at the comical scene they had just witnessed, the crew gathered
about and the second officer went over them one by one, questioning
them, pounding them on backs and chests, slapping their arms and legs
and ordering them to run and jump about, while, on the poop, the two
boys and old Pem, as well as the skipper, stood and watched the
procedure with amusement. Presently the second mate turned. “Here’s a
chap with a glass eye,” he announced, indicating a sallow-faced, little
man, “but I guess t’others are all sound.”

“Reckon so long’s his other eye’s good he don’t matter,” said Pem. “Go
on with yer men, Mr. Kemp an’ put that one-legged ol’ shamrock to deck
work till we’re ready fer the boats. Mebbe he’ll do fer a shipkeeper
anyhow.”

For several hours, the “greenies” were kept on the jump, compelled to
climb the rigging to the topsail yards, taught the standing and running
rigging, made to understand what to do when an order was given. But
while they were, as Cap’n Pem had put it, “treated rough,” there was
none of the real brutality shown which the boys had expected from the
tales they had heard and read of whalers. Indeed, both Tom and Jim
agreed that Mr. Kemp was wonderfully patient and the few blows that were
struck did not appear to trouble the tough crew in the least. When Tom
spoke of this to Captain Edwards the latter remarked that such treatment
as they were receiving was probably far gentler than anything they had
ever experienced before.

Strangely enough too, the active work appeared completely to cure the
men of seasickness, while their first terror of going aloft was rapidly
overcome, although they still hugged the shrouds and held on with might
and main whenever the bark rolled.

The boys were much amused at Cap’n Pem, for the old whaleman had painted
himself as a hard-fisted, slave-driving mate when at sea, whereas, in
reality, he was far easier on the men than the second officer, and
several times he cautioned the latter against using unnecessary
violence.

“This ’ere ain’t no ol’ time whaleship,” he cried. “I’ve seed a-plenty
o’ bulldozin’, bucko mates an’ I tell ye ’tain’t no use to smash a man
up. Might jes’ as well let ’em take their time a’ larnin’ as to spend it
mendin’ of a busted leg or stove-in head. Course, if any of ’em needs
it, ye can give ’em a good lickin’. They gotter know who’s boss, but we
don’ want broken bones nor murder.”

At last, the second mate seemed satisfied with what he had accomplished
and ordered the topsail backed, and as the bark was hove-to and rested
motionless on the sea, the two starboard boats were lowered and the
green hands were ordered into them. Even the one-legged Irishman was
compelled to embark, although he protested vigorously. With two of the
boat steerers in each boat and with Mr. Kemp in charge of one and Cap’n
Pem in the stern of the other, the fun began. Not a man in the crowd,
with the exception of the boy and the big negro, both of whom had
evidently served on ships before, had ever touched or handled an oar in
their lives. And when, under the orders of the two mates, the fellows
attempted to pick up and use the heavy ash oars, the result was so
comical that the two boys burst into peals of laughter and even Captain
Edwards chuckled. Constantly fouling one another’s oars, catching crabs,
losing their oars overboard and getting in one another’s way, the men
struggled valiantly and apparently thought it a regular lark. Indeed,
after their terrifying session with the rigging, their instruction in
boat handling must have seemed mere child’s play, and at each mishap the
men roared and made fun of each other. Moreover, the mates and boat
steerers took the matter good-naturedly, making biting and sarcastic
remarks, but patiently striving to teach their men how to row. Much to
the boys’ surprise, the crowd of human derelicts did wonderfully well,
and after an hour’s work, managed to conquer the oars sufficiently to
keep fairly good time with their strokes and actually to propel the big,
thirty-foot whaleboats.

Very soon the breeze freshened, a choppy sea began to rise and the boats
were hoisted to the big wooden davits, the yards were swung and the
_Hector_ plunged onward through the deep-blue waves towards the distant
Azores.

Thereafter, on every calm day, the boat drill was continued, and day
after day, the men were sent aloft and taught to furl and reef sails, to
swing the yards, to tail onto braces, sheets and halliards and to do the
thousand and one things necessary to the handling of a square-rigged
vessel. Most of the men learned rapidly, after they had once overcome
their landsman’s dread of going aloft, and while a few were so utterly
lacking in intelligence that they couldn’t learn the difference between
a “main brace and a belaying pin,” as Mr. Kemp put it, yet all learned
to handle the boats and seemed to take keen enjoyment in this part of
the work, each boat’s crew constantly striving to outdo the other and
holding hard fought races whenever opportunity offered. Moreover, the
men had improved vastly in appearance. They had grown brown and strong;
their muscles had developed; they had discarded their dirty shore rags
for clean dungarees and went about lightly and surefootedly on newly
acquired “sea legs” in their bare feet. From the boat steerers and
mates, they had learned a number of chanteys and whalemen’s songs and
whenever any work was done, the deep bass of the big negro, Sam, could
be heard leading the chorus of some old-time, deep water chantey.

A few days after they had dropped land from sight, the captain had a man
constantly perched on the topgallant crosstrees, keenly scanning the
horizon, and Cap’n Pem explained to the boys that they were likely at
any time to sight a sperm whale and that the skipper had no intention of
letting one slip by.

“Sparm ’ile’s mighty high,” said the old man, “’an sperm’ceti’s higher
an’ t’ain’t no use a lettin’ good dollars slip by. ’Sides, this ere
gang’s gotter be taught whalin’ an’ the sooner the better.”

The two boys also took turns at maintaining a lookout from the
crosstrees, each filled with hopes of being the first to sight a whale.
But the days slipped by, vast beds of yellow “sargassum” or “gulf weed”
dotted the indigo sea and the bark was rapidly approaching the islands
and no sign of a whale had been seen.

Then, one day, as Tom swept his eyes about the vast circle of restless
water, he caught a glimpse of a faint, indistinct mist rising a few feet
above the sea, like the spray from a breaking wave. The next moment, a
vast, black object lifted for an instant in the trough of a sea and, at
the top of his lungs, Tom shouted: “There she blows!”

Scarcely were the words uttered, when all was excitement below and Cap’n
Pem’s voice bellowed, “Where away?”

“About three points on the port bow,” shouted Tom.

Then followed a moment of breathless waiting, with all eyes strained in
the direction Tom had indicated, until once more the tiny column of
vapor rose in air and the whale’s flukes showed for a brief moment
before he sounded.




CHAPTER IV

A NARROW ESCAPE


No sooner had the whale been sighted than all was bustle and hurry.
Orders rang out sharply and rapidly; the men sprang to their tasks; the
great yards swung and the bark was hove-to; and, in an incredibly short
space of time, two boats had been lowered and were fairly racing across
the waves, propelled by the five huge oars in each.

The two boys were woefully disappointed at not being allowed in the
boats; but they realized that they would only be in the way, and that in
the serious and dangerous attack on the whale, they had no place. From
their perch on the crosstrees, however, they had a splendid view of all
that was going on, and watched, fascinated, as the boats rapidly drew
near the whale which was now swimming lazily along the surface of the
sea. Presently, the boys saw the Portuguese boat steerer in Cap’n Pem’s
boat, draw in his oar and step to the bow of the boat where, with hair
tossing in the wind and naked to the waist, he stood with the heavy
harpoon, or “iron,” poised and ready to strike. To the waiting boys it
seemed as if the boat was about to bump into the immense, black bulk of
the whale which rose, like the bottom of a capsized ship, far above the
tiny boat. Closer and closer drew the little craft, the boys with bated
breath watching every move and expecting each instant to see the iron
dart forward and bury itself in the monster, when, without warning, the
enormous flukes rose high in air, the whale disappeared in a boil of
green and white foam, and with a crash that reached the boys’ ears, the
mighty flukes struck the sea and hid the boat in a shower of spray.

“Sounded, by gum!” shouted Captain Edwards from the poop.

“Yah, he bane sound!” echoed the cooper. “But aye tank Mr. Potter bane
get him yust da same.”

The two boats now rested motionless, waiting for the reappearance of the
whale, every man with bent back ready to give way the instant their
quarry “breached”; the boat steerers in the bows standing like bronze
statues, and old Cap’n Pem in one boat and the second mate in the other
grasping their enormous steering oars and peering intently ahead. Even
before the boys saw the faint column of vapor that marked the rising
whale, they saw the mate’s boat leap forward, and as the bulk of the
creature’s body broke through the water, the iron flashed forward and
buried itself in the whale’s side.

“Fast!” yelled the captain.

Instantly, the boat steerer sprang back, Cap’n Pem dropped his oar and
scrambled nimbly forward, the boat steerer seized the oar and took the
mate’s place and old Cap’n Pem crouched in the bow.

Then commenced such an exciting scene as the boys had never dreamed of.
Hardly had the two men changed places in the boat when the whale threw
himself bodily from the sea, a veritable giant of a creature, snapping
his enormous jaws together as he did so, and the next second he was off
like an express train, while behind him, the frail boat tore through the
sea in a cloud of foam as it was hurtled by the terrified mountain of
flesh to which it was fast. Straight away the huge creature sped, until
the boat was a mere speck upon the horizon.

“Keep ’em in sight, lads! Keep ’em in sight!” yelled Captain Edwards,
and leaping to the shrouds, he climbed quickly aloft and stood beside
them on the crosstrees.

“Sounded again!” he exclaimed presently, and then, “headin’ this way!”
Rapidly now the boat increased in size with the threshing flukes of the
cetacean now and then visible, and headed apparently directly for the
_Hector_.

As he approached the other whaleboat, the men bent to their oars, the
craft leaped towards the stricken whale and as he rushed by, within a
score of feet another iron was hurled and with both boats fast the whale
sped on. But the second iron from Mr. Kemp’s boat had turned him in his
mad course and he tore past the stern of the _Hector_ within fifty
feet—so close, in fact, that the boys could see the expressions on the
men’s faces, could see the gear within the boats and caught the sound of
Cap’n Pem’s shout as the gallant old whaleman waved a hand and yelled up
to them.

“Derned near rammed us!” exclaimed the skipper. “Would have if Kemp
hadn’t struck and turned him!”

Scarcely had he spoken when, so suddenly that the two boats overran the
spot where he had been an instant before, the whale sounded and as the
line rushed out through the bow-chock until it smoked, the tub-oarsmen
doused it with water and Cap’n Pem and the second mate seized the
ever-ready hatchets and held them poised to cut the lines in case of
need. Everything now was taking place close to the ship and the watchers
on the crosstrees seemed to look directly down into the two boats.
Fathom after fathom of the line whirred over the boat’s bows as the
whale dived straight for the ocean bottom and it seemed as if the whole
three hundred fathoms in each boat would be exhausted ere the creature
ceased sounding.

Then, to the watchers’ ears, came Cap’n Pem’s shout of “haul line!” and
rapidly as hands could work, the dripping hemp was drawn in and coiled
in its tub, and the boys, realizing the whale was coming up, watched
breathlessly for his appearance. Suddenly he breached so close to the
ship that, as he spouted, the spray drifted across the bark’s decks and
the vessel rolled to the wave he created as he reared his gigantic head
far above the sea and brought it crashing down. Then for a space, he lay
quiet, and silently and cautiously the mate’s boat drew closer and
closer to the monster and the boys held their breath as they saw Cap’n
Pem grasp the long, keen lance and they realized that the old whaleman,
disdaining new-fangled methods, planned to kill the whale by the
old-fashioned lance which must actually be shoved into the animal’s
side.

“Dern him!” whispered the captain. “Why don’t the old fool use the bomb
lance? Does he want to be stove?”

Now the frail boat was within a few feet of the wounded whale. Cap’n Pem
straightened up, grasped the lance firmly, braced himself, leaned
slightly forward and, with a sudden lurch and a grunt which was audible
to those on the bark, he drove the long-bladed lance deep into the
creature’s side. Instantly, with a sweep of the oars, the boat darted
back, and not a second too soon. Lashing the waves into a churning,
boiling, seething mass of froth and foam, spouting blood which reddened
the sea, lifting his great flukes and smashing them down in thunderous
crashes, rearing his stupendous head and dropping it like a falling
house, snapping, biting, sweeping to right and left with his immense jaw
with its row of gleaming teeth, the whale went into his death flurry.
Dodging the sweeps of his flukes, escaping by a hair’s breadth the
terrible jaws, tossed about like chips on the crimson waves raised by
the writhing titan beside them, the boats’ crews strove like madmen to
preserve their lives and boats, while the skipper shouted and screamed
from the crosstrees. The boys’ hearts beat like trip-hammers and the men
on deck yelled in excitement. Then, with a final, convulsive shudder,
the gigantic creature rolled over and lay still. From the boat came the
glad, triumphant cry of “Fin out!” the whale was dead. Grabbing his old
cap from his head, Cap’n Pem looked up and waved it towards the captain
and the boys in the crosstrees, his features flushed with excitement and
victory, a broad grin on his face.

“Reckon I ain’t fergot how ter kill a whale, eh, boys!” he shouted.
“Ain’t had so much sport fer twenty year!”

The excitement was now over, and climbing down from their lofty perch,
the boys went to the bark’s starboard rail and watched the process of
getting the dead whale alongside. Quickly and deftly the two boats’
crews worked, getting a chain around the dead whale’s flukes, while,
aboard the bark, spades and blubber hooks, hoisting tackle, cutting
tackle and the other appliances for cutting in the whale were being made
ready. The carpenter and his assistants were busy rigging the cutting
stage to be slung under the ship’s gangway. The huge kettles for boiling
the blubber were brought out, shavings and wood were placed in the try
works ready for firing, and by the time the carcass of the whale was
alongside, everything was in readiness for cutting in the blubber.
Leaping onto the whale, one of the boat steerers quickly cut a hole in
the blubber between the whale’s eye and his fin and in this, inserted a
huge, iron hook attached to a tackle which led up to the mast. Then,
standing upon the cutting stage, the men, armed with their long-handled
spades, prepared to start the work. At this moment, the deaf mute, who
had been sent aloft to clear the tackle, came down the shrouds with a
rush, and unceremoniously yanking the busy Swanson from his work,
whirled him about and began gesticulating wildly.

“Hi there!” yelled Cap’n Pem. “Get that dumb fool outer here. What’s he
a thinkin’ on?”

“Yaas, sir,” replied the big Swede. “He say dere bane whale yust off der
quvarter.”

“He does!” exclaimed the mate. “Run aloft, Mr. Kemp, an’ see if he knows
what he’s a-talkin’ erbout.”

Reaching the crosstrees, the second officer glanced rapidly around and
the next instant his startled shout caused every one to drop work and
tools and scramble to the decks.

“Whale!” screamed Mr. Kemp. “It’s a German sub!”

With anxious faces the crew scrambled up the rigging, striving to get a
glimpse of the U-boat while the boys and Cap’n Pem rushed to the after
deck where Captain Edwards already stood, searching the sea with his
glasses.

For a space the boys could see nothing and then Jim’s sharp eyes caught
the slender periscope of the underseas boat and the tiny trail of white
behind it.

“There ’tis, Tom! Look! Just beside that big patch of weed!” he cried.

“Dern their dirty hides!” exclaimed old Pem. “Fetch me a bomb lance,
boys. I’ll show ’em!”

“No!” commanded the captain, “we can do nothing. Possibly they may spare
us if they see we are a whaleship and have no oil aboard. Get the other
boats over, Mr. Potter. If we’re sunk we have enough boats to save all
hands, thank Heaven.”

Turning, the mate bawled the orders to the crew, and, badly frightened
as they were, and realizing their helplessness, the men flew about the
work of getting more boats in the water. Meanwhile, the submarine had
gradually emerged from the water and now floated with her deck awash,
and her conning tower and superstructure well above the sea. Presently,
from a hatchway, a uniformed figure appeared, stared at the _Hector_
through his glasses for a space and raised a megaphone to his lips.
Then, thin but clear across the intervening sea, the anxious watchers on
the bark heard the fateful words, “Take to your poats! We’re apout to
sink dot shib!”

Panic-stricken, the crew rushed to the waiting whaleboats and commenced
to pile into them, the Portuguese and negroes leading, and all fighting
and striking in a mad attempt to be first to reach a place of safety,
for, while fearless in attacking the giants of the seas and cheerfully
facing death a dozen times a day in the pursuit of their calling, yet
these men were terrified out of all reason at the thought of being blown
to atoms by a torpedo. There were more than enough boats for all, but
like frightened sheep, the men all dashed for one boat. Hurrying to the
deck, the captain and mates strove to restore order, shouting, and
threatening, but all to no avail. The men were insane with terror. And
then, suddenly, a wild figure sprang among them, gray hair flying, eyes
blazing, a boarding-knife in one hand, a heavy iron bar in the other.

It was the one-legged Irishman, and before his impetuous onslaught the
crowd fell back.

“Wan at a toime, ye spalpeens!” he screeched. “Take it aisy now! B’gorra
ye’re a foine bunch! Shure there’s enough boats an’ to sphare! Tumble
into thim in order now—six in aich, mind ye, an’ Oi’ll shtick the furst
thot rushes! Howly St. Pathrick, but it’s foine cowards, yez arre! Shure
’tis no sinse ye have, at all, at all!”

Presently the boats were manned, the doughty little Irishman clambered
into one with the two boys and Cap’n Pem at his heels. Mr. Kemp took his
place in another and Captain Edwards, last to leave the bark, leaped
into the third as painters were cast loose and the men bent to their
oars. Scarcely had they taken a dozen strokes from the doomed ship when
there was a deafening explosion. An upleaping mountain of water
enveloped the _Hector_, and the next moment the boats were almost
swamped in a descending avalanche of water, blood, flesh and blubber.

Frightened, dazed, choking and spluttering the boys looked about.
Rocking to the force of the explosion, with water pouring in cataracts
from her scuppers, but apparently unhurt, the bark towered above the
sea.

“Well I’ll be—,” began Cap’n Pem, but his words were cut in twain by a
shout from Mr. Kemp.

“Destroyer a-comin’!” he yelled.

Instantly, all eyes were turned from the bark to where, half-hidden by
the great bow-wave thrown up by her passage, and with black smoke
belching from her four funnels, a lean, gray destroyer came tearing
through the sea. Leaping to their feet, tossing hats in air, waving
their ponderous oars, the men cheered wildly and then, realizing that
the _Hector_ was still afloat and that all danger from the submarine was
over, they swung their craft about and pulled madly back to their ship.
Even before they had gained the bark’s side they were tossing on the
wake of the rushing destroyer, and, in rapid succession, came the heavy
detonations of her depth-bombs.

Clambering over the _Hector’s_ side, the boys and men gazed about in
amazement, for the moment utterly at a loss to understand by what
miracle the ship was still afloat. Then, rushing to the gangway, old
Cap’n Pem gave one glance over the side and let out a lusty shout.
“Well, I’ll be blowed!” he yelled. “I’ll everlastin’ly be keelhauled!
Derned if that critter didn’t save the ship! They jes’ blowed the whale
to smithereens!”

Every one hurried to his side and peered over. It was perfectly true.
The torpedo had struck the whale, blowing it into a thousand fragments,
scattering blubber, flesh and blood over decks, sails and sea, but
leaving the bark uninjured. The mountain of meat and bone had saved the
ship! As they stood speechless, awed into silence by the miraculous
escape of the bark, no one noticed the destroyer, which had drawn near,
until a hail from her bridge reached their ears.

“Bark ahoy!” shouted an officer. “Shall we stand by? Are you badly
injured?”

Captain Edwards cupped his hands and was about to reply, but before he
could speak old Pem sprang onto the rail, and grasping a backstay with
one hand shook his fist at the spot where he had last seen the
submarine. “No!” he roared. “No, by heck! We ain’t hurt none, but them
sneakin’ thieves jes’ robbed us out o’ a hund’ed bar’ls o’ ’ile!”

The tension was broken, every one roared with laughter and even the
destroyer’s officers shook with mirth at the old whaleman’s words.

“Did you get the sub?” shouted Captain Edwards when the merriment
subsided.

“Can’t be sure,” came back the answer. “There’s so darned much whale oil
on the water, there’s no way to tell. The sea’s slicked with grease for
half a mile round. Want us to convoy you to Fayal?”

“Guess not,” yelled back the skipper. “Reckon you scared ’em off if you
didn’t get ’em. Guess we’ll risk it.”

“All right, then,” replied the other. “Better not loaf about after
whales, though. Two or three subs about and you’re easy game hove-to.
Good luck!”

A moment later, the destroyer was tearing towards the west, and by the
time the _Hector’s_ yards were squared and she was once more on her
course, a mere smudge on the horizon was all that marked the little
craft which had arrived on the scene in the nick of time.




CHAPTER V

STRANGE VISITORS


Four days after their exciting experience with the U-boat the boys saw
the hazy blue mountains of the Azores looming above the horizon, and all
through the day they watched with intense interest as the beautiful
panorama of the islands was spread before them. But the winds were light
and baffling in the lee of the land, and it was daylight the next
morning when, at last, the bark dropped anchor in the harbor of Fayal.
Here, Captain Edwards was to take on fresh vegetables and fruits, and he
hoped also to obtain additional men, for while he had enough for
ordinary whaling it was his intention to land parties on several of the
far southern islands and to have enough to insure a large catch of sea
elephants and a full cargo of oil as quickly as possible, in order that
he might return to New Bedford while the high price of oil still
prevailed.

As the bark was to be in port several days, the two boys had a splendid
opportunity to see the town and the island, and as soon as the port
formalities were over, they were pulled ashore in one of the boats with
Cap’n Pem accompanying them.

It took some little time for Tom and Jim to become accustomed to the
feeling of solid ground under their feet once more, and both were highly
amused at the strange sensations they underwent as they walked up the
quaint, old street leading from the quay. After many days of constantly
pitching and rolling decks, which had become so familiar to them that
they seemed perfectly natural and steady, the two boys were surprised to
find that the street appeared to roll and toss, and they staggered along
like drunken men. Cap’n Pem remarked that they had not got their “land
legs” yet and he vowed that many a time, after a long voyage, he had
been deathly “land-sick” when he first went ashore.

The picturesque town, with its old world buildings, narrow, steep
streets, jutting balconies and brilliant color, fascinated the boys who
had never before been away from the States, and they grew wildly excited
over the feathery, waving palms, the luscious tropical fruits and the
many strange sights which greeted them at every turn. Cap’n Pem, who had
visited the islands many times, showed them all the sights about the
town and took them on a long jaunt through the lovely island with its
neatly kept fruit orchards and gardens, its lofty green mountains, its
tumbling cataracts and its rich valleys. Then, at last, the time came to
leave, and with a dozen more men added to the crew and with an abundance
of fresh fruits and vegetables, live poultry and sheep and with every
available cask filled with fresh, spring water, the _Hector’s_ anchor
was weighed, the great white sails were spread and the bark quickly
dropped Fayal astern.

Heeling to the fresh trade wind, with every sail set, with a smother of
foam sweeping past her lee rail and a turquoise wake stretching far
astern, the gallant old ship plunged southward, burying her staunch,
bluff bows to the catheads in the blue sea, shaking tons of water from
her streaming decks as she lifted to the long Atlantic rollers; every
sheet, brace and sail straining and her taut rigging humming like harp
strings.

“Like ter see one o’ them derned submarines cotch us now!” chuckled old
Pem, as the boys, fascinated by the sight, gazed alternately at the
great pyramids of canvas and the swiftly passing foam to leeward.

“What’s she making!” asked Tom.

The old whaleman glanced aloft and then astern. “Reckon ’bout ten
knots,” he replied.

“And a sub can make over twenty,” laughed Jim. “I hope we don’t see
one.”

“Wall, o’ course I ’spose they _could_ cotch us,” admitted old Pem, “but
I’ll be blowed if I don’t wisht I’d tried a bomb lance on that there
chap back there. Bet I could a-fetched him! Reckon them boats ain’t no
tougher than a bull sparm whale.”

“Next time we see one we’ll ask Captain Edwards to lower a boat and let
you tackle it with an iron and a lance,” laughed Tom, “but I’ll bet you
won’t get a boat’s crew to go with you.”

“Jes’ the same,” argued the old whaleman, “ye got ter admit I saved the
ship. Ef I hadn’t a killed that there whale an’ got him ’longside
where’d we been, eh?”

Captain Edwards, who had approached unseen, laughed. “I expect
one-legged Mike would claim he saved us,” he remarked. “At any rate, he
showed the stuff that’s in him and that he can handle men. I’m going to
make him bo’sun.”

Cap’n Pem scratched his head. “Derned if I ever heard tell o’ a
one-legged bo’sun,” he declared. “Jes’ the same, I never heard tell o’ a
peg-legged mate afore, neither. Reckon ye might as well keep it up. Sort
o’ got the habit I reckon.”

Day after day, the wind held steady and the bark tore on under full sail
with never a hand laid to sheet, brace or tackle, and day after day, the
drilling of the men continued, until it seemed to the boys that there
could be nothing more for them to learn. They had been taught the
running and standing rigging; they had been forced aloft until all but
one or two could straddle the royal yards or cling to the swaying,
heaving footropes “with their toe nails” as Mr. Kemp put it; and when
all this had been mastered, they were kept busy at splicing, making
chafing-gear, serving and parcelling, taring down and a thousand and one
other jobs on deck. And in this work, the wooden-legged bo’sun, Mike,
proved himself invaluable. For while he could not go aloft, yet, he
seemed to know everything else about a ship even better than old Pem
himself. Then one day, the truth came out, and while talking with the
boys, for whom he had developed a great fondness, he divulged the fact
that for many years he had served in the navy, and that he had lost his
leg in the battle of Manila on Admiral Dewey’s flagship.

“Knowed he was a sailor man all the time,” declared Cap’n Pem when the
boys told him the news. “Couldn’t fool me! Jes’ as soon’s I seed him
grab a han’ spike, I knowed it.”

“Well, what’s dumb Pete?” laughed Jim, “and one-eyed Ned? I suppose
you’ll say you knew they were sailors, too!”

“Nope,” chuckled the old whaleman, “never will be. Dunno what Pete wuz,
but he’s a fust class blacksmith now. Reckon Ned wuz a sojer.”

Several times, whales were sighted and boats were lowered in chase, for
the _Hector_ was out of the track of regular trade and the captain had
little fear of meeting hostile U-boats, but luck seemed to be against
the whalemen and no catch was made.

“Ain’t a mite s’prised ’ile’s so high,” declared Cap’n Pem. “Never did
see sparm whales so skittish—git gallied soon’s we lower away. Reckon
they’re skeered o’ the war.”

“Been shot at too much,” vouchsafed Mr. Kemp. “Every chaser an’
destroyer that sighted a whale took pot shots at ’em, thinkin’ they
might be subs.”

But whatever the reason, the whales proved so universally shy that at
last the skipper vowed he’d not lower for another, even if it scratched
its back against the bark’s planking, and gave all his attention to
hurrying towards his distant goal.

The Cape Verde Islands had been left far astern, the bark for several
days had been drifting almost motionless upon a polished, oil-like sea
with idle sails flapping and tackles creaking as the ship rolled to an
invisible swell, and the boys’ observations told them they were nearing
the equator. Then one morning, they noticed that something mysterious
was going on among the crew. They gathered in little knots and conversed
in low tones and more than once the men approached Mr. Kemp, or the
one-legged bo’sun, and after a few words, went away grinning.

“What are the men up to?” Tom asked their old friend, Cap’n Pem. “If
they weren’t so good-natured and didn’t talk to Mr. Kemp and old Mike
I’d think they were planning a mutiny.”

The old whaleman chuckled. “Don’t ye go askin’ too many questions,” he
replied. “Reckon ye’ll know long ’bout day arter to-morrer.” And despite
teasing and questioning, the old man refused to say anything more. The
boys then turned their attention to the bo’sun and Mr. Kemp, but with no
better results, and every time they started to go forward Cap’n Pem or
the second mate found some reason for calling them aft.

They were still wondering about it, and watching the crew from the break
of the after deck, two days later, when muffled cries and grunts were
heard and the crew rushed forward and peered over the rail. The next
moment, a weird figure appeared clambering up the bark’s side as if he
had just emerged from the sea. A long, tow-colored beard descended to
his waist, his long hair fell over his shoulders, his blue togalike gown
was dripping water and covered with bits of seaweed, while upon his head
was a golden crown and in one hand he held a three-pronged spear.

“Gosh!” exclaimed Jim. “Who on earth is that?”

“Derned if ’tain’t old Father Neptune hisself!” cried Cap’n Pem who
stood near. “Reckon he’s come aboard ter ’nitiate ev’ry one what’s never
crossed the line afore.”

Following close at Neptune’s heels came two other figures, one, a huge
black man bearing an immense wooden razor, the other dressed as a woman
wearing a crown and carrying a trident. Surrounded by the crew Neptune
approached the after deck, where Captain Edwards had now joined the boys
and the mates, and addressing the skipper, declared that he had come
aboard to initiate those who never before had crossed the equator, and
asked the captain’s permission to proceed with the ceremony. While he
was speaking, a number of men had appeared, all dressed in grotesque
costumes, and had placed a huge tub of water, a chair and a pail on the
deck. Immediately the fun began. Seizing one of those who stood nearest,
two of Neptune’s retinue dragged him to the chair and held him firmly in
place despite his struggles, while a third liberally plastered his face
with the thick flour paste from the pail. Then the negro with the razor
stepped forward and with slashing strokes, “shaved” the protesting
initiate, whereupon his chair was abruptly tipped up and he was tumbled
headlong into the tub of water.

Every one roared with laughter, in which the spluttering victim joined,
and Neptune’s assistants started for the next man. But the crew were now
prepared and ran and dodged about the decks and up the rigging until one
slipped and fell, to be immediately pounced upon and carried to the
“barber.” With all their attention centered on the comical sight and
almost choking with laughter, the boys had failed to notice two men who
had stealthily approached, until they were suddenly grabbed, and with
loud shouts of glee from their captors, were carried to the deck.

They had already noticed that those who protested and struggled the most
received the greatest attention from the barber and so, wisely deciding
to make the best of it and take their turns good naturedly, they
submitted without resistance. Partly owing to this, and partly to the
fact that they were mere boys and belonged aft, they were treated to a
mere dab of the paste brush and a single stroke of the razor and were
carefully ducked only to their ears in the tub.

As nearly all members of the crew were “greenies” who had never been to
sea before, it took several hours to capture and initiate all, but at
last it was over and Neptune’s “daughter” handed each one a card bearing
the name of the bark and the date, and certifying that the holder had
been duly initiated and enrolled by Father Neptune.

Captain Edwards then ordered refreshments served all around, the decks
were cleared, and throughout the day, the men frolicked and skylarked to
their hearts’ content while those on the after deck roared with laughter
at their antics or applauded vigorously as some one started a chantey or
a whaleman’s song to the music of a violin and a concertina with all
hands joining in the chorus. The boys vowed it was as good as any
vaudeville show they had ever seen. Even Captain Edwards dropped his
accustomed dignity and gravity to join in the hilarity, and calling to
the mate, cried out, “Give ’em a real good whaleman’s song, Pem. Fun’s
over at eight bells and it’s pretty near that now.”

“Blowed ef I will,” replied Cap’n Pem. “Ain’t sang a derned word fer
years. Give ’em one yerself Hen.”

“All right, Pem,” laughed the skipper, “I’ll give ’em one if you’ll give
’em another. That’s fair. Go ahead, Pem, yours first.”

“Wall,” muttered the old whaleman, “reckon ef the Cap’n tells me to,
I’ve gotter do it.” Walking to the break of the deck, he raised his
hand, cleared his throat and commenced to roar out the words of a famous
old whaling song. Instantly the men were hushed and motionless,
listening to his deep, bass voice as he sang:

    Come, all ye bold seamen who are cruising for sparm.
    Come, all ye jolly, bold seamen that have rounded Cape Horn,
    For our cap’n has told us, an’ we hope he says true,
    That there’s plenty o’ sparm whales on the coast o’ Peru.

    The first whale that we raised, it was late in the day,
    Which caused our bol’ cap’n these kind words to say,
    “Get ye down to your hammocks an’ there quietly lay.
    We’ll raise him in the mornin’ at break o’ the day.”

    ’Twas early next mornin’ just as the sun rose,
    That a man at the masthead sung out, “Thar she blows!”
    “Where away?” shouts the skipper, an’ the answer from aloft,
    “Three p’ints on the lee bow an’ ’bout three mile off.”

    “Then call up all han’s and be o’ good cheer,
    Get your lines in your boats an’ your tackle-falls clear.
    Hoist an’ swing fore and aft, stan’ by each boat’s crew,
    Lower away, lower away, when the mainyard swings to.”

    Now the cap’n is fast an’ the whale has gone down,
    An’ the chief mate lies waitin’ his line to bend on.
    Now the whale has come up, like a log he did lay.
    It can never be said that he gave us fair play.

Amid the uproarious applause that followed, Cap’n Pem beat a hasty
retreat and the Captain rose and stepped forward.

“My turn now, boys,” he shouted, “and then the fun’s over,” and with his
words ringing far across the silent tropic sea, he sang:

    ’Twas a love of adventure and a longing for gold,
    And a hardened desire to roam,
    Tempted me far away o’er the watery world,
    Far away from my kindred and home.

    With a storm-beaten cap’n so fearless and bold,
    And a score of brave fellows or two,
    Far away to the hardships, the hunger and cold,
    Sailed this fearless and jovial crew.

    Have you ever cruised on Diego’s bold shores,
    That are washed by the Antarctic wave?
    Where the white-pluméd albatross merrily soars
    O’er many a poor whaler’s grave?

    Did you ever hear tell of that mighty sperm whale,
    That when boldly attacked in his lair,
    With one sweep of his mighty and ponderous tail
    Sends the whaleboat so high in the air?

    Did you ever join in those heart-wringing cheers,
    With your face turned towards Heaven’s blue dome
    As laden with riches you purchased so dear
    You hoisted your topsails,—bound home?

Deafening were the hand clappings and shouts of approval that followed,
and then, as the eight silvery notes of the bell pealed out across the
waves the one-legged bo’sun leaped forward.

“Three cheers for the foinest cap’n phwat iver sailed a whaleship!” he
cried. Rousing were the huzzas that followed, and once again the
Irishman raised his voice. “An’ three more for our fri’nd Misther Potter
phwat saved the barrk—a foine, brave whaleman aven if he has a wooden
lig! An’ three toimes three fer Misther Kemp, phwat makes ye into foine
sailor min—aiven if he bates the loife out o’ yez to do it. An’ three
more for thim b’yes—the foine thurrd an’ fourth mates!”

“And now, men, three times three for the _Hector_, a full cargo and a
short voyage!” cried the skipper, as the lusty cheers died down. And
never were more heartfelt hurrahs heard upon a whaler than those which
responded to his words.




CHAPTER VI

AN ISLAND QUITE OUT OF THE WORLD


Apparently Father Neptune was anxious to show his appreciation of the
welcome he had received on the _Hector_, for the day after his
appearance, a light breeze sprang up. Taking advantage of every catspaw,
under a perfect cloud of canvas and with stunsails set, the bark slipped
through the calm sea and out of the doldrums into the southern trade
winds. Then, once more, she bowled along on her long run to Tristan da
Cunha, her next stop. Although the boys had left New Bedford in the
autumn, they now found that it was spring south of the equator and the
captain explained to them that he hoped to reach the South Shetlands in
time to fill up with oil during the short Antarctic summer, and leave
for the north before winter set in.

The days passed by uneventfully, but ever with something new or unusual
to interest the two boys. Daily they saw strange birds; long-tailed
white “bo’sun” birds, boobies and “Mother Carey’s chickens” and many
another. Cap’n Pem told them that the “bo’suns” were unlucky and if one
alighted on the ship it meant a death aboard, but that the Mother
Carey’s chickens were good omens.

“Stormy petrels, some calls ’em,” said the old whaleman. “Ye can’t git a
sailor ter hurt ’em fer love o’ money, but I reckon ef ye’d like ter see
one of ’em clost to, ’twon’t do no harm fer me ter ketch some o’ the
chicks an’ let ’em go again.”

“Catch them!” exclaimed Tom. “How can you catch one of those birds?”

“Easy as is,” replied Pem. “Jes’ run down an’ fetch me up a reel o’
black thread an’ a couple o’ ol’ corks an I’ll show ye.”

Tying each cork to a piece of thread, the old whaleman cast them over
the stern and let out about a hundred feet of thread to each of the
corks dancing in the bark’s wake where the petrels were flitting
constantly back and forth. Scarcely had he done so, before one of the
birds became entangled in a thread and, at its shrill cries of alarm,
its comrades hurried towards it and in a moment several of the birds
were hopelessly entangled. Rapidly pulling in the threads, the old man
placed the frightened but unhurt birds upon the deck.

“There ye be,” he chuckled as he disengaged the thread from their wings
and legs. “New kind o’ fishin’, eh?”

“It’s the funniest way of catching birds I ever saw,” declared Tom. “Oh,
look out! They’ll get away!”

“Don’ worry ’bout that,” laughed Cap’n Pem. “The chicks can’t fly offen
a level deck, ’ceptin’ they get a start by rollin’. Legs is too weak ter
hol’ ’em up.”

Much to the boys’ surprise, they found that this was a fact, and that
the petrels were practically helpless on the deck until the ship lurched
or rolled and gave them an opportunity to rise. The birds seemed very
tame and unsuspicious and greedily snapped up and devoured bits of food
offered them. After playing with them for a time, the boys tossed them
into the air and, an instant later, they were flitting back and forth
with their fellows as if nothing had happened.

The next day, the boys were preparing to take their observations when an
exclamation from the helmsman caused them to look up just in time to see
one of the long-tailed “bo’sun birds” fluttering about the mizzen
crosstrees as if about to alight.

“Eet mean some one he die!” exclaimed the Portuguese at the wheel.
Taking one hand from the wheel he hastily crossed himself.

“Shet up, you!” exploded Cap’n Pem, and then, anxiously, “Mebbe ’twon’t
light. Bad luck if he does, dern him!”

By now, every one on the ship was watching the hovering bird; the
greenies, curiously; the seamen, with fear expressed on their faces,
while even Captain Edwards looked more troubled and serious than the
boys had ever before seen him.

The eyes of the big negro sailor rolled wildly; the pop-eyed boy’s eyes
seemed about to burst from his head; the Irishman, Mike, was nervously
hitching up his trousers and frowning at the beautiful bird and the
Swedish carpenter was holding his crossed fingers in air as if invoking
a charm. Not a word was spoken as every eye was fixed upon the innocent
creature seeking a spot to rest and when, an instant later, it settled
gently upon a ratline and commenced to preen its snowy feathers, a great
sigh rose in unison from a score of hairy throats.

“Bad luck for us!” ejaculated Cap’n Pem decisively. “Never knowed it to
fail!”

“Mebbe nothin’ more’n bad weather,” commented Mr. Kemp optimistically.

Captain Edwards shook his head and said nothing, while, on deck, the
crew conversed in hushed but earnest tones and glanced apprehensively at
the resting bird. Then, as the boys resumed their interrupted
observations and the eight strokes of the bell pealed out, the bird
lifted its white wings, soared from its perch and was soon out of sight.

“Wusser an’ wusser!” prophesied Cap’n Pem lugubriously. “Bet ye we don’t
get no ’ile or a man goes overboard or suthin’ serious happens. Lef’ at
eight bells too—that’s the time it’s goin’ ter happen! Reckon I oughn’t
a cotched them chicks yisterday!”

“Oh, come, Cap’n Pem!” laughed Tom. “You don’t really believe that, do
you?”

The old whaleman looked at him a moment frowning.

“’Course I does!” he snorted. “Ask Mike or any o’ the crew!” Still
muttering he stumped off. In a few hours, however, the incident seemed
to have been forgotten and no one mentioned it again.

A few days later, the boys saw a school of huge black and white
creatures with enormous fins upon their backs which they thought were
some sort of whale.

“Killers,” said Mr. Kemp, when the boys pointed them out. “Kind of a
po’poise, or grampus or whale, I dunno which, and jes’ about the
all-firedest savage critters there is. I’ve seed ’em tackle a bull whale
an’ tear him all to bits right afore my eyes. That’s why we call ’em
killers,—’cause they kill an’ eat whales.”

But despite a sharp lookout that was maintained, no whales were sighted
and the bark kept steadily on her course. Then, one day, the boys saw an
enormous white bird sailing towards them close to the surface of the
sea. It was the first albatross, and with fascinated eyes the boys
watched it, as with motionless wings, fully ten feet from tip to tip,
the beautiful creature sailed along in the bark’s wake, skimming the
crests of the waves, swinging to right and left, dipping down to pick up
some bit of offal thrown overboard; now rising until it was a mere speck
in the sky, anon speeding ahead of the rushing ship as easily as though
she were standing still and then dropping astern again to take up its
wonted place. Every morning the bird was there. Long after darkness
fell, the boys could see its ghostly white form against the heaving,
black sea, and they wondered if it slept on the wing or ever slept at
all. Then another appeared, and another and another, until a score or
more of the wonderful creatures were constantly in sight. And then, at
last, a dim, hazy-blue shape loomed like a cloud upon the horizon above
the heaving sea and the boys looked upon the strange, unfrequented
islands of Tristan da Cunha.

Rapidly the islands took form and shape as, under her press of canvas,
the bark drove onward. Up from the restless waves rose three vast
pyramids, their summits hidden in low-hung, threatening clouds, while
below, stretched gray-green slopes and rugged hills, cut with black
gorges and ravines and fringed with beating, high-flung surf.

“My, but that’s a wild-looking place!” exclaimed Tom. “Is there a town
there, Captain Edwards?”

“No real town,” replied the skipper, “but a number of people, about one
hundred and fifty, I suppose, and mighty nice folk, too. It’s a
remarkable island, boys, and the most remarkable thing about it are its
inhabitants. They are mostly descendants of British soldiers who were
stationed on the island when Napoleon was a captive on St. Helena.
Tristan’s just about half way ’twixt St. Helena and South America and
the Britishers were a bit afraid some one might try to rescue Napoleon,
so they placed a garrison over here on Tristan. You may think it’s a
mighty poor-looking spot, but the Tommies grew so fond of it, they
wouldn’t leave and settled down and their descendants have been here
ever since. Funny thing, too, mighty few of ’em ever leave to live
anywhere else and if they _do_ go off to see the rest of the world they
always come back. But a good part of ’em are whalemen’s families. Seems
to be something about the place that makes folks fall in love with it,
and ever since Yankee whaleships have been comin’ here, whalemen have
been desertin’ and joining the colony.”

“But what do they do for a living?” asked Jim. “I should think it would
be just the loneliest place in the world. Do they have a king or a
president, or what?”

“They raise cattle and garden truck mostly,” replied Captain Edwards.
“That’s why we whalemen stop here—to get fresh vegetables and eggs and
beef. The land’s fertile and the climate ain’t bad and they raise about
the best potaters and vegetables I ever saw. No, they don’t have any
king or president or any sort of government,—just get along neighborly
and nice with elders to guide ’em and seem to do a heap better and be a
lot happier than any republic or kingdom you’ll find. And they ain’t a
mite wild or uncivilized or uneducated either,—have churches and schools
and everything, even if the only folks they ever see are whalemen and a
British cruiser or ship that calls once a year with mail and supplies.
Whenever she comes in, the folks have all their letters and orders ready
and send them off and a year later they get the goods and the answers.
Wonder how folks in the States would get on if they could only go
shopping once a year and had to wait another year to get the things!”

“Gee, that’s a high mountain!” exclaimed Tom. “Will we have time to go
ashore, Captain?”

“Plenty o’ time,” the skipper assured him. “We’ll be here a couple of
days—have to give the folks time to get the supplies together and down
to the shore, and you can go all over the place in that time if you’re
as much like goats as the boys here are. Yes, pretty good-sized
mountain, that—over 8,000 feet high and an old volcano.”

By the time the captain had finished speaking, the island loomed close
ahead and the boys could see tiny houses and buildings scattered about
on the sloping hillsides. The coast seemed forbidding and barren with
heavy surf breaking everywhere; but as they drew nearer, a covelike
harbor appeared, and cautiously feeling his way in, and constantly
scanning landmarks on the shore, Captain Edwards piloted the bark
towards the island until the sky-piercing cone of the volcano appeared
to overhang the _Hector’s_ masts.

At braces and halliards stood the crew, ready for instant action when
the order was given to swing the yards. In the bows stood the second
mate and his men ready to let the anchor go, and, to the boys, it seemed
as if the bark would pile herself upon the rocks before the captain’s
voice roared out the orders, the yards swung to the crash of slatting
sails and the creak of tackle; the roar of chain and the splash of
anchor were flung back in thundering echoes from the cliffs, and the
_Hector_ swung motionless before the out-of-the-world island.

Long before the bark had come to anchor, boats were putting off from
shore, and in a few moments, a miniature flotilla surrounded the
_Hector_. Much to the boys’ surprise,—for somehow, despite what the
captain had told them, they had expected to see roughly clad, unkempt,
swarthy people—the men who were in the boats were fine-looking,
rosy-cheeked, bronzed-skinned young giants, neatly clad in blue dungaree
or serge and differing in no way from men who might be seen at any
seaport in New England.

Laughing and talking, they clambered up the bark’s sides and came
aboard, greeting Captain Edwards and others by name, shaking hands with
every one and speaking with a peculiar accent that seemed to be a cross
between cockney English and down-east Yankee,—impossible to describe.

All were very friendly and plied the skipper and every one else with
questions about the war, about affairs in the States, about the cruise
of the _Hector_ and a thousand and one other things. Captain Edwards
produced a huge bundle of papers and magazines and a packet of letters
for them, and presently a sturdy, tow-headed youth approached the boys.

“My name’s Paul Potter and this is my brother, Getty,” he announced, as
a younger, freckled-faced boy joined them. “You’re the first American
boys I’ve seen in four years.”

“My name’s Tom Chester and this is Jim Lathrop,” said. Tom. “We’re from
Fair Haven. Are you any relation to Cap’n Pem? His name’s Potter, too.”

“Shouldn’t be a bit surprised,” replied Paul, “Gran’ther was a New
Bedford whaleman and there are lots of Potters here.”

“Yep, an’ plenty o’ Chesters and Lathrops, too,” put in Getty. “Say,
tell us all about the war an’ what’s goin’ on. We be’nt heard nary word
for nigh a year.”

“Has America gone into it?” added Paul. “Last we heard was when our
ships licked the Germans over t’ Falklands. One of them called in here
to parse the news.”

Willingly, Tom and Jim related all the most important news of the war
which had taken place since the islanders had last heard from the
outside world, and the four boys were soon fast friends. Then the Potter
boys asked about the cruise and the trip down.

“Wisht us might go ’long,” declared Getty. “I’d like for to see a whale
killed, wouldn’t you, Paul?”

“Rather!” agreed his brother. “And I’d jolly well like to go to the
South Shetlands ’long of you boys. We’ve ne’er been offen Tristan, you
know.”

“Dad’s been there,” Getty reminded him. “Mind when he told us ’bout yon
elephants?”

“Aye, Dad’s been most all places,” assented Paul. “Went to New York onct
and Lunnon, too. He’s school marster now.”

At this moment Cap’n Pem approached. “Ready to stretch legs ashore?” he
inquired. “See ye’ve found chums a’ready. Reckon ye didn’t fin’ ’em
savages, did ye?”

“Not a bit,” laughed Tom. “They’re named after you, Cap’n Pem. This is
Paul and Getty Potter.”

“Well I’ll be squeejiggled!” exclaimed the old man. “Glad ter know ye,
lads. What’s yer dad’s name?”

“Henry Potter,” replied Paul. “He says he’s American, ’cause gran’ther
was a New Bedford whaleman.”

“I’ll be derned!” cried Cap’n Pem. “What’s his name,—’tain’t ol’ Lem
Potter o’ the _Greyhoun’_, is it?”

“Aye, sir, ’tis so,” Paul assured him.

“Well, I’ll be holy-stoned an’ everlastin’ly keelhauled!” shouted the
whaleman, “ef ye ain’t my own fambly! Why, bless yer hearts, I ain’t
been here in nigh thirty years an’ las’ time I touched ’twas in the ol’
_Leonidas_ an’ Lem’s kid wasn’t knee high to a grasshopper. Kain’t
b’lieve he’s growed up an’ got kids like you! Lem’s my secon’ cousin ye
know. Got los’ from the _Greyhoun’_ an’ made Tristan an’ jes’ settled
down an’ married one o’ the lassies here. Come ’long all o’ ye. I jes’
gotter git ashore an’ go a-gammin’, boys.”

“I wondered if you weren’t relations to Cap’n Pem,” chuckled Tom as the
four boys and the old man made their way to where Paul’s boat was
moored.

“And I expect we’ll find members of our families there, too,” added Jim.
“Say, this is a regular little New Bedford, isn’t it?”

But while the boys found plenty of Chesters and Lathrops, as their new
friends had stated, they were all old English families, and the two boys
were rather disappointed that they could not boast of having relatives
on the queer, mid-ocean island.

They found the place very interesting, with its winding, crooked paths,
and houses built of beach pebbles like the fishermen’s cottages in
England, and they were tremendously surprised at the variety and
luxuriance of the vegetables growing in tiny, irregular gardens
sheltered among the huge volcanic boulders. Reaching the Potter
residence, the four left Cap’n Pem chatting and gossiping with his
white-headed cousin, Lem, and with Paul and his brother, climbed up the
steep hillside.

Far up on the mountain slope the boys threw themselves upon a little
patch of soft, gray moss and gazed down at the panorama of the island
far below, with the _Hector_, looking like a toy ship against the deep
green water, and the cottages so much like piles of brown rocks that
they appeared mere portions of the landscape. Already, the people were
busy gathering the vegetables and cattle for the bark and the boys could
hear their shouts and could see them hurrying about like busy ants.

“What do you do to amuse yourselves?” asked Tom, at last.

“Us have plenty to do,” Paul replied. “There’s the gardens to be planted
an’ cared for an’ the cattle an’ fishin’ an’ gathering kelp, and betimes
we egg or hunt.”

“What do you gather kelp for?” asked Jim.

“And what do you hunt and egg?” inquired Tom.

“Kelp’s for to fert’lize the gardens,” explained Paul. “Grows big here,
twenty fathom long sometimes, an’ after storms it looses up and gets
adrift an’ us gathers it an’ rots it for the land. Goats is what we
hunt, plenty o’ wild ones here, an’ betimes we go sealing an’ fishing. I
like egging best. It’s more exciting.”

“How do you go egging?” asked Jim.

“Us goes down the cliffs on a line,” replied Paul. “It’s too early
season now or we’d show you.”

“No ’tain’t,” contradicted Getty. “Plenty gulls has eggs to To’gallant
Rock. Let’s go.”

“Want to?” asked Paul.

“We’d love to,” replied Tom. “Come on.”

Hurrying down the mountain side, Paul ran home and met the others with a
long rope and a basket in his hands while Getty led the way around a
corner of the hill and along a faintly marked pathway.

Presently, they reached the edge of a precipitous cliff and commenced
climbing down over the sharp, irregular rocks with the sea roaring
against the base of the precipice several hundred feet below.

“Gosh, I guess Cap’n Edwards was right when he said we needed to be
goats,” panted Tom.

“I’d rather have wings,” replied Jim.

Disturbed by the boys’ appearance, thousands of the sea birds rose from
their resting places, and with loud cries and screams, whirled and
circled about in a perfect cloud until the air seemed filled with them.
Soon the boys came to a spot where the rock extended out in an
overhanging ledge and, lying on his stomach, Paul peered over the edge.

“I see a-plenty,” he announced, as he drew back. “Want to look?”

Crawling cautiously forward to the brink of the ledge, Tom and Jim
looked over and involuntarily drew quickly back. Although they had been
accustomed to standing on the lofty crosstrees of the _Hector_ and
helping the crew on the yards far above the tumbling sea, they had never
felt dizzy or ill at ease, yet, as they glanced over the verge of the
precipice, their toes and fingers tingled and they had a vivid,
agonizing sensation of pitching over the cliff. Upon the masts or yards
there was always something tangible to connect them with the ship, but
here, on this overhanging ledge, there was nothing but space between
them and the heaving green sea that roared and thundered about an
isolated, perpendicular mass of rock that jutted from the water for
several hundred feet directly beneath the spot where they stood.

“Whew!” exclaimed Tom. “That’s the first time I ever felt nervous.”

“Me, too,” declared Jim. “Gosh! Can you fellows look over there?”

The two islanders laughed. “Us ain’t nervous,” stated Paul. “Reckon
we’re used to it. Come on, look at To’gallant Rock an’ you can see the
birds a-sittin’.”

Determined not to be outdone by the two others, Tom and Jim again drew
themselves to the edge of the cliff, and by the exertion of all their
will power, managed to look down at the mass of rock and at the
thousands of sea birds which covered it.

“But I don’t see how we’re going to get to them,” said Tom as all drew
back from the edge. “We can’t get down there and no boat could land on
the rock if we did.”

Paul and his brother gazed at the speaker in amazement.

“Us goes down on the line,” announced Getty at last. “It’s easy.”

This time it was Tom’s turn to be astonished. “You don’t mean to say you
boys really go down there on a rope!” he cried.

“Watch us,” replied Paul with a chuckle. Uncoiling the long rope he had
brought, he quickly knotted a bowline in one end, and walking a few
yards inland, took a turn and a couple of half-hitches around a stout,
wooden stake that was firmly wedged among some rocks.

“Stand by and help me hold the line,” he directed the two boys as his
brother adjusted the bowline about him and attached the basket to the
rope.

Filled with amazement that any mortal would dare to be lowered over the
cliff on the slender line, the boys braced themselves against the rocks
and took a firm grasp of the rope as Getty, a broad grin on his freckled
face, threw himself upon the ground, and wriggling backwards, let his
legs and body drop over the verge of the cliff. For an instant he held
on by one hand. Paul and the boys drew the rope taut, and at Getty’s cry
of “Lower away!” they slowly paid out the line.

“Guess he’s pretty well down,” remarked Paul, after many feet of the
rope had slipped over the edge. “Just hold fast a minute and I’ll see.”
Walking to the verge, he called down to his brother and the boys could
hear Getty’s reply thin and far away.

“Easy now and stand by when I give the word,” ordered Paul, and, a
moment later, “Hold fast! Ease off a bit! All right! Come on and see
him.”

Leaving the rope, which was now slack, Tom and Jim joined Paul and
peered down. There, far below them, and crouching on a narrow shelf on
To’gallant Rock, was Getty, rapidly gathering the sea-birds’ eggs and
fighting off the screaming birds that half hid him as they wheeled above
his head. From where they were watching, Getty looked like a mere speck
and the rock appeared so smooth and perpendicular that it seemed
impossible that any human being could find foothold upon it. But even as
they looked, Getty stood up, and flattening himself against the rocks,
commenced walking around the precipice above the thundering surf. The
boys held their breath, expecting each moment to see him miss his
footing and fall dangling at the end of the rope, but he calmly
continued on his way, stooping now and again as he reached a nest, until
at last, looking up, he waved his hand to the boys at the summit of the
island.

“Got his basket full up,” announced Paul. “Come on, let’s haul him up.”

Gathering in the slack of the rope, the boys strained and pulled, one of
them constantly holding the slack with a turn around the stake, until
presently, they heard Getty’s voice, and making the line fast, Paul
hurried to the edge of the cliff, leaned over, and lifted up the basket
full of eggs. A moment later, Getty pulled himself up on the rope and
onto the solid ground.

“Gee, but you _have_ got nerve!” cried Jim. “I wouldn’t do that for
anything.”

“Would if you lived on Tristan,” laughed Getty. “Dad says as folk can
get used to anything, ’cept dying. All us boys go down to To’gallant
Rock.”

“’Tain’t arf so bad’s Ol’ Snorter,” added Paul. “Got to swing right in
under there, first out an’ then in like, an’ the rope gets a-twistin’
most fearful. Folk don’t let us boys try that.”

“An’ when a body’s through an’ comin’ up a body must jump off an’ swing
out on the line,” supplied Getty. “Want to see it?”

“No, thanks,” Tom assured him. “I’ve seen enough, if there’s anything
worse I’ll take your word for it.”

As the boys walked back towards the Potter home, the two islanders told
many a story of their life and while Tom and Jim could not understand
how any civilized people could be content to dwell in the place year
after year, yet they admitted that there was a fascination about the
island life.

Cap’n Pem was still at the cottage and welcomed the boys vociferously.

“Was jes’ a-tellin’ Lem ’bout you two scallywags,” he cried. “What ye
been up to now? Egging, eh? Well, fresh eggs is allers mighty good.
What’s that? Let these two kids o’ Hen’s stump ye! Didn’t the skipper
tell ye every one on Tristan’s a goat! Jes’ the same, I’ll bet ye can
lick ’em at navigatin’! How about it, boys?”

“Reckon they could,” admitted Paul. “Us can use a sextant though. Dad
taught us.”

“I’ve been a-swappin’ yarns with Lem ever since I got here,” chuckled
the old whaleman. “When two ol’ sailormen git to gammin’ arter thirty
year there’s a tarnation lot to chin erbout. Derned if I hadn’t jes’
been tellin’ ’bout the _Hector’s_ crew o derelicts. Thought Lem’d bust
hisself a-laffin’ ’bout havin’ a mate an’ bo’sun both with timber legs
an’ a dummy an’ a one-eyed chap aside. Reg’lar home fer cripples, eh?”

“Shucks!” laughed the old islander. “Ye be’nt no cripple, Pem Potter.
Why, I sw’ar to goodness, ye’re a better man an’ mate wi’ one leg than
many a body wi’ twain. Aye, if ye had none at all ye’d still be middlin’
hard to beat. ’Tis the head an’ heart that makes a body a man, lad, not
the legs.”

Then, turning to Tom and Jim, he continued, “Pem tells me ye laddies are
main daft o’er yarns o’ the sea. Did he e’er tell ye o’ how he lost his
leg?”

“No, sir,” replied Tom promptly. “We never asked him about it.”

“Then, do. Belike he’ll yaw an’ jibe an’ luff a bit, but ’tis no yarn to
be ashamed on.”

“Do tell us about it?” begged Tom. “You’ve told us lots of yarns about
other men so tell us about yourself.”

“I’ll be derned ef I will,” declared Pem. “Ef this dod-gasted ol’
shellback farmer o’ a cousin o’ mine wants ye to know ’bout my dumb
foolishness, jes’ git him to tell ye. Reckon he knows more ’bout it than
I do, anyway.”

“Well won’t you tell us then, Mr. Potter?” asked Jim. “I guess Cap’n
Pem’s too modest.”

“Aye, that I will,” assented the other. “But first, ye laddies’ll eat.
’Tis humble fare we offer, but fresh an’ wholesome. So sit ye down. Ah,
here’s Henry!”

While they had been talking, Paul and Getty’s mother had been preparing
the table and the savory odor of appetizing food filled the little room,
and as Lem finished speaking a tall, stalwart man appeared in the
doorway. Greeting his visitors cordially, the schoolmaster welcomed the
boys to his home and the island and apologized for not being on hand
before, explaining that he had been on a visit to a family on the other
side of the hill and had just heard of the _Hector’s_ arrival.

He spoke with only a slight accent and was evidently well educated. The
boys now understood why Paul and Getty should use such good English with
only occasional lapses into the Tristan vernacular.

Never had the boys enjoyed a meal better than that which they ate in the
little stone cottage on Tristan da Cunha, for the fresh vegetables and
meat, the home-made biscuits and fresh butter, the milk and gulls’ egg
omelette, the crisp, fried fish and the luscious ripe berries were a
marvelously welcome change from the ship’s fare. And as they ate, the
boys had an opportunity to glance about at the room and its furnishings.
At one side was a huge, stone fireplace. Above it was a narrow shelf
bearing an American clock, a number of handsome sea shells and several
carved whales’ teeth, while over it, were hung a long-barreled gun and a
whale lance. On one side of the room, were shelves covered with books
and magazines, with the model of a whaleship on the top shelf, and
hanging on the walls were a number of pictures of ships, marine scenes
and landscapes evidently taken from illustrated magazines and neatly
framed in dark wood. The furniture was plain but good. Bright chintz
curtains hung at the windows and everything was spotlessly clean.

Although there were no luxuries, there was every comfort and the boys
could scarcely believe they were on this far-away speck of land in the
middle of the Atlantic, and not in some sailor’s cottage on Cape Cod or
Nantucket.

During the meal, the conversation was all of the outside world:—the war,
the whaling business, gossip of old friends and acquaintances and
inquiries about the prices of clothing, supplies and many other matters.
Paul’s father had not been in the States for many years and he could
scarcely credit the changes which Tom and Jim described to him. Both
boys had visited New York a few weeks before they sailed, and the
islanders listened spellbound as they told of the sky-scrapers, the
subway and the countless other marvels of the metropolis. As Tom said
afterwards, it was like talking to inhabitants of another planet, for
the things which seemed so commonplace to the two American boys were as
fascinating as fiction to the Tristan da Cunha family. Although they had
seen pictures of motor cars, airplanes, tall buildings and such things,
still, to listen to those who actually had seen them, was very
different. The two boys had never before realized that there were
civilized, white, English speaking people in the world who had never
seen any of the things which were such a familiar part of their own
every day lives. But when, at last, the meal was over and the talk
veered to the _Hector_ and her voyage, the boys reminded old Lem of his
promise to tell them the story of Cap’n Pem’s lost leg.




CHAPTER VII

HOW CAP’N PEM LOST HIS LEG


“’Long ’bout forty-five years aback,” began the old man, as all gathered
about to hear his story, “I were secon’ mate o’ the _Greyhoun’_ bark,
out o’ New Bedford—Cap’n Ezra Clapham, master—an’ boun’ for the Pacific
arter sparm whales. Ev’rythin’ went fine an’ we rose whales mos’ from
the time we was out o’ soundin’s. Ne’er did see so pesky many in all o’
my life. By the time we was ’round Cape Horn we was that full up the Old
Man put in at Valp’raiso an’ transshipped the ’ile. Reckon thet must ’a
bust the luck, ’cause we cruised hither an’ yon fer nigh six weeks an’
ne’er raised a whale. Had a right smart crew too, an’ good as I e’er
seen. But I tell ye, it begun for to look as if we’d be a-cruisin’ fer
the res’ o’ our lives an’ rot at sea ’thout gettin’ ’nough ’ile ter
grease our boots. Aye, an’ ’twas fair hard work a-keepin’ that crew
busy, I tell ye. Ev’ry tooth aboard the bark’d been scrimshawed an’
ev’ry mite o’ bone made inter knick-knacks. There weren’t a mite o’ ol’
rope or canvas that hadn’t been made inter chafin’-gear an’ Chips
couldn’t fin’ a splinter o’ wood thet so much as needed a tenpenny nail
or a dab o’ paint. Men jes’ spent the time a-s’archin’ fer whale an’
many’s the day I’ve seed the riggin’ an’ mas’heads that full o’ men
a-lookin’ fer a blow thet ye’d swored the ol’ _Greyhoun’_ was a mannin’
o’ her yards fer show, like as does the ol’ frigates. Bimeby, ’long
erbout nine week out o’ Valp’raiso, we seen a sail, an’ runnin’ down to
her, we foun’ she was the _Mohawk_ out o’ Salem. Course we had a-gammin’
an’ the _Mohawk’s_ folk—they was purty nigh full up an’ home’ard
boun’—spun a yarn ’bout a mad whale what they’d riz a couple o’ week
afore. Tol’ how as the cap’n’s boat had struck an’ was fas’ when the
critter turned an’ run fer the boat, an’ grabbin’ it in his jaws chewed
it to smithereens. Then long comes the mate’s boat an’ picked up the men
an’ the secon’ and third mates’ boats went in an’ both boats got fas’.
Well, thet jes’ made the whale wusser an’ wusser, an’ a swingin’ o’ his
jaw to sta’board an’ port, he chawed both boats. Cordin’ to the yarn,
the ol’ bull now had six irons in him, but thet didn’t bother him a
mite, an’ no sooner was the nex’ boat fas’ than he stove thet. Meantime,
two spare boats was on han’, a-pickin’ up the other’s crews, when the
ol’ whale jes’ rushed ’em an’ sounded, a-leavin’ four stove boats an’
a-takin’ o’ seven irons an’ twelve hundred fathoms o’ line to Davy Jones
fer souv’neers. Aye, an’ ye can jes’ bet our men druv the barbs inter
the _Mohawk_ folk a-laffin’ at ’em fer a-losin’ o’ a bull whale, arter
they’d got seven irons in. One o’ our chaps—a young boat steerer—’lowed
he’d like ter see the whale he’d let get away with _his_ iron and lines,
an’ ev’ry one o’ the crew o’ the _Greyhoun’_ was that sore at not havin’
raised a whale fer so long thet they jus’ prayed fer a chanct ter run
athwart the hawse o’ the _Mohawk’s_ mad whale.

“An’ by gum, we did! Three days arter leavin’ the _Mohawk_, we raised a
whale ’bout four p’ints offen the sta’board bow and the cap’n an’ mate
lowered. But I’ll be blowed ef thet whale’d wait fer ’em to go on, but
jes’ as soon as he spied the boats he come arter ’em head up an’ tail
over the dasher, so to speak, a-roarin’ an’ a fumin’ with his jaws wide
open, an’ gettin’ the mate’s boat fust, he stove thet and turned fer the
cap’n’s. Jes’ took one nip and there weren’t ’nough lef’ o’ thet boat
fer to make toothpicks outen. Then a-droppin’ o’ the boat, the pesky
bull swung ’roun’ an’ grabbed the mate. Jes’ as luck’d hev it, the bark
weren’t far, an’ soon’s I see what was happ’nin’ I lowered an’ started
a-yellin’ ter the third mate ter foller an’ pick up the cap’n’s crew.
Jes’ got ter the mate in the nick o’ time an’ hauled him in purty well
chawed an’ mussed up, when the whale breached ’bout quarter o’ a mile
ahead. My boat steerer was the cock-sure cuss I told ye of an’ ’fore I
could say a word the crew was a-pullin’ like mad an’ we was a-goin’ on.
’Course I didn’t stop on ’em—didn’t want no boat steerer or crew a
tellin’ me I was scart o’ any bull whale—an’ purty soon the boat steerer
puts down his oar and pulls offen his jacket and takes up the iron, fer
we was close on an’ the ol’ bull didn’t seem fer to see us.

“Nex’ minute the young chap struck, an’ by gum, afore ye could say Holy
Mac’rel thet dumb-gasted boat steerer had another iron inter the
critter! Dunno whether ’twas the s’prise o’ bein’ struck ’twict ter onct
or what, but the fight all seemed ter go clean out o’ the whale and he
jes’ sounded like a lump o’ lead. Jes’ as soon as he’d put the secon’
iron in, the boat steerer tumbled aft an’ I jumped fo’ward an’ o’ course
the two lines was a-whirrin’ out o’ the bow-chock like steam an’ a
jumpin’ like livin’ snakes o’ steel outen their tubs. Jes’ as I passes
the tub-oar, I hear a sort o’ yell and a groan an’ I swings ’roun’ in
time to see the boat steerer a-floppin’ roun’ an’ a-flyin’ forrard with
a kink o’ the secon’ line ’roun’ his leg. Nex’ secon’ there was a flash
o’ steel an’ a dull thud an’, think I, some one’s cut the line, an’ I
see what I took ter be a ol’ boot splash overboard. ’Course ’twas all
over in the shake o’ a lamb’s tail, an’ jes’ then the whale was a comin’
up to breach an’ I didn’t give no heed ter it. ’Spected the whale fer to
turn on us, but he’d got ernough o’ fightin’, I reckon, and started off
to the west’ard as if he’d a forgotten sumpthin’. Didn’t steer no
straight course, though, an’ milled an’ twisted an’ turned; an’ thet
there boat steerer _was_ a wonder. Swung the boat quicker’n the whale
an’ never shipped a drop till ’bout fifteen minutes arter gettin’ fas’,
we drew in an’ druv home the lance an’ without a flurry the ol’ bull
spouted blood an’ went fin-up. An’ jes’ as he done it I heerd a rattle
an’ thud, an’ lookin’ ’roun’ I seed the boat steerer all a heap in the
starn. When I got to him I jes’ give one almighty yell an’ drapped down
an’ couldn’t believe my own eyes. Thet there youngster had chopped off
his own leg an’d been a-steerin’ o’ the boat with a bleedin’ stump fer
fifteen mortal minutes! When he cum to, the fust thing he says was, ‘Did
ye git that there mad whale?’ An’ when we told him he jes’ grinned an’,
sez he, ‘Told them _Mohawk_ lan’ lubbers I’d git him or lose a leg, an’
I did.’ An’ thet’s how Pem come fer to lose his leg.”

Cap’n Pem flushed purple to his grizzled hair. “Lem, ye ol’ lyin’
shellback!” he burst out. “’Twant me what kilt the bull an’ ye know
blamed well ’twas jes’ fer to save my life I done it. Anyhow, what’s the
use a-talkin’ ’bout things what was done forty year ago?”

But the boys and the assembled company would not listen to his
protestations or denials and vowed he was a real hero.

Now that the subject of whaling adventures had been started, various
stories of marvelous escapes and incredible heroism were told, for
several of the islanders who had gathered at the Potter cottage, were
old whalemen who had left their perilous calling to settle down for the
rest of their lives on Tristan da Cunha. They told of ships sunk by
infuriated whales which blindly rushed at the vessels and stove them in.
They related tales of being locked in the Arctic ice floes and of the
awful loss of the whaling fleet in 1871, when thirty-two ships were
crushed and destroyed and over twelve hundred people made their way in
open boats through freezing, stormy seas for eight hundred miles in
order to seek safety in the vessels which awaited them. They spun many a
yarn of weird, uncanny happenings at sea, of premonitions, St. Elmo’s
fire and derelicts; of mutinies and acts of violence, and all were true;
for the whalemen, unlike his merchant sailor brother, has plenty of
facts to draw from without the need of weaving tales from imagination.

“Aye, an’ that ’minds me o’ the cap’n o’ the _Pole Star_,” mused one
gray-bearded old islander after one of the others had told a story.
“Ye’ll mind she was a-whalin’ in the Ar’tic. The cap’n struck a right
whale an’ was fas’ when his boat were stove an’ the whale tackled the
cap’n. I was boat steerer i’ the mate’s boat an’ seen the whole thing.
The Ol’ Man were a pow’ful fine swimmer an’ used fer to boast on it, an’
’twere sure lucky fer him he were, b’gosh! Fust time the whale started
fer him, he dove under an’ come up t’other side o’ the whale. Us
couldn’t get in near, the whale was a kickin’ up of sech a rumpus, fust
striking wi’ its flukes an’ then a risin’ of its head an’ a slammin’ of
it down like er capsized mountain, an’ all the time the skipper a-divin’
an’ a dodgin’ an’ a swimmin’ fer his life. Two or three times I seen the
whale’s flukes lift the cap’n clean out o’ water an’ time an ag’in I
seed the head come down an’ druv him clean out o sight. Each time us
thought ’twas all over, but somehow or tother the skipper didn’t get hit
square an’ kep’ a-fightin’. ’Course us didn’t know it at the time, but
all the while the skipper was a-tryin’ to git his sheath-knife into the
whale’s nose to tarn him—ye mind a right whale’s nose’s so plumb tender
he’ll turn tail an’ run if ye so much as touches of it—but the knife got
stuck an’ he had a mortal time a drawin’ on it, what betwix’ swimmin’
an’ a dodgin’ o’ flukes an’ head. Bimeby, though, he got it out, an’
edgin’ roun’—ye mind a right whale can’t see ahead—he swum in front o’
the whale and druv the knife home. Jumpin’ Jehosephat! Ye’d oughter a
seed that there whale skihoot off! Bet he ain’t stopped a-goin’ yit, an’
thet was back in seventy-three. An’ us picked up skipper nary the wusser
fer his fight.”

“An’ did ye ever hear o’ the whaleman what was act_oo_ally grabbed by a
sparm bull an’ taken down to the bottom an’ spit up ag’in?” asked
another ex-whaleman. “I disrecollec’ his ship, but he was a chap name o’
Jenkins. Got fas’ to a sparm whale back in ’70. Whale turned an’ bit the
boat in two and then made a rush and grabbed Jenkins an’ sounded. The
boat weren’t smashed up, jes’ cut clean amidships, an’ the crew was a
holdin’ on ter the two pieces a-waitin’ to be picked up an’ a sorryin’
fer their los’ mate, when the whale breaches close alongside, an’
openin’ his mouth, spits Jenkins out and tosses of him into the forrard
part o’ his boat. Warn’t much hurt neither—bruised up a bit an’ mauled,
but less’n a fortni’t later was back ter work again.”

“That _is_ a tall yarn,” laughed Tom. “Is it true?”

“True as I’m a settin’ here,” maintained the story teller.

“Aye, I’ve heerd of it afore,” supplemented old Lem.

“Seed about it in the ship’s log-book, myself,” Cap’n Pem assured them.
“Ye can read it yersel’s when ye go back. It’s over to the Mus’um in New
Bedford.”

“Well, I can believe anything after what I’ve seen and heard,” admitted
Tom.

“Reckon we’d better be gittin’ ’long back ter the ship,” observed Cap’n
Pem. “Skipper’ll think we’ve decided for to settle down here.”

With hearty handshakes and thanks for the islanders’ hospitality, the
two boys invited Paul and Getty to visit the _Hector_ when their
grandfather came off next day, and accompanied by a group of their
new-found friends, they made their way to the landing place. Already, a
large amount of provisions had been brought down and the boats were just
returning from taking a load aboard the _Hector_. Captain Edwards was
already on the bark and he laughed heartily and was much interested at
the boys’ accounts of their experiences on the island.

The following day, the islanders visited the ship and after the midday
meal, when all the supplies had been loaded, the captain had the decks
cleared and the men spent the afternoon skylarking with their visitors.

Early the next morning, the boys were aroused by the clank of the anchor
chain and the rousing capstan chantey, as the men, walking the
handspikes around, sang lustily:

    “Oh, a ship she was rigged and ready for sea,
    Windy weather! Stormy weather!
    And all of her sailors were fishes to be,
    Blow ye winds, westerly, gentle sou’ westerly,
    Blow ye winds westerly, steady she goes.”

Hurrying on deck, the boys found the bark already slipping through the
water, while on the shore and resting on their oars in the boats, the
islanders were waving farewells and shouting good wishes for a quick
voyage and a full cargo.

An hour later, the island’s slopes were indistinct in the mist astern
and as the boys took their last look at the towering, volcanic cone they
felt a pang of regret at having left the island and the simple, pleasant
folk that dwelt upon it.




CHAPTER VIII

ELEPHANT ISLAND


Although it was early summer in these southern latitudes, the weather
was chilly and desolate. Great, cold, green waves came rolling from the
west, their crests breaking in hissing spray and the bark drove on under
shortened canvas beneath a sullen, leaden sky. From time to time,
driving squalls of snow and sleet screeched through the rigging, leaving
every rope, shroud and stay ice-coated, and each time the _Hector_
buried her bluff bows beneath the mountainous seas, she rose with
ice-sheeted decks. Bundled in heavy pea-jackets, hip-boots and oilskins,
with sou’westers jammed upon their heads, the crew stood about,
sheltering themselves behind masts, deck houses and try-works, and on
the poop the officers and the two boys paced back and forth, stamping
their feet and beating their arms to keep warm, while ever and anon the
captain stopped to peer anxiously into the murk ahead. For several days
it had been impossible to take an observation and the ship was plunging
southward, navigated by dead reckoning only, while lookouts were ever at
the mastheads straining their eyes for bergs or ice or even possible
land. Each day, too, the bird convoy of the bark increased in numbers.
Dozens of albatrosses of several kinds skimmed the breaking waves on
tireless wings. Giant, white fulmars or “Molly Mokes,” snowy
sheathbills, and a dozen other species of sea birds were everywhere, and
often the boys caught sight of distant icebergs or vast, floating fields
of pack-ice, shimmering like burnished steel against the gray-green sea.

Then one day, came the cry of “Land ho!” from the masthead and peering
ahead the boys caught sight of a shadowy, gray mass looming above the
low-hung clouds against the southern horizon. Presently, as they
watched, Tom uttered an exclamation and grasped Jim’s arm. Close to the
bark, a huge dark body rose suddenly from the sea, a long-snouted head
reared up and with a coughing, snarling bark and a flash of great, white
teeth, the creature disappeared beneath the sea.

“A sea elephant!” cried Jim, and intently the two scanned the surface of
the water for its reappearance. Soon they were rewarded. Again the giant
seal flung itself upward from the curving crest of a wave and then
another and another appeared until, all about the speeding ship, the sea
was dotted with the monsters, seemingly unafraid of the vessel and
playing about like enormous porpoises.

Soon, however, the boys’ attentions were diverted from the sea
elephants, for ahead they caught sight of thousands of bobbing black and
white forms floating upon the waves, now leaping several feet in the
air, anon ducking beneath the sea, at times standing upright and
apparently clapping hands or again tumbling over and over like playful
puppies.

“What in the world are they?” asked Jim as Cap’n Pem approached.

“Penguins,” replied the old whaleman. “Ye’ll see ’em by tens o’
thousan’s on shore.”

In a few moments more, the bark was in the midst of the flock of the
strange fishlike birds, and on every side, ahead and astern, the water
was alive with them and both boys were fascinated watching their droll
antics. Then they were interrupted by orders to shorten sail still
further, and as the bark rolled along over the rapidly smoothing sea,
the boys’ interests were centered on the distant island they were
approaching. Desolate, forbidding and bleak, it appeared, a vast,
uprising, towering mass of dull-colored rock, flanked by stony hills and
rimmed by pebbly beaches and outstanding cliffs against which the long
Antarctic swells broke in great sheets of thundering surf.

Nearer and nearer drew the _Hector_. Forward a man was steadily heaving
the lead; at the catheads stood the second mate with his men ready at
any instant to let go the anchor; ready at the braces stood the men
waiting for the word to back the yards, while on the poop stood the
captain and the chief mate, the one, studying the island through his
glasses, the other, scanning the ship and sails and all on the alert to
bring the bark to and anchor her in safety off the forbidding shores of
Elephant Island. Now, upon the hillsides, the boys could see patches of
dried and dead herbage among the rocks. Here and there were sheets of
ice and snow still lingering in the shadows of cliffs and ledges. Upon
the beach were scattered masses of rotten ice, and everywhere among
them, a moving, dark mass that covered the shingle from end to end, were
hundreds of mighty sea elephants whose sharp, incessant barking was
borne plainly to those on the ship. Scattered upon the hillsides and on
the rising ground back of the beach were countless flecks of white which
at first the boys had mistaken for snow, but now, as the ship drew near,
they saw that they were moving, that they were alive, and suddenly it
dawned upon them that they were birds—thousands of albatrosses—while
vast areas of gray and white which the boys had thought were ice now
resolved themselves into tens of thousands of penguins, standing upright
with white breasts towards the oncoming bark and looking like an army of
tiny men.

Suddenly, above the roar of the surf, the barking of the sea elephants
and the cries of the birds, came the sharp order “Let go!” and as the
huge yards were swung and the cable roared out and the anchor struck the
water with a mighty splash, pandemonium seemed to be let loose upon the
island. Like a vast, white cloud the albatrosses and sea birds rose with
a roar of wings like thunder, while the air was filled with their sharp
cries, and as with one accord every sea elephant raised high his head,
bared his long teeth and roared forth a barking howl of defiance at the
intruders.

Rapidly the sails were furled and the men prepared to lower the boats
and go ashore, for Captain Edwards was to continue on with the _Hector_
to the other islands after leaving a shore party here to kill sea
elephants and boil down their oil. There was much to be accomplished.
Lumber and supplies had to be sent ashore for building shacks for the
men. Thousands of barrel shooks had to be placed on the land for use in
stowing the oil. Clothing, provisions, fuel and a hundred and one other
articles had to be transported from the bark to the island. There were
tools, rope, canvas, forges, arms, ammunition, medicines, spades, irons,
lances and many other utensils which were essential to the men and time
was limited, if the captain were to get a full ship and sail north
before the short Antarctic summer was over.

The first boat lowered was to go ashore to select sites for the men’s
quarters and for the try-works while the other boats were being loaded,
and Cap’n Pem, who was in charge, called to the two boys to jump in.

“Gosh!” cried Jim as the boat neared the shore and was surrounded by
scores of swimming sea elephants, “you’re not going to land among all
those beasts are you?”

“Sure as is!” laughed old Pem. “Them critters won’t hurt a fly. Jes’
shuffle out o’ the way an’ bark a bit. Well, we’ll have fresh meat fer
dinner to-night, anyway. We’ll jes’ knock a few o’ them over the snout
an’ have biled tongue an’ roast flipper an’ fried liver. Finest eatin’
ye ever see, boys.”

Despite Cap’n Pem’s assurances that the creatures would not harm them,
the boys were very nervous as the boat grated on the beach within a few
yards of the vast herd of giant seals, and they had no desire to be the
first to leap ashore among the growling, barking horde of animals which
wrinkled their snouts and bared their huge tusks as the boat drew near.
But the men appeared not to give the sea elephants a thought, and
jumping from the boat ran it far up the shingle. As they did so, the
nearest elephants wriggled and dragged themselves to one side and the
boys, taking courage at this, fought down their fears and followed Cap’n
Pem up the beach. Here, when seen at close quarters, the sea elephants
seemed stupendous.

In fact, they were. Many were forty feet in length and their backs were
as high as the boys’ shoulders, while their savage-looking jaws seemed
big enough to crush one’s head to bits at a single bite. Much to the
boys’ surprise, the men merely shoved or kicked such of the creatures as
were in their way, and selecting the small-sized and apparently young
animals, they killed several by hitting them over their heads with
clubs. To the boys, it seemed very cruel and brutal, but, as Tom
remarked, it really was no worse than killing oxen or sheep. Even when
their comrades had been killed and lay bleeding among them, the other
elephants showed no signs of alarm and the boys decided they must,
indeed, be very stupid creatures.

Leaving some of the men to secure the titbits of the animals for their
dinner, Cap’n Pem led the boys and the other men across the beach beyond
the elephant herd. Here the boys had plenty to interest them, for
everywhere they were surrounded by the quaint penguins, hopping about on
their queer flat feet, peering curiously at the men and shuffling out of
the way in funny, jerky jumps. So fascinated were the boys with these
odd birds that they seated themselves on a rock and watched them for
some time, while the others busied themselves hunting for a likely spot
for the camp. By the time this had been selected, the other boats were
on the way to the shore and in a few minutes were being unloaded and the
goods they had brought were being stacked far above reach of the waves.

“Found any eggs?” asked Cap’n Pem, as he returned to where the boys were
watching the penguins.

“Why, no,” replied Tom. “Where are their nests?”

The old man chuckled. “Ain’t got none,” he replied. “Jes’ lay their eggs
’mongst the rocks.”

“Well, it’s funny we haven’t seen any, then,” said Jim. “We’ve been
walking about watching the birds and none of them acted as if they were
sitting.”

“Wall, that’s where they fooled ye,” laughed Cap’n Pem. “Ye may think
they’re mighty stupid-lookin’ critters, but they ain’t. Jes’ look here.”

With a quick dash, the old whaleman seized two of the penguins, and to
the boys’ astonishment, held up two big blue-green eggs.

“Well, of all things,” exclaimed Tom. “Where on earth did you get those
eggs?”

“Jes’ ketch one o’ ’em an’ I’ll show ye,” replied the old whaleman.

Following his tactics, the two boys managed to capture three of the
birds.

“Now jes’ look at their feet,” said Pem. “See how they’re a-holdin’ of
’em up against their bellies?”

Wonderingly the boys forced apart the birds’ big, flat, webbed feet, and
to their surprise, discovered that each bird was holding an egg between
its feet and the thick feathers of a loose fold of skin on the abdomen.

“That’s the funniest thing I ever saw,” declared Jim. “Why, these birds
must go hopping about holding their eggs all the time.”

“Not eggzac’ly,” replied the mate. “Onc’t in a while they sets ’em down
’mong the rocks, but jes’ as soon as they get scared or thinks the’s
danger erbout they grabs their eggs an’ carries ’em erbout like ye
seen.”

“An’ I’ll tell ye another queer thing erbout ’em,” he continued. “When
the hen’s a-luggin’ of her egg erbout the ol’ man gits mighty jealous
an’ if he can’t wheedle his mate into lettin’ him tote the egg part o’
the time, he jes’ picks out a nice round stone an’ carries that ’round
as proud as a peacock. Queer chaps, the Penguins, and no fools, even ef
we whalers does call ’em Jackasses.”

“Are the eggs good to eat?” asked Tom.

“Wall, I can’t say as they’re _good_,” replied the other, “thet is,
’longside o’ hens’ eggs. Jes’ the same they ain’t so bad an’ a heap
better’n albatrosses’ or Molly Mokes’ eggs. We’ll fetch along them we’ve
got, an’ ye can try ’em an’ see how ye like ’em, though I reckon if ye
stays here fer a spell ye’ll have more than enough of ’em.”

“Oh, are we going to stay here?” cried Tom.

“Dunno,” replied Cap’n Pem, “Reckon ye’d have more fun here than stayin’
aboard the _Hector_ an’ cruisin’ ’long over to t’other islan’s. Ain’t
nothin’ to int’rest ye over there an’ the bark’s goin’ to take a run
over to Punta Arenas like as not, an’ it ain’t no picnic beatin’ ’round
the Horn an’ nothin’ much to see over to Punta Arenas. ’Sides your dad’s
counted on me ter look after ye, an’ I dunno ’bout lettin’ ye go off
without me.”

“Then you’re going to stay here!” cried Jim. “Of course, we’ll stay,
too.”

“Wall, I reckon we’d better be gittin’ back aboard the ship and gittin’
a bit ter eat,” declared the whaleman. “The’s a heap to do an’ not too
much time to do it in, even if we _can_ work all night.”

As they walked towards the boat, the boys noticed that the herd of sea
elephants had withdrawn for some distance from the men and that many of
them had disappeared.

“Won’t all the elephants be frightened away by the men?” asked Tom.

“No,” replied the old man, “they’ll keep a mite out o’ the way and mebbe
some on ’em’ll take to water fer a spell; but they’ll all haul out again
an’ when we git ready ter kill ’em they’ll all be on hand.”

“It seems an awful shame to kill the poor, stupid things,” said Jim.
“It’s almost like murder.”

“Wall, ’tain’t sport I’ll admit,” agreed Pem, “but jes’ the same it’s a
heap better to kill ’em an’ have their ’ile doin’ some good to civ’lized
folks ’stead o’ keepin’ these critters warm down in this ’ere
God-forsaken place. ’Sides, ’tain’t no worse’n killin’ whales.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” agreed Jim. “Only they appear so harmless
and helpless, it seems a pity.”

“Reckon ye’re right there, son,” conceded old Pem, “but jes’ the same we
don’t hurt ’em. Reckon they don’t suffer a mite. ’Tain’t half as cruel
as stickin’ pigs or shootin’ pa’tridges.”

The boys marveled at the vast number of goods which the boats had
brought ashore, and already, the carpenter and his assistants were busy
putting up the shacks of lumber and canvas while the cooper was setting
up casks.

When they reached the bark, dinner was ready and the boys sat down to
their first meal of sea elephants’ tongues, flippers and liver, which
they declared delicious; but they could not say as much for the
penguins’ eggs which were strong and rather fishy in flavor.

“I suppose I _could_ eat them and not mind,” said Tom, “but I’d have to
be pretty hungry to like them.”

“Good deal like the old fellow that had to eat a crow,” remarked Mr.
Kemp. “Some one asked him how he liked it and he says, ‘Well, I _kin_
eat a crow but I’ll be hanged if I hanker arter ’em.’”

In a wonderfully short time, the shelters were erected, the stores,
provisions, supplies and casks were ashore and stowed, and everything
was in readiness for the departure of the bark.

Ten men of the crew had been selected to remain upon the island, as well
as the bo’sun, Mike, old Cap’n Pem, and the two boys, and while Pem
growled and remarked that “one peg-leg is bad enough but what we’re
a-goin’ fer to do with two, I don’t know,” yet the boys were immensely
pleased to find the ex-man-o’-war’s-man was to be with them, for he was
never tired of telling deep-sea yarns and the boys loved to hear him and
old Pem argue on questions of seamanship and the navy.

Among the men, were one of the boat steerers, two of the Portuguese
taken on the _Hector_ at the Azores, and the one-eyed man, Ned, with a
negro, who had been helping the cook on the bark, to look after the
meals of the shore party.

Cap’n Pem, as commander of the party, had been allowed to select his own
men and he had done so with considerable care, choosing those whom he
knew were willing and hard workers or had shown unusual ability or
skill, for the old whaleman was a keen observer and a fine judge of
human nature. While he was apparently giving little heed to what went on
about him, nothing escaped his sharp eyes.

The boys felt sorry at leaving the bark and as they shook hands with
Captain Edwards and the second mate and said good-by, they almost
regretted that they were to remain ashore.

“Don’t know how I’ll get on without my third and fourth mates!”
exclaimed the skipper, “but you’ll have a lot more fun here than on the
bark. Nothing but knocking about in heavy seas and cold winds. Enjoy
yourselves, lads, and see that Cap’n Pem behaves himself. We’ll be back
in about six or eight weeks and expect to find you with all casks full
of oil.”

Stepping into the waiting boat, the boys were rowed towards the shore,
and as the bark’s capstan pawls clanked and they heard the chantey of
the men borne to them across the water, a lump rose in their throats,
for the old _Hector_ had been their home for many weeks. Then, clear and
distinct came the rollicking chorus of:

    I think I heard our Old Man say,
      “Whisky! Johnny!
    I’ll treat my men in a decent way,
      Oh, whisky for my Johnny!”

Slowly the great sails rose and were sheeted home, the canvas billowed
out to the offshore wind, the long yards swung, and as the crew tailed
onto the braces, to the watchers on the beach came:

    The ship she’s a-sailing out over the bar.
      Away Rio! Away Rio!
    The ship she’s a-sailing out over the bar.
      We’re bound to the Rio Grande.

Slowly the _Hector_ slipped away. Gracefully she heeled to the press of
canvas on her lofty masts. About her cutwater rose a little plume of
white, and, rapidly gathering headway, she made for the open sea. Long
the boys stood watching her and when, at last, only her royal masts
showed faint and dim above the tumbling green seas on the horizon, they
turned away, feeling that the last tie that linked them with far-away
Fair Haven was gone, that they were marooned upon a desert island
scarcely fifteen hundred miles from the South Pole.




CHAPTER IX

SPINNING YARNS


“Suppose she should be wrecked and never came back!” asked Tom as they
turned away from watching the bark sail. “What _would_ happen to us?”

“Wall, we ain’t a calc’latin’ on that,” replied Cap’n Pem, “but jes’ the
same, we wouldn’t be so bad off ef she didn’t. We’ve got a-plenty o’
grub an’ if wusser come to wusser I reckon we could salt down enough
Jackasses an’ albatrosses an’ sea elephants to keep us alive fer quite
some spell. ’Twouldn’t be the fust time folks has been lef’ down this
way count o’ their ships not turnin’ up in time.”

“Be gob, no!” declared Mike who stood near. “B’gorra, Oi had a frind
once, a foine chap entoirely, phwat tould me a sthory av a frind o’ his
phwat knowed a feller phwat wuz lift fer three mortal years on wan av
these oilan’s. Shure ’tis mesilf phwat’s afther forgettin’ the name av
it; but ’twas Quirlicue Lan’ or somethin’ loike thot. Sure, yis,
b’gorra, Misther Potter, ’twas that same! Kerguelan, is it? Well, as Oi
was afther sayin’ they wuz lift three years, an’ Faith, only wan av the
bunch doied an’ he a Portugee phwat didn’t doi but was afther killin’ av
himself. So don’t yez be a woorryin’ av yersilves me b’ys. Sure, ’tis
not a bad place to sthop at all, at all.”

“Well, _I_ don’t want to be marooned here for three years, anyhow,”
maintained Jim. “I guess I wouldn’t mind a few weeks or months, but just
think what it must be like in winter when the seas are all frozen and
the place is covered with ice and snow. What would you do if the
_Hector_ didn’t come back on time, Cap’n Pem?”

“Now, what’s the everlastin’ use o’ talkin’ ’bout it,” replied the mate
testily. “There ain’t no ’arthly reason why the _Hector_ shouldn’t turn
up an’ if she didn’t, I’d wait a spell an’ then take to the boats.
Twouldn’t be no sail ’tall to make Tristan d’ Cunha or the Falklands
from here.”

“Why, they’re hundreds of miles off!” exclaimed Tom. “You don’t mean to
say you’d try to get there in those little boats!”

Cap’n Pem snorted, “’Course I would!” he declared. “Little boats! Look
a-here, son, them there whaleboats is the bes’ seagoin’ craft afloat. I
tell ye, I’d rather be in them there boats in a sea than in a heap o’
big ships. Why, bless your heart! I could tell ye more’n one yarn o’
whalemen what sailed more’n three thousan’ miles in boats like them.”

“Oh, do tell us about them!” cried Jim.

“Not now,” replied the old whaleman, “We’ve gotter git busy. Mebbe ’long
arter dinner I’ll spin ye a yarn.”

All through the first day the men were busy preparing the implements and
getting things ready for slaughtering and trying out the sea elephants.
Spades were sharpened and placed in readiness; the big boiling kettles
were brought out and the try-works built; the casks were arranged for
filling; the killing clubs were selected and with everything prepared
for the killing to begin the following day, the men sat down to a hearty
meal of sea elephants’ tongues and liver, baked beans and plum duff,
while the boys and Cap’n Pem dined on some delicious fresh fish which
one of the men had caught, with fresh crabs and craw fish from among the
rocks of the shore.

When the meal was over, the boys insisted on the mate keeping his
promise to tell them the story he had mentioned and after a few
objections, the old man gave in and lighting his pipe, while everybody
gathered about and listened, he began.

“Wall,” said the old whaleman, “I was sayin’ to ye boys that I knowed o’
whalemen rowin’ over three thousan’ miles in their boats, but I reckon
I’d oughter ha’ said I’d heard on ’em. But I hev knowed o’ whalemen
a-rowin’ more’n a thousan’ miles, and what’s more, I wuz boy on the ship
what picked ’em up in the end, so ye’ll hev to b’lieve this ’ere yarn
’cause it’s true as is, an’ I kin swear to it. Hows’ever I calc’late I’d
better begin at the beginnin’ an’ not git all aback an’ in stays an’
afoul o’ my own hawse by beginnin’ tail en’ fust. ’Twas ’long back in
’59, purty long spell ago, an’ the bark _Janet_, hailin’ from Westport,
was a-cruisin’ fer sparm in the Pacific ’long ’bout the equator an’
’bout a hundred an’ ten west. Eve’ything’d been a-goin’ fust rate an’
one o’ the boats made fast to a bull whale late in the arternoon and by
the time he’d spouted blood an’ turned fin-up, ’twas purty near night.
Wall, they got their fluke-chain round the critter all right an’ was a
startin’ to pull him to the _Janet_, what was hull down, when a heavy
sea caught the boat jes’ right an’ capsized her. ’Course ’twan’t much
trouble to right her, but everything they had was lost—kag o’ water,
biscuits, compass, lantern an’ all fittin’s—an’ while the crew got her
right side up in a jiffy they couldn’t bail her out ’cause o’ the bucket
an’ bailer bein’ gone. An’ I tell ye, ’tain’t no picnic tryin’ to keep a
water-filled boat right side up in a heavy sea an’ blowin’ a holy gale.
Some reason or t’other the ship hadn’t seen ’em an’ they couldn’t signal
the bark, an’ to keep the boat from capsizin’ again they lashed the oars
’crost her an’ worked her over ’longside the dead whale and done their
best to tip her up an’ dump the water outen her. But ’twan’t no ’arthly
use count o’ heavy seas a-breakin’ over ’em an’ at last they give up and
started a paddlin’ their way toward the _Janet’s_ lights what was
vis’ble. They kep’ at it all night, an’ come mornin’, they found as they
was farther off than before, so knowin’ they was jus’ usin’ of their
strength for nothin’ they let her drift. Nex’ mornin’ the wind let up a
mite an’ the sea went down, an’ the men managed somehow to capsize the
boat an’ git her back on her keel with a bit less water in her, but
while they was a-doin’ of it, one was drownded. Jes’ recollec’ that for
forty-eight hours these chaps hadn’t had nary a drop o’ water nor a bite
to eat and had been a-lyin’ in salt water up ter their armpits and ye
can’t blame two more on ’em fer goin’ crazy. Derned if ’tain’t a wonder
they didn’t all go mad. There they was, driftin’ about in the middle o’
the Pacific jes’ under the line without nothin’ to eat or drink an’ the
nearest lan’, Cocos Islan’, more’n a thousan’ miles away. Not one o’ the
crew was strong enough to pull oar, but by workin’ like blazes they
managed for to tear out the boat’s ceilin’ and lashed it up like a sort
o’ sail an’ started off afore the wind.

“For seven days they sailed on with nothin’ to eat or drink ’cause there
wasn’t so much as a drop o’ rain fell, an’ all the time under the
blazin’ sun o’ the ’quator. By that time, things got so bad they begun
to draw lots an’ one o’ the men was killed an’ t’others eat him up. An’
then, jes’ as if Almighty God had a-taken pity on ’em, a shower come
along an’ give ’em plenty to drink. On the eighth day arter being
adrift, another man died, but nex’ day another shower come along an’ a
big dolphin flopped right into the boat. Ye can’t tell me there ain’t no
sech thing as Providence arter that, an’ every day arter then a bird’d
come so clost the men could cotch him, an’ twenty days arter leaving of
the whale, they sighted the Islan’. Gettin’ ashore, they killed a wild
pig and they was a-dinin’ like kings offen him an’ a eatin’ of coconuts
when the old _Leonidas_, with Pem Potter aboard as cabin boy, run inter
the Cocos fer water an’ found ’em.”

“That’s a fine story,” declared Tom. “It does seem as if they were saved
by a miracle.”

“Yes, and if any one read it in a book they wouldn’t believe it,” added
Jim.

“Tha’s right,” commented one of the New Bedford boat steerers. “Me, I
myself, one time mek long row in da whale boat. Mebbe you like hear
heem, yes?”

“Sure we would,” Jim assured him. “Go on, Manuel, and tell us the
story.”

“Alla right,” assented the boat steerer, showing his white teeth in a
pleased smile. “You know heem, da _Pedro Varela_ schooner, no? Well,
two, three year ago, me, myself, I was boat steerer on heem when he mek
da cruise for da sperm whale een Atlantic. We mek fine cruise an’ fin’
plenty whale an’ pretty near fill up down by da islan’s an’ da Cap’n he
say he think mebbe he strike two, three more whale an’ fill up on da way
home. So he mek da course north an’, sure thing, we fin’ da whale jus’
by Bermuda, mebbe leetle way south an’ eas’.

“Oh, boy, I, me myself, tell da worl’, we fin’ heem! One day da lookout,
he sing out, ‘There she blow,’ an’ da other lookout he sing out same
leetle minute, ‘There she blow,’ an’ we see ten, twelve, one dozen
mebbe, blowin’. He on’y three boat ship, da _Varela_, an’ da cap’n an’
mate an’ secon’ mate, they all lower. Me, myself, I was in da secon’
mate boat an’ got fast da firs’. Long time me, myself, I been whalin’
an’ never not een my life do I see whale so mad. Oh, boy! Firs’ thing he
sound, six hundred fathom he go, two line, an’ then he breach so dam
queek we no can pull in da slack an’ he mill an’ then, Santa Maria! He
mek off all same like he goin’ for tow us to Flores. Never, never, do I
see one whale go like that. One whole hour he run an’ leetle by leetle
we draw in an’ then, jus’ when we think we get heem, da iron draw an’ we
los’ heem. Then we look ’roun’ an’ no see da _Varela_ nowhere. No, sir,
I, me myself, I tell you we los’. Mebbe, we think, da _Varela_ fin’ us
in da night, so all da night we burn lantern lash to da oar an’ stick
eet up, but da schooner she no come an’ when da day come da mate he say,
‘look like we bes’ row home, boys.’ So we eat leetle biscuit an’ drink
leetle water an’ head nor’wes’ and row all day. Nex’ day jus’ da same;
eat leetle, leetle biscuit, drink leetle, leetle water an’ row. Third
day—’bout six bell—biscuit he all finish an’ water he finish, too. Then
we feel mighty seek, I myself, I tell da worl’, an’ we row an’ row an’
’bout four bell, mebbe, we see smoke. Pretty soon we see da steamer an’
come our way an’ we signal an’ he see an’ come near. He spik us an’ want
tek us aboard, but da mate he ask heem where he boun’ an’ when he say
‘Englan’,’ da mate he ask us eef we want go Englan’ an we all say no. So
da mate he say we not go aboard, but if he give us grub an’ water an’
course for New Bedford, we thank heem ve’y much and row home. Da skipper
of da steamer he say we crazy, yes, an’ laf; but he give us plenty grub
an’ water an’ da course and we eat plenty an’ row an’ bimeby we see Gay
Head light an’ we mek New Bedford.”

“Gosh!” exclaimed Jim. “You mean you rowed a whaleboat all the way from
Bermuda to New Bedford? How far is it?”

“Me, I don’ know, mebbe three, four hundred mile,” replied Manuel.

“Bout eight hundred,” volunteered Cap’n Pem. “Purty consid’ble of a row,
eh?”

“Shure, ’twas thot!” exclaimed Mike. “B’gorra Misther Potter, did yez
iver see a sphirit at say?”

“Nope!” replied the other. “Derned if I hev, ’ceptin’ in bottles.”

“Ah, gwan wid yez!” went on the bo’sun. “’Tis not that kind Oim afther
mainin’ at all, at all. An’ if yez hasn’t, thin, b’gorra, Oive seen
somethin’ phwat yez haven’t an’, be the Saints, ’tis a wonder ye’ll
admit it. Would yez loike to hear about ut, b’ys?”

“Yes, indeed, Mike,” said Tom with interest. “Go ahead and tell the
yarn. I’ll bet it’s a corker.”

“Will, thin,” began Mike as he stuffed a load of tobacco into his pipe.
“Oi said ’twas a sphirit, but I dunno if ’twas aither—but ’twas
somethin’ quare an’ sooper-natural-loike. But shure an’ Oim gittin’ off
me course so Oi’ll ’bout ship an’ be afther sthartin’ on a new tack.
’Twas ’bout thirty year ago, afore ships wuz a-talkin’ wid woireless, ye
moind, an’ Oi wuz furrst mate av a wee shmall staymer what wuz afther
tradin’ ’twixt Cuby an’ Noo Yorrk, an’ proud Oi wuz to be a threadin’
the bridge wid the best av thim, Oi’ll tell yez. Will, wan thrip, phwat
did the skipper do but git took wid the yaller Jack an’ doi,—may his
soul rist in pace. An’ b’gob, there Oi wuz, masther av a trim little
ship as iver wuz. Faith though, ’twas a grrand falin’, but with a hape
o’ raysponsibility, b’gorra. Thin, wan night, Oi was a-sittin’ in me
cabin on the bridge wid the second mate on watch an’ a thinkin’ o’ the
foine future Oi’d be afther havin’—niver dramin’, b’gob, thot Oi’d iver
be afther a-killin’ say iliphants in the back o’ beyont—bad cess to the
dhrink,—whin all av a suddin Oi sees a figure a-sthandin’, or a-flyin’,
or a floatin’—faith, Oi dunno which—in the air fornist the port bow o’
the ship. B’ the Saints! ’Twas dramin’ Oi thought Oi wuz, an’ Oi lept up
an’ rubbed me ois an’ says Oi to mesilf, says Oi, ‘Sure Mike is it
sayin’ things ye arre or is it not.’ But b’gorra, there she wuz—for
’twas a woman sphirit she wuz—a floatin’ or a-flyin’ along an’ a
beckonin’ to me wid her arrm. Says Oi to the secon’ mate’ say Oi;
‘Misther Thompson,’ says Oi, ‘will yez look to two p’ints offen the port
bow,’ says Oi, ‘an’ tell me do yez see annythin’.’ ‘Aye Sir,’ says he,
‘Oi see a cloud,’ says he, ‘an’ nothin’ more,’ says he. So thin Oi
thinks to mesilf; ’tis a hallo-sue-nation ye’re havin’, think Oi, an’ Oi
looks the other way an’, Saints presarve me, if there wuzn’t the colleen
again, an’ as Oi sees her she sort o’ flits acrost me bows an’ off to
port agin, a-beckonin’-loike all the toime. So Oi says to meself, says
Oi, ‘Shure Mike, ’tis a predomition ye’re afther havin’ or a message o’
some sort an’ the spirit’s been sent yez to guide yez.’ So Oi says to
the second, says Oi, ‘Mr. Thompson, starboard the helm a bit,’ says Oi,
an’ as the bow swings to port Oi sees the spirit a-swingin’ a bit
further ’til me bow’s a-headin’ six p’ints off me course, an’ thin the
spirit sthops movin’ an’ jist floats aisyloike over me bow, so Oi says,
‘Steady as she is, Mr. Thompson,’ an’ bein’ a good sailorman he niver
asks why in blazes Oi’m runnin’ off me course six pints. For two hours
we run an’ thin, b’gorra, the lookout sings out, ‘Ship afire ahead!’ an’
there, plain as the nose on me face, Oi could see the glow o’ a burnin’
ship, an’ with that, the spirit disappears an’ Oi know she’s been
a-guidin’ av me to save thim that’s on the burnin’ ship. Full spheed
ahead, Oi rings, an’ nearer and nearer we comes, an’ we kin see the
flames o’ the burnin’ ship an’ her sphars an’ all. An’ b’gorra, through
me glasses Oi sees folks a-sthandin’ aft wid the flames not twenty fate
from thim an’ no boats over at all, at all. ’Twas a race fer loife,
b’gorra, for me staymer was a shakin’ an’ a throbbin’ what wid the spade
av her fit to bust, an’ the flames a-racin’ aft on the barrk. Thin, as I
get widin’ hailin’ distance, a man sings out that there’s powder aboard
an’ the hooker’ll be a blowin’ up in a minute more. Shure, an’ may Hivin
help me, if Oi wuz not in a foine fix! Shure, if Oi wint alongside to
save the sowls aboard the barrk ’twould be loike Oi wud lose me ship,
an’ if Oi didn’t ’twould be nothin’ short o’ murtherin’ the folks on the
barrk, an divvil a bit o’ toime wuz there to be a lowerin’o’ me boats.
’Twas between the divvil an’ the dape say, Oi wuz, wid the divvil
holdin’ the thrump carrds. But b’jabbers, Oi made up me mind an’ do yez
know phwat Oi did?”

“No,” cried Tom excitedly. “What _did_ you do?”

“Phwat would yez do, Misther Potter?” queried the bo’sun.

“Derned if I know,” replied Cap’n Pem. “Spit it out, ye ol’ sinner, what
did ye do?”

Mike grinned. “Shure,” he replied, “Oi woke up!”

“Dern yer ol’ hide!” exploded Pem. “I’ll git one over on ye fer that,
blowed ef I don’t.”

“Was you ever shipmates along of a mutiny, Mister Potter?” asked one of
the men, when the merriment over Mike’s joke on Cap’n Pem had subsided.

“Can’t say as I was,” admitted the old whaleman. “Heard lots o’ yarns
’bout ’em, though.”

“Well, I can beat you there,” asserted the other. “’Cause I was ’board a
ship what had a mutiny.”

“Tell us about that,” begged the boys.

“Well, ’twasn’t much of a mutiny,” went on the man, “but I guess ’twas
’bout the funniest mutiny ever was, at that. Manuel, speakin’ ’bout the
_Pedro Varela_, minded me of it, ’cause that’s the ship ’twas on.

“I’d shipped as seaman an’ ’thout countin’ me an’ my two mates an’ the
officers, what was Portugees, every man was a greenie. ‘All American
crew,’ they called it, but I’ll bet my lay ’gainst a chew of tobaccer
there wasn’t two real Yanks in the bunch. Worst set of bums I ever see,
an’ not casting no reflections on present company. Officers couldn’t do
nothing at all with ’em—never did learn the riggin’, even though the
_Varela’s_ just a fore-an’-aft schooner,—an’ didn’t have enough gumption
to pull a boat decent. Just the same, things went along pretty well an’
we got a little oil; but along about six weeks out, the men commenced
for to get tired of whalin’ an’ wanted to get ashore,—grumbled a bit an’
cussed the skipper an’ all, but no open complainin’ an’ nothing
particular to complain about. Then, one morning, Chips come runnin’ an’
a cussin’ an’ saying his tool box had been stole. Hunted every place,
but tools had just nat’rally disappeared. Next morning, along comes the
cooper swearin’ _his_ tools an’ the grinstone’d gone. Next morning,
’twas the blubber-kettles missin’ an’ by that time things begun to look
mighty serious an’ funny. Skipper had all hands aft, but every man-jack
swore he didn’t know nothin’ an’ there wasn’t no proof that they did.
While the Old Man was chinnin’ the lookout sighted a whale an’ the
skipper left off an’ ordered the crew to the boats, an’ what do you
think happened? Why, bless you! There weren’t an iron or lance or
fluke-spade or any darned thing in any one of the boats. ’Course there
weren’t no use in lowering, an’ believe me, there was some skyhowlin’
rumpus on the old _Varela_ when the Portugee skipper let loose. But he
couldn’t do nothing. There we was, on the high seas a-cruisin’ for
sperm, an’ not an iron on the ship for to get ’em with. An’ when we got
to searchin’ about we found there weren’t a spade or a blubber-hook or a
cuttin’ in tackle, neither. Of course, we all knew what ’twas. That crew
of bums had just heaved every darned thing over the side long in the
night watches an’ knowing if the skipper couldn’t catch whales, he’d
nat’rally have to make port. Well, there weren’t nothing left for him to
do but make port so, talkin’ something fierce in United States and
Portugee, he heads for Fayal swearin’ to clap every man-jack in irons
soon as he got there. Worst of it was he blamed every mother’s son of
us, Yanks as well as the greenies. When we made Fayal, there, big as
life, was a Yankee cruiser an’ soon as we got near, up goes a signal for
assistance and a-sayin’ there’s a mutiny on board.

“I dunno whether them navy men was so tickled at the fun of the thing or
what ’twas, but the up-shot was they had us all aboard an’ talked a bit,
though I knowed they was a bustin’ themselves tryin’ not to laff, an’
after a heap of questioning, they let all but eight of us loose an’
ironed the others an’ took ’em home for trial. I was on the beach but
got a ship after a bit an’ when I got back to New Bedford I heard the
rest of the story. Seemed this ’ere mutiny was a new kind. No law’d ever
been made to cover it an’ accordin’ to law the men hadn’t
mutinied—didn’t use violence nor threaten nobody nor disobey orders—so
they couldn’t be charged with mutiny. Then the owners tried to get ’em
sent up for theft or destroyin’ property or most anything, but there
weren’t no proof of nothing, so the judge finally sentenced ’em for
disorderly conduct an’ they got ten days each.”

“I heerd ’bout that,” commented Cap’n Pem. “Wisht they’d been my crew.
I’d a-heaved ’em over after them fittin’s. Derned if I wouldn’t. But
look-a-here! It’s a-gittin’ too late ter be a yarnin’ with killin’ to
begin in the mornin’. All han’s turn in!”

An hour later, only the protesting croaks of sleepy penguins and the
distant barks of the sea elephants broke the silence that reigned over
the island.




CHAPTER X

LOST


Early the next morning, preparations for the killing began. Armed with
clubs, tin pans, flags and pieces of cloth, the men made their way along
the beach between the big herd of elephants and the sea, and took up
stands at intervals of a few hundred feet apart. Then, at a signal from
Cap’n Pem, they advanced towards the elephants, shouting, hallowing,
beating on their tins, waving their cloth and flags and jumping and
prancing about like a lot of savages. Frightened and surprised at these
strange figures advancing towards them, and dazed by the noise and
fluttering rags, the huge, timid creatures hobbled and wriggled their
way up the shingle, wrinkling their noses and barking in terror and
stupidly getting further and further from their native element in their
sole desire to keep away from the men. Wedged together in a
closely-packed mass, the giant seals impeded one another’s progress and
added to their terror until, presently, their retreat was a wild
stampede towards the higher ground some distance from the sea.

It was a strange and remarkable sight to see these immense, powerful
creatures with their strong, sharp teeth striving to escape the men and
as frightened as a flock of sheep, when any one of the monsters could
easily have crushed a man’s head in his jaws with a single bite. To the
boys, it seemed pitiful and they were really sorry to think of such
harmless, splendid creatures being thus ruthlessly slaughtered merely
for the sake of their oil. But their sympathy for the elephants was not
as great as it would have been had the animals appeared more helpless
and gentle, for despite their timidity, the sea elephants, and
especially the old bulls, were savage, ferocious-looking beasts.
Naturally ugly, even when at rest, they appeared veritable monsters as
their small, wicked eyes gleamed red and bloodshot, their trunklike
snouts lifted above their great red mouths, their huge, sharp teeth
gleamed and snapped and their snarling barks filled the air with a
deafening roar.

Although they had been assured that the elephants were harmless and had
been eye witnesses of the fact that the men could walk among them, kick
them and even kill them without the least attempt at resistance on the
animals’ part, yet neither Tom nor Jim could summon up enough courage to
approach within reach of the waving, threatening heads and snapping
jaws. But the men had no such fears and when, at last, the herd had been
driven to the selected spot, they went among them, driving the big,
full-grown animals into small bunches and ruthlessly clubbing them over
the heads.

As the killing began and the heavy bludgeons thumped on the heads of the
elephants, their humanlike sighs and screams, their choking, gurgling
death coughs and the terrorized barks of their fellows were more than
the two boys could stand. Hurrying from the scene of the slaughter, they
made their way past the camp and started up the hillside beyond. It was
hard climbing, for the sharp, volcanic rocks made footing uncertain, the
scant gray moss and lichens and dried stiff grass were slippery and the
hill was steep. Here and there, albatrosses were squatting on the ground
and when the boys approached they merely hissed and struck out with
their strong, hooked beaks, refusing to move. They were such enormous
birds and appeared so vicious with their china-blue eyes and menacing
bills, that the boys had no desire to get at close quarters in order to
see if they had eggs; but they soon discovered that by shooing at the
birds and showing no signs of fear they could force the albatrosses from
their nests and they were greatly elated at sight of the enormous,
rough, brownish eggs in little hollows of the stony ground.

Amusing themselves with the albatrosses, and taking their time, the boys
reached the summit of the hill and seated themselves upon a rock ledge
to rest. From where they sat, they could look down upon the camp and the
beach and could see the men, still busily killing the elephants. But the
slaughter evidently was nearly over, and presently, they saw the men
stooping over and evidently engaged in stripping the skins and blubber
from the carcasses. In the other direction, they looked down upon a
sloping hillside ending in a small, bowl-shaped valley which the boys at
first sight thought filled with snow; but a second glance showed it to
be covered with great white birds.

“I wonder what they are,” said Tom. “They don’t look like albatrosses
and they’re not penguins. Let’s go down and see.”

Rising, the boys were about to descend when their attentions were
attracted by peculiar sounds apparently issuing from the earth under
their feet.

“What’s that?” ejaculated Jim. “It seems to come right out of the
ground.”

Getting on their knees, the boys searched everywhere among the rocks,
expecting to find some strange creature in hiding there, but while they
searched diligently, and although the queer grunting sounds continued,
they could find no trace of any living thing. Puzzled, they stopped
hunting and listened, placing their ears to the ground, trying to trace
the sounds, but to no purpose, for the noises seemed to come from all
about and were so mysterious and baffling that the boys began to feel
nervous.

“It’s the weirdest thing I ever heard,” declared Tom. “I’m beginning to
think the place’s haunted.”

At last, giving it up as a bad job, the two boys started forward and a
moment later clambered down over a projecting mass of huge irregular
rocks. The next instant they stopped short, for the baffling sounds came
clear and distinct from among the rocks. Approaching cautiously, the
boys peered into the dark cavelike openings and the next moment burst
into laughter.

“There’s the ghost,” exclaimed Jim, “I wonder what they are.” Far in
among the bowlders were several snow-white birds with pretty pinkish or
salmon-colored bills and bright, beady eyes. Reaching in his arm, Tom
seized one of the creatures, and despite its protests, drew it out and
revealed two handsome brown eggs where it had been sitting.

“Oh, I know now,” declared Tom. “It’s a sheathbill, don’t you remember
Cap’n Pem pointed them out to us at sea. Look, here’s the sheath on its
bill.”

Satisfied at having solved the mystery of the strange sounds, and having
identified the bird, the boys released the creature which immediately
fluttered back to its nest, ruffling its feathers and croaking in such
an indignant, offended way that the boys roared with laughter.
Continuing down the hill, the boys approached the first of the great
bird colony in the valley and found they were big, white Molly Mokes and
another species of bird which they had not seen before.

“They’re some sort of albatrosses,” insisted Tom. “But they’re not like
the others. They’re smaller and have bright yellow beaks and they’re
much whiter.”

“Yes, and they’ve greeny-brown eyes instead of blue,” added Jim.

“I’ll bet I know what they are,” Tom announced “I’ve been thinking, and
I remember reading about a kind of albatross called yellow-nosed. These
have yellow noses so I’ll bet that’s what they are.”

It was a strange sensation for the boys to find themselves surrounded by
countless thousands of the big, white birds which showed not the least
fear, but pecked boldly at the boys’ garments as they picked their way
among the nesting birds.

As they gained the farther side of the valley they came to a low, rocky
ridge, and curious to see what lay beyond, they clambered up its side
and found themselves once more in view of the sea.

“Look at those penguins!” cried Jim, as he caught sight of a great flock
of the queer birds. “Gee, but they’re big fellows!”

“They’re not like the others,” replied Tom. “Say, we _are_ finding a lot
of queer things to-day.”

“And those don’t look like sea elephants on the beach either,” said Jim.
“They look smaller and different, somehow.”

“I believe you’re right,” agreed Tom. “Let’s go down and have a look.”

As they approached the creatures basking upon the shingle, the boys saw
that they were indeed very different from the huge sea elephants, for
they were much smaller, they lacked the long snouts and their bodies
were darker in color and beautifully spotted.

“Don’t let’s go too near,” exclaimed Jim. “I don’t like their looks.”

“Oh, don’t be a fraid-cat,” urged Tom. “They won’t hurt us. Of course,
we won’t go among them. I don’t trust them as much as all that.”

Rather nervously, but anxious to see the odd creatures at closer range,
the boys walked towards the herd of animals and were within a few rods
of the nearest when the giant seal suddenly reared himself up, opened a
huge red mouth filled with enormous, sharp-pointed teeth, and with a
bellowing howl threw himself bodily towards the two boys. Instantly,
with terror-stricken cries, the boys turned and fled, never stopping
until they were well up the hillside.

“Gosh, but he _was_ fierce!” ejaculated Jim, when they regained their
breath. “I told you we’d better not go near.”

“You can bet I won’t, next time,” Tom assured him. “But they’re no sea
elephants anyhow.”

“Let’s go along the beach and have a look at the penguins,” suggested
Jim. “We can keep away from those beasts, back here.”

Giving the fierce, spotted seals a wide berth the two boys descended to
the beach and strolled towards the penguin colony. Many odd shells and
other interesting things were scattered on the sand, and, as the boys
stooped to pick some up, they noticed many rounded, glittering pebbles.

“Why, they’re moonstones!” exclaimed Tom, “and thousands of them!”

There was no question of it. The beach was strewn with the translucent,
handsome stones and the boys busied themselves filling their pockets
with the gems. So intent were they, that they failed to notice a low,
gray cloud about the mountain top which drifted down towards the shores
in little wisps and detached masses until, feeling chilly, Tom looked up
and gave a surprised cry. On every side they were surrounded with an
impenetrable, dense fog and only a small area of the beach about them
was visible.

Seaward they could see the lazy, green rollers coming mysteriously from
a gray bank. They could hear the muffled cries of birds and the
occasional flapping of wings; but not a sign of the hill or of the
mountains could be seen.

“Gosh, we’d better be getting back!” exclaimed Jim anxiously. “It’s
getting thicker every minute.”

Hurrying from the beach, they commenced climbing the hill, but long
before they reached the summit the beach and waves were hidden from view
and the boys seemed shut in as if by a soft, gray wall.

“We’ll have to be careful or we’ll get lost,” cautioned Tom. “We should
have brought a compass.”

“What good would that do?” demanded Jim. “We don’t know what direction
the camp is.”

“No, but we could be sure we were not moving in a circle,” explained Tom
sagely. “But come along, we can find that Molly Moke rookery and then go
up the hill and find the cave where the sheathbills are and go straight
down from there.”

Striving to keep a straight course by listening to the breaking seas at
their backs, the boys picked their way over the ridge, and descending
the further side, were overjoyed to find themselves among the nesting
Molly Mokes.

“We’re all right now!” said Tom confidently. “If we walk straight across
and up the hill to the cave we can’t go wrong. Why, I don’t believe we
went over half a mile from camp anyway.”

Shut in by the dense fog, the boys could hear the disturbed cries of the
thousands of birds about them, but the birds themselves were only
visible when within a few feet and even then they had a strange, ghostly
appearance. Several times the boys actually bumped into them, and they
were constantly compelled to turn to right or left to avoid stepping on
the birds. But at last, they reached the scattered, outlying nests and
found the ground rising before them.

“Funny, this hill doesn’t seem half as long as it did before,” commented
Jim as they gained the summit. “Say, listen! What’s that?”

For a moment the two paused, straining their ears to catch a faint sound
that issued from the fog ahead. And then, as the truth dawned upon them,
they gazed at each other in dismay. The noise was the breaking waves.
They were back at the spot from which they had started. They had walked
in a circle and were lost! Presently, however, as they recovered from
the disappointment and shock of their discovery, their confidence
returned.

“We’ll have to try again,” declared Tom. “We must have got turned around
among those Molly Mokes. I’ve a scheme, Jimmy. When we get there this
time, we’ll separate a little and one of us will walk ahead a few yards
and then stop, and then the other can walk straight to him and then stop
and the other can go on ahead as far as he can be seen and stop and in
that way we might be able to go pretty straight. Anyway, we won’t go in
a circle.”

“That may help,” admitted Jim, “but we’ll have to kick the birds out of
the way to do it.”

“Bother the birds!” ejaculated Tom. “We’ve got to get to camp.”

“I wonder how long fogs last here,” said Jim as once more they made
their way up the ridge. “Perhaps if we just waited a while it would
lift.”

“I don’t know,” replied the other, “but I heard Cap’n Pem say that
sometimes the island’s foggy for weeks at a time.”

Once again they reached the Molly Moke rookery and at once proceeded to
put Tom’s plan into practice. By shoving the birds out of their path and
ruthlessly trampling on the eggs, the boys made their way across the
valley in a fairly direct line; but as they gained the slope of the hill
a sudden misgiving seized Jim.

“Say, Tom,” he exclaimed, “how do we know we’ve crossed in the right
direction? Don’t you remember the hill went all around the valley—it was
like a big bowl—and we may be on the opposite side from where we came
down.”

“We can’t help that,” stated Tom. “When we get to the top we’ll mark the
spot and walk to the right ’til we find the sheathbills’ cave and if we
don’t find it, we’ll come back and try to the left.”

Toiling up the hillside, panting with the exertion and soaked to the
skin by the clinging moisture, the two boys at last reached the summit.

“Perhaps they’d hear us in camp if we yelled,” suggested Jim.

But their cries seemed muffled in the fog and no answering call came to
them, so, piling several stones in a little pyramid, the two turned to
the right and carefully picked their way along the rocky ridge.

“We didn’t come over at this place, I know,” said Jim decisively as they
came to a jagged, upstanding mass of rock.

“No,” admitted Tom. “but it may have been just a little to one side of
the place where we did cross. Come along.”

In order to pass the ledge, the two boys were compelled to descend a
short distance on the hill and so dense was the fog on the summit that
the rocks disappeared from sight ere they had taken a dozen steps.
Judging that they passed the obstruction, they once more turned up the
slope and tramped on, hoping each moment that they would be in luck and
would come upon the pile of bowlders where they had discovered the
sheathbills.

“Say, we must have been way off our course,” panted Jim at last. “We’ve
been walking for half an hour and seems to me we’re going down hill.”

“I thought that too,” replied Tom, “but I guess it’s just the effect of
the fog.”

For ten minutes more, the boys continued and then, coming to a mass of
fallen rock, they found further progress barred by a bold perpendicular
cliff.

“Well, we can’t go any further,” observed Tom. “Now we’ll have to go
back and try the other direction.”

“I’m going to rest first,” insisted Jim. “There’s no use in getting all
tired out.”

Seating themselves upon a piece of rock, the boys were talking over
their predicament when, suddenly, there was a cracking sound. The boys
felt their seat moving and leaped aside as the mass of rock gave way and
went crashing down the hill. But while the boys had saved themselves
from an injury, yet they had not saved themselves from a tumble, and as
they jumped from the rock their feet shot out from under them and
rolling and sliding, they followed after the stone for a dozen rods
before they could check their headlong course.

At the same instant they heard a tremendous crash from below followed by
a shout:

“Hi, there! What’n tarnation’s broke loose? Derned ef the whole mounting
ain’t a-tumbling down!”

With wild yells the boys leaped to their feet, and regardless of danger,
raced down the hillside. Before they had covered a hundred feet they
reached level ground and plumped full into Cap’n Pem, bowling the old
man over like a ninepin.

“Avast there!” spluttered the old whaleman. “What in thunderation’s up?
Fust a chunk o’ mounting an’ then you two scallawags! What in Sam Hill
ye in sech a hurry fer? Bear a chasin’ on ye?”

“No,” stammered Tom. “We were lost. Where are we?”

“Where be ye?” reiterated the old man. “Where be ye? Why, right
’longside o’ the shack a course. Where’d ye think ye wuz? Derned queer
way ye have o’ comin’ home!”




CHAPTER XI

A STRANGE MESSAGE


The boys actually had tumbled into camp from the hill behind the shack,
and they joined heartily in the laughter of the men, when they related
their story of being lost in the fog.

“Shure, an’ Oi wuz a-sayin’ to Misther Potter that maybe yez was lost,”
Mike affirmed, “an’ twas meself what wuz for goin’ afther yez if yez
didn’t turrn up soon.”

“Gid out!” jeered Cap’n Pem. “Ye’d be a fine one ter go gawallupin’ over
these ’ere hills with that there wooden lig o’ yourn. Know’d the boys
’ud git in ship-shape.”

“B’gorra thin, Oi could do as well as yez at anny rate,” insisted Mike.

Cap’n Pem snorted, but forbore a retort and warned the boys against
taking any risks in the future.

“Don’t ye never go off without a-takin’ a gun an’ a compass,” he
commanded them. “An’ ef ye go out o’ sight o’ camp, mind ye watch the
way ye’re a-goin’ of. ’Tain’t no jokin’ matter ter git lost here. It’s a
heap bigger islan’ than ye think an’ fog’s li’ble ter come on any time.”

When the boys told of their experience with the big seal-like creatures,
Cap’n Pem laughed uproariously.

“Them’s sea leopards,” he told them. “Lucky ye didn’t git too clost,
they ain’t like these ’ere elephants. Bite ye quicker’n Jack Robinson,
’bout as fierce as a lion an’ mighty touchy too.”

“Aren’t they good for anything?” asked Tom. “Do you ever kill them?”

“Hides is wuth somethin’,” replied the old man, “but ain’t got enough
blubber ter make ’em wuth the danger o’ killin’ of ’em. Time was, when we
used fer to hunt ’em an’ fur seals, too. But ’ain’t nothin’ in it now,
with elephant ’ile so high.”

Cap’n Pem also explained that the big penguins they had seen were King
Penguins and that the moonstones, though pretty, had little value.

“Whole beaches on ’em over ter Kerguelan,” he told them. “Took up derned
nigh a bucket full on ’em one trip. Couldn’t sell ’em fer ’nough ter
keep me in terbaccy. Guv ’em all ter the wimmin folks.”

Boiling was going on when the boys reached camp, and after eating, for
they were ravenously hungry, they watched the operation for some time
and then made their way towards the spot where the men were stripping
the blubber from the last of the dead elephants. Everywhere, the
enormous raw carcasses were scattered about, and, almost hiding them
from sight, were thousands of albatrosses, Molly Mokes and other sea
birds, screaming and quarreling over the feast and tearing the flesh
from the bones with their powerful bills. So bold were the birds that
they frequently swooped down and attempted to carry off pieces of
blubber under the noses of the working men and one man constantly was
kept busy shooing and beating them off.

“Wouldn’t they clear out if you shot some of them?” inquired Tom.

“Yep, I expect they would,” replied a boat steerer, “but we need ’em an’
don’t want to drive away. What’d we do with all them there dead
elephants if ’twan’t fer them birds? Why, they’d smell so ye couldn’t
live on the islan’, an’ a breedin’ plague.”

“Do you mean the birds will eat them all up?” asked Jim in surprise.

“Sure thing,” declared the sailor, “less’an a couple o’ days there won’t
be nothin’ but bones left.”

The boys could scarcely believe that the birds could completely devour
the mountains of flesh before them, but long before the expiration of
the two days only the clean picked bones of the elephants marked the
scene of their slaughter.

As it was light through the night, the work of boiling was carried on
unceasingly, the men working in watches or shifts, as on board ship, and
by the second day they were ready for another drive and kill.

Although practically all the large elephants had been slaughtered the
first day, yet there seemed to be no decrease in the numbers which came
up the seashore daily, and the second killing was even larger than the
first. Cap’n Pem and the men were elated, for the great number of
elephants argued well for a full cargo of oil, and the old whaleman
couldn’t say enough in praise of the policy of the British government in
having restricted the killing and extermination of the creatures.

“Las’ time I was here,” he informed them, “they’d got so pesky skeerce
ye couldn’t make a kill o’ a dozen a week an’ now look at ’em. Jes’ a
crowdin’ o’ thersel’s up, a-waitin’ ter be killed. Looks like as though
they ac’t’ally enj’yed it.”

Not forgetting Cap’n Pem’s injunction regarding gun and compass, and
usually carrying a lunch with them, the boys spent their days wandering
over the hills, exploring the island, gathering eggs from the more
remote bird colonies, so as not to frighten away the scavengers near
camp, and having a glorious time by themselves. They had discovered
several small ponds among the more distant hills and here, to their
surprise, they found a number of small teal-like ducks. These proved
excellent eating and a most welcome change in the camp diet and the boys
made almost daily visits to the place. On another occasion, they had
found a rookery of the Antarctic fur seals and spent hours watching the
big, gentle-eyed creatures frolicking and playing about. Twice too, they
had clambered far up the mountain side and had gazed forth upon the vast
panorama that was stretched beneath them. Rugged and gray, their own
island spread itself below their feet, and on the horizon—some visible
across lanes of gray sea that from the height seemed narrow, others but
hazy clouds against the sky and others only distinguishable by their
lofty peaks—were many other islands of the group. The boys, who had
spent hours poring over charts of the Antarctic, knew many of them by
name, such as Governor Livingston, Scotts, Clarence and Deception. The
latter was the island to which the _Hector_ had gone and the boys spent
much time in speculation as to the success the men were having there and
how soon the bark would return.

But best of all, the boys loved to visit the rookeries of albatrosses,
penguins and Molly Mokes that by now were filled with ungainly,
grotesque and mirth-provoking fledglings.

It was while they were on their way to one of these, several weeks after
their adventure in the fog, that the boys saw a big Wandering Albatross
acting in a most peculiar and unusual manner. The bird was standing upon
a pile of rocks and was spreading and flapping his enormous wings as if
trying to fly, but he would rise only a few feet above the ground before
he again dropped back. Then he would reach down, peck at something in
the rocks as though feeding, and again flap into the air for a short
distance again to repeat the whole performance.

“What _do_ you suppose he’s doing?” asked Tom in puzzled tones. “He acts
as if he’d found something and couldn’t make up his mind to leave it.”

“Come along and see,” suggested Jim, and curious to know the reason for
the big bird’s actions, the two turned aside and clambered over the
rock-strewn hillside towards the albatross.

Much to the boys’ surprise, he apparently paid little heed to their
approach, but continued his remarkable behavior until they were within a
few yards. Then, to their amazement, they saw that the bird was fastened
to the rocks by a piece of rope or line.

“Why, he’s tied down!” exclaimed Jim. “I wonder who did that.”

“I can’t imagine,” replied Tom. “But it’s a shame! He’ll just beat
himself to pieces, or die of thirst and starvation. Come on, let’s untie
him.”

But to release the bird was more of an undertaking than they bargained
for. Every time the boys tried to approach, he would strike viciously
with his enormously powerful wings, hiss like a gigantic snake and lunge
savage, snapping thrusts with his strong, hooked beak.

“Gee, he _is_ ugly!” cried Tom. “I’ve half a mind to leave him.”

But having once determined to free the bird, the two were not to be
worsted so easily. Taking off their coats, and with Tom holding his
sheath-knife ready, the two boys made a sudden dash at the albatross,
and while Jim threw his jacket around the bird’s head and held his neck,
Tom protected his head from the blows of the wings, and stooping
quickly, cut the line. Then, leaping back, they watched the great bird
as he flapped upwards with cries of triumph and sailed off out of sight.

“Ungrateful old brute!” laughed Jim. “Acts as tickled as if he’d got
loose all by himself.”

“I wonder what he was tied to,” put in Tom. “Hello! Look here, Jim!”
Reaching down in a crevice of the rocks, Tom drew out a bundle, or roll
of frayed and weather-beaten tarred canvas attached to the stout, hemp
lead-line which had bound the albatross.

“Well, that beats all!” exclaimed Jim as the two boys examined the
package curiously. “It must have been tied to the bird’s leg and got
wedged between the rocks when he alighted. What _do_ you suppose it is!”

“Search me!” replied the other. “Let’s open it and see.”

Drawing his knife, Tom proceeded to slash through the rope that was
wrapped and tied about the bundle and then commenced to rip out the
tightly drawn stitches with which it was sewn.

“Whoever sewed this didn’t intend it to get away in a hurry,” he
remarked as the first layer of heavy canvas fell back and disclosed
another beneath it.

“Reminds me of the pill-boxes the druggists have,” supplied Jim. “Just
one inside of another right down to a tiny one. Perhaps that’s all this
is.”

“Nobody’d take the trouble to sew it all up and tie it to a bird’s leg
unless ’twas something important,” declared Tom decisively. “I’ll bet
there’s something mighty interesting in it.”

Two more layers of canvas were removed, and as the last was pulled away,
the boys saw a brass tube, or cylindrical box, with both ends stopped
with wood.

“That’s a funny looking thing,” commented Tom as he turned it about.
“Looks like a—gee, I know what ’tis! It’s part of a telescope.”

“Perhaps there’s something in it,” Jim suggested excitedly. “Open it and
see.”

After some difficulty, Tom pried out one of the wooden plugs and tipped
up the cylinder, but nothing dropped out. Then, as he peered within it,
he cried out, “Gosh! There _is_ something in there.”

Inserting his finger in the tube, while the nerves of both boys tingled
with expectancy, Tom drew out a roll of some crinkled, whitish-yellow
material which they thought, at first, was paper.

“Hurrah! It’s a message!” shouted Jim. “Gee, we’re in luck!”

Spreading the parchment on a smooth rock, the two boys studied the
indistinct characters upon it, but for some time could make nothing of
them. Gradually, however, they began to recognize letters, and slowly
and with much hesitation and difficulty spelled out the following:

  “Two hoo shal fine these leter for God sak save mee. iam reckt on a
  illan west off elyfant illan in the soth shetlans yu kan tel the won
  by too piks stikin up on the eas end i am seemans off the brig _ellen_
  of st Helena we was kroosin an see a worship she was a gurman an sink
  us an fir on the botes i was hit an wen i cum two i seen nothin I
  drifted a long tyme an most starf an dye of thurst wen I seen lan i no
  it was the soth shetlans cuss i bin theyre bfour too kil elyfonts mi
  bot drift one these ilant an I find a ole hut I bin her long tym an I
  am sik mi wun want heel i muss dy if non resku me I amm goin two ty
  this to a allybtros whut i haf cot mae god dyrect it too sum crishun
  an knot two a hun. yurs respekfuli

                                                             “Sam Holt

  “p. S. i think this is disemper but I do not sur i los trak ov tym
  wile i byn sik.”

For an instant, the two boys sat speechless, absolutely dumbfounded at
the story disclosed by the parchment so miraculously secured.

“Gosh, he’s right near here!” cried Tom, at last. “Say, we’ve got to
hustle down and tell Cap’n Pem. Perhaps we can rescue him!”

Dashing as fast as they could over the rough ground, risking broken
bones and bruises, forgetting all except to tell the old whaleman of
their discovery, the two boys jumped, leaped, scrambled and ran, until,
breathless and exhausted, they rushed into camp and hurled themselves on
the old man.

“Gosh all mackerel!” ejaculated Cap’n Pem. “What’n tarnation’s up now?
Seed a ghos’?”

“Oh, Cap’n Pem!” panted Tom. “We found a message—a letter—there’s a
man—shipwrecked—on an island.”

“West of here!” Jim went on as Tom paused for breath. “See, here’s the
message—found it on an albatross. Can’t we save him?”

“What?” ejaculated Cap’n Pem, while a number of the men gathered about
attracted by the boys’ excitement. “What’s that ye’re a-sayin’? Man
shipwrecked? Found a message on a albatross, eh? Blow me ef ’tisn’t!”

Then, having recovered themselves, the two boys rapidly told their
story, while the old whaleman studied the message.

“B’gosh!” exclaimed Mike, “’tis a missage all right, all right. Shure,
b’ys, we’ll be afther a rescuin’ av him.”

“Derned if we won’t!” cried Pem. “Nobody can’t say as any Yankee
whaleman ever lef’ a shipwracked mate fer to die ’slong’s he could help
it. Dern them Germans’ hides! Wisht I could git at ’em! Here you, Mike,
call all han’s! I’m a-goin’ fer to ask fer volunteers. An’ git the boat
ready fer the v’yge. Stow away ’nough grub an’ water fer a week an’
med’cines an’ grog, an’ clo’s an’ blankets. Like as not thet there
feller ain’t got none.”

Then, as Mike stumped off to carry out his orders, Pem bustled about,
giving directions, leaving orders as to work to be done while the boat
was away, and between times, cursing the Germans with quaint oaths.

“Reckon like as not he’s died long ago,” he muttered half to himself.
“No knowin’ when he writ thet letter.”

“But it says December,” Tom reminded him. “And this is only the second
week.”

“Yep, I knows it,” replied the whaleman. “But he says he ain’t no ways
sure an he don’ say _what_ December. Like as not ’twas las’ year or year
afore. ’Spect we’ll have all our trouble fer nothin’.”

Then, addressing the men who had gathered about, Cap’n Pem told the
story of the boys’ find in a few terse words and called for volunteers
to make the trip. Every hand went up instantly.

“Bile me ef I didn’t know ’twould be thet way!” cried the mate. “Might
as well saved myself the trouble. Got to pick ye out, anyway!”

Hurriedly running his eyes over the men, he picked four of the strongest
and best, and all men from New Bedford. Then, after a moment’s
hesitation, he turned to the one-eyed man, Ned.

“Here, you!” he snapped out. “You’ve been a sojer. Know anythin’ ’bout
doctorin’?”

“Yes, sir, a little, sir,” replied Ned respectfully. “I was in the field
hospital over there, for a time, sir.”

“Thought so!” ejaculated the mate. “All right, come on, men, git a move
on!”

“But can’t we go?” cried Tom.

“Nope, no place fer youngsters.” Then, as he noticed the crestfallen
look on the boys’ faces, he suddenly relented.

“Oh, blow me! All right!” he burst out. “Hadn’t been fer ye we wouldn’t
a-been a-goin’. Reckon ye gotta right ter go. Come along!”

To the accompaniment of lusty cheers from the men, the boat was pushed
off, the five oars took the water, and with a “Give way boys!” from
Cap’n Pem, the rescuers headed for the open sea. Straining at their oars
as though they were going on a whale, the men fairly lifted the speedy
whaleboat through the water, while, in the stern, Cap’n Pem stood
grasping the huge steering oar and ever and anon urging his crew to even
greater efforts. Rapidly the beach was left behind, and swinging the
boat to the westward and rounding a projecting, rocky point, the old
whaleman steered a course for the hazy outlines of a distant island.

“Reckon thet’s the one,” he remarked. “’Pears to me I recollec’ them
there needles. Used ter call ’em the donkey’s ears.”

For hour after hour the boat sped on. Elephant Island grew dim in the
distance and more and more distinct became the island ahead. Gradually,
from the mist it took form and shape. The boys could see the rugged,
central volcanic cone; little by little the lower slopes became visible,
and at last, Tom gave a shout of joy, for looming up from the sea at one
end of the island were two steep-sided, conical peaks.

“Thar she be!” announced old Pem. “Give way, lads! If that poor lad’s a
livin’ he’ll likely be a sightin’ of us purty quick.”

Half an hour later, the island loomed close ahead and the boys strained
their eyes in an effort to make out the hut in which the castaway had
lived. But not until they were within half a mile of the shore did they
see it; a little, tumble-down shanty of gray, weather-beaten boards and
ragged flapping sail-cloth tucked into a corner of the rocks and so
nearly like them in color that it was scarcely distinguishable. But
search the beach and rocks as they would, they could see no sign of
life, and their spirits fell, for all began to fear that they had
arrived too late, that the bleaching bones of the wounded castaway would
be all that they would find. Running their boat upon the shingle, the
crew leaped out, and led by Cap’n Pem, hurried towards the house,
hallooing as they went. Then, when within a score of paces from the hut,
a crazy, makeshift door swung open and a man stepped forth. And at sight
of him, every one stopped short and gazed in amazement. The man was a
gray-headed, coal-black negro with a wooden leg!

“I’ll be everlastin’ly dumbswizzled!” burst out Cap’n Pem. “Derned ef we
ain’t shipped another peg-leg!”

The next instant the old negro rushed forward and threw himself upon the
beach groveling at Pem’s feet.

“Hi, there! Git up!” cried the whaleman. “We ain’t no Saints! Jes’
o’nary whalemen. How be ye anyhow? Reckon we’re in time, eh? Feared we’d
fin’ ye dead an’ gone.”

With tears of emotion trickling over his emaciated, ebon cheeks, and
with wildly rolling eyes and in broken tones, the negro poured out
incoherent thanks and blessings and was so overcome that two of the men
were obliged to carry him bodily into the shack. Here, on an improvised
couch of moss, dried seaweed and bird skins the castaway was placed, and
Cap’n Pem hurriedly poured a stiff draft of whiskey down his throat
while Ned and the men quickly kindled a fire and proceeded to heat
coffee and tinned soup. Between the liquor and the steaming food the old
negro quickly revived and managed to control his emotions somewhat.
Cap’n Pem told him how they had learned of his plight, but by Ned’s
command he was not permitted to talk; although all were filled with
curiosity to learn his story, and the castaway was compelled to content
himself with muttering, “Thank de Lord A’mighty! De Lord shure does
watch over his pore sinners! Oh, Lor’ _is_ I save’ at las’!”

“Doc,” Ned, as the men called him, declared that the castaway was in no
condition to be moved and that he must have several days of rest and
good feeding before undertaking the trip in the open boat. The wound of
which he had spoken in his message, had partly healed, but he was very
weak from suffering and lack of food and now that he was rescued he
seemed quite content to lie still and be nursed back to health and
strength. Gradually too, he told them of his life upon the island: how
he had managed to eke out a living by catching crabs and shellfish, and
later on by albatross and penguin eggs; and how he had captured the
albatross and had utilized a broken telescope which he had found in the
hut as a box or container for the message.

“How did you happen to think of sending the message that way, Sam?”
asked Tom. “There wasn’t one chance in a million that any one would find
it.”

“I seed a ship a-sailin’ away fra El’funt Islan’,” replied the negro,
“an’ I knows as how she must’a’ lef’ men there an’ I knows as how these
albatrosses do smell dead meat for a pow’ful long ways, an’ I thinks
like as not if you was a-killin’ the el’funts this ol’ bird mought go
over yander for de food an’ some man mought see the canvas a-danglin’
from he laig an’ cotch he; an’ praise the Lord A’mighty, you did.”

Cap’n Pem was anxious to return to the camp as soon as possible and
fumed and grumbled, although “Doc” Ned declared that three days should
be enough rest for Sam with the good care he was receiving. But when the
third day came, a gale was blowing and lashing the sea to fury and
departure was impossible.

“Ding-bust the weather!” exploded Cap’n Pem, when on the next day, the
gale still howled about the shack and cold rain and sleet beat like
shrapnel on its roof. “Didn’t I tell ye we’d have bad luck,—arter that
there bo’sun bird come aboard! Wouldn’t be s’prised ef this ’ere
dumfoozled sto’m lasted all summer. Reckon we’ll be shipwracked oursel’s
here!”

“But we haven’t had bad luck,” Jim reminded him. “_I_ think we’ve had
mighty good luck, to get that message and save Sam.”

“Hadn’t begun, then,” contended the whaleman. “Got ter have a beginnin’
sometime. Bet ye we gets wuss an’ wusser from now on.”

But despite Cap’n Pem’s dismal forebodings, the next day was fine, the
gale had blown itself out, and while the seas still ran mountain high,
they were rapidly decreasing. Two days later Cap’n Pem declared the sea
had moderated enough to set out and with one of the men helping Sam—for
he was still weak—the party launched the boat and headed for Elephant
Island. It was hard pulling against the head sea and as there was no
favorable wind, the sail could not be used and the men strained and
sweated at their heavy oars. But gradually the little island faded into
the distance and each moment Elephant Island loomed nearer and plainer
ahead. At last they gained the lee of the land, and keeping close
inshore, pulled towards the outstanding cliffs which concealed the
harbor. As the boat came abreast of the point the spars of a ship came
suddenly into view.

“Hurrah! The _Hector’s_ back!” cried Tom.

“Derned if she is!” exclaimed Cap’n Pem. “That’s a brig. I’ll—” but his
sentence was never finished. From the direction of the shore came the
sounds of a volley of gun shots.

“What’n tarnation,” roared the old whaleman. “Give way, lads! Lift her!
Fightin’s broke loose yonder!”




CHAPTER XII

THE RAIDERS


Meanwhile, upon Elephant Island, things had not been going well. For the
first two days after the departure of Cap’n Pem and his boat, the work
of killing and boiling had gone on as usual, although on a smaller scale
owing to the lack of men. Then, on the third day came the terrific storm
which had prevented the rescuing party from returning. Within a few
hours after the screeching, howling gale had first burst upon the
island, the flimsy shacks, erected for summer weather, had been
completely wrecked; the tremendous seas had swept far up the beach and
had carried away the try-works and had smashed and broached many of the
casks of oil, and Mike and his men had been compelled to perform
Herculean labors to save anything from the fury of the tempest.

By dint of incredible exertions they had managed to construct a rude
shelter from the wreckage and had saved the rest of the oil and most of
the supplies; but when the storm finally abated, the drenched, tired and
shivering men looked upon a scene of desolation. The beach was littered
with staved casks, boards, boxes and ruined supplies. Masses of
wave-driven kelp and flotsam were piled high where the try-works had
stood; the planks and canvas of the hut were scattered about and not a
sea elephant was in sight.

Mike shook his head as he surveyed the devastated camp. “B’gorra!” he
exclaimed. “Faith an’ ’tis the doin’s o’ the bo’sun burrd—bad cess to
him! An’ be the same token ’tis worrit Oi am over Misther Potter an’
thim others. Foive days now, an’ divvil a soign av thim. Beloike an’
they wuz caught in the big wind, ’tis dead they be.”

“Mister Potter, he put da grub an’ da water for week,” Manuel reminded
him.

“Shure ’tis thrue ye’re sp’akin’ Manny,” replied Mike in relieved tones,
“an Oim a blessed phool fer thinkin’ Misther Potter’s a lan’ lubber for
to be a-sthartin’ out in the tathe av a storrm. Faith though, but ’twill
be a sorrer sight for thim to say whin they come. An’ not a say iliphant
in sight. B’ Saint Pathrick Oi belave the storrm’s afther drowndin’ av
thim all.”

Then, ordering his men to pick up everything they could and to endeavor
to get some order out of chaos, the bo’sun with the cook and one man
turned to the demolished hut and endeavored to rebuild it so it would be
fit for occupancy when the boat returned. They were still busily engaged
at this two days later when a shout from one of the men interrupted
them, and gazing seaward they saw a sail above the horizon. For a time
they could not determine whether it was approaching or not, but it was a
square-rigged vessel beyond a doubt and when, after half an hour of
steadfast watching through the glasses, Mike knew that it was heading
towards the island, he shouted, “B’ gorra, lads, ’tis the _Hector_!
Shure she’s ahid o’ toime a wake an’ more. ’Tis good luck she must’a’
been afther havin’. Three cheers, me hearties! ’Tis homeward boun’ we’ll
be to-morrer!”

But scarcely had the three hearty cheers died down when Mike’s
countenance fell, for through the binoculars he could now see that it
was not the _Hector_ but a brigantine.

“Worra be!” he bemoaned. “’Tis disapp’intment, me lads! ’Tis a brig
b’gorra! Now phwat does he want here, at all, at all?”

Rapidly the oncoming vessel approached and presently all could see that
it was a small brigantine and by her build and rig they knew it was not
an American ship.

“Phwat in blazes arre the furriners a-buttin’ in here fer!” demanded
Mike and, addressing no one in particular, “Shure ’tis throuble enough
we’re afther havin’ av our own. An’ if it’s afther say iliphants they
be, ’tis none they’ll be foindin’, an’ if they wuz ’tis divvil a bit
Oi’d be afther lettin’ av thim sthop here. B’gob, ain’t they islan’s
enough an’ to sphare widtout a-callin’ on us wid no invetashun?”

Curious as to why the stranger should be making for the island, for she
flew no signals, the men had ceased their work and stood gathered near
the hut watching the brig.

“Mebbe he come for get da ’ile,” suggested Manuel. “Eef he see we here
firs’, mos’ like he go da other islan’.”

“Faith an’ he will, thot!” declared Mike. “’Tis two’s a crowd here. Well
b’jabbers we’ll soon be afther knowin’. He’s dhroppin’ av his anchor.”

Hardly had the brig swung to her anchor before a boat was lowered and
manned, and six men came rapidly shoreward.

As it neared the beach, Mike stepped forward, and followed by two or
three of his men, stumped down to the water’s edge.

“Shure an’ what moight it bay that ye’re wantin’ here?” he demanded as
the boat’s keel grated on the beach.

The steersman,—a huge, raw boned mulatto in ragged, dirty clothes and
with a great livid scar on one cheek, looked the bo’sun over
contemptuously and his mouth widened in a twisted smile, disclosing
broken, yellow fangs.

“Whadda matter wi’ you, Pat?” he replied insolently.

Mike grew purple and his gray whiskers bristled.

“Kape a civil tongue in yer head, ye dhirty nagur!” he fairly roared.
“B’the Saints, if yez is a-lookin’ fer throuble yez’ll be afther
foindin’ it widout lookin’ far, ye spade-faced, mud-colored, bilge-rat!”

“Haa!” sneered the other. “Da Irish no like da vees’tor, eh? He no mek
welcom’ da other fellas. Hmm! Eet look laik you have pretty good luck
already. Plenty kill an’ b’il down an’ plenty ’ile mek an’ in cask. Hmm!
You tink you owna dis islan’, Micky?”

Fairly bursting with rage at the man’s insolence and manner, Mike took a
stride forward with doubled fists, but one of the boat’s crew rose to
his feet, swung his huge oar and aimed a crashing blow at the bo’sun’s
head. Mike sprang aside in the nick of time and as he did so, the men in
the boat leaped ashore, significantly hitching their sheath-knives
forward as they did so, and Mike, realizing the futility of resisting
them unarmed, beat a hasty retreat. Shouting derisive insults at him,
the mulatto boat steerer turned and signaled to his ship, and a moment
later, another boat dropped to the water and came speeding shoreward.

With his men gathered about him, Mike spluttered and fumed, alternately
cursing the newcomers and berating his men for a lot of cowards for
allowing them to land.

“B’Saint Pathrick!” he roared. “Arre yez men or jelly-fish to sthand
there an’ see yer bo’sun sassed by a slinkin’ black haythen av a
half-breed Portugee? Shure an’ ain’t the foive av yez an’ mesilf a match
fer thim twilve sn’akin’ rats? An’ ye wid sphades an’ irons an’ guns
handy!”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir,” put in one of the men, “but you’re forgettin’
’tis a free islan’. It’s not belongin’ to us nor the bark, sir. And
there’s no reason I seen yet, to put ’em off.”

“Raisin is ut!” fumed Mike. “Raisin! Shure thin do yez be afther
thinkin’ ’tis honest worruk they’re afther comin’ here for? Look at
thim! Howly Saint Pathrick! The dhirty thaves arre afther st’alin’ av
the ’ile!”

Mike was right. The boats’ crews from the schooner were calmly rolling
the oil-filled casks to the shore, evidently with the intention of
loading them into their boats. And now that the hostile status of the
brig was evident, the _Hector’s_ men no longer hesitated. With set faces
and grim determination they seized the nearest weapons,—blubber-spades,
elephant clubs, irons, and with Mike shouting encouragement and
brandishing a heavy club the five whalemen charged towards the brig’s
boats. Outnumbering the whalemen three to one, the oil pirates stood
their ground, drawing their sheath-knives and seizing their heavy oars
in readiness to repel their attackers.

But neither sheath-knives nor oars are of much avail against
long-handled, razor-edged, blubber-spades or whale-irons and as one of
the Americans hurled an iron which buried itself in the thigh of one of
the raiders, and the gleaming spades cut down another, the remaining ten
men turned tail, dashed to their boats and with frantic strokes pulled
from shore barely in time to escape the maddened whalemen. Had they
delayed an instant longer, all would have been butchered without mercy,
for the whalemen, already soured, surly and ugly from the destruction
wrought by the storm, had gone murder-mad when they saw their hard-won,
precious oil being boldly stolen from under their noses.

Even as it was, the Portuguese had not escaped unscathed. The one struck
by the iron was screaming and struggling unable to move from the heavy
iron-pole, while his comrade lay moaning in a pool of blood and with a
great, gaping gash in his shoulder where the spade had struck him.
Shaking weapons and fists at the rapidly retreating boats, and hurling
sneers and insults after them, the victorious whalemen turned their
attention to the wounded raiders.

“Shure, ’tis no desarvin’ o’ pity yez be!” Mike informed them. “But ’tis
no haythens we arre. B’gorra, Oil bet yez’ll think twoice afore yez arre
afther buttin’ in an’ staylin’ o’ Yankee sailormins’ ’ile ag’in!”

It was no easy matter to extricate the barbed iron from the fellow’s
thigh and Mike was no gentle surgeon and the man’s agonized howls, as
the bo’sun cut away the flesh and drew out the iron must have made
shivers run down the spines of those on the brig. Carrying the two
wounded raiders to the shack, Mike and his men rendered rough first aid
and gave no heed to what was taking place on the brig until one of the
boat steerers gave a warning shout. Leaving the wounded men, all rushed
out to see three boats leaving the brig and heading towards the shore.

“Glory be!” cried Mike. “’Tis more av the same med’cine they do be
afther wantin’! An’ b’gorra, ’tis thot same they’ll be afther gettin’.
Come on, yez spalpeens. Shure it’ll take more than twenty av yez to bate
foive Yanks!”

Considering that two of his men were Portuguese, Mike’s use of the term
“Yankees” was rather amusing, but no one noticed it, and indeed, the New
Bedford Portuguese considered themselves as much Americans as did Mike
himself.

Again seizing their weapons, the whalemen prepared to greet the invaders
with a warm reception. But as they approached the water-side two of the
men in the forward boat dropped their oars, sprang to their feet and,
seizing rifles, fired point-blank at the advancing whalemen. It was
lucky for Mike and his men that the Portuguese were poor shots and that
their sudden motions rocked the boat; but as it was, the bullets sang
harmlessly over the defenders’ heads.

Neither Mike nor his men were foolhardy enough to attempt to resist
firearms with their weapons, and judging discretion the better part of
valor, they retreated towards the hut, while the raiders maintained an
intermittent fusillade of bullets. Suddenly there was a dull thud, a
sharp cry from Mike and the bo’sun crumpled up and fell to the ground.

Seizing him by the arms, his men were about to drag him to safety when
he jerked himself free and rose unsteadily to his feet.

“Bad cess to thim!” he roared. “’Tis me foine lig they’re afther
sp’ilin’ entoirely! An’ thot costin’ av sivinty-foive bucks! B’gorra,
they’ll be afther payin’ fer it or me name’s not Mike O’Malley!”

Before they could gain the hut, the marksmen’s aim had become
dangerously accurate and the men were compelled to seek safety behind
the casks of oil that stood near. Here they squatted, ruefully watching
the brig’s crew as they hurriedly proceeded to load the oil barrels into
their boats.

“Faith, if we had thim guns in the shanty ’twould not be a stalin’ so
aisy they’d be afther doin’!” Mike declared. “B’gorra, Oi’m thinkin’ we
moight be afther sn’akin’ there an’ gettin’ av thim. Will anny av yez
foller me?”

All four men answered in the affirmative, and throwing themselves flat
on their stomachs, the five wormed their way towards the shanty, their
movements concealed from the raiders by the tiers of oil-filled casks.
In safety they gained the hut and entered, and hastily arming his men
with the boys’ shot guns and two muskets, and providing himself with the
only remaining firearm, a bomb lance, Mike broke open a case of shells
and distributed the ammunition to his men. Then, realizing that the
range was far too great for the shot guns and also that the flimsy
boards and canvas walls of the hut were but a poor protection from
flying bullets, the bo’sun instructed his men to crawl back to the
shelter of the oil-casks.

Hardly had they done so, when the raiders, having sent aboard to the
brig the last of the casks that had been rolled to the beach, started
forward, intent on securing those behind which the whalemen crouched.
Thinking, no doubt, that the Americans had no firearms, and counting on
their retreating without resistance, the Portuguese advanced without
firing, but holding their guns in readiness.

Fortunately for them, Mike was far too hot-headed and excited to hold
his fire until the raiders were within easy range, and before they had
proceeded fifty yards, flashes spurted from behind the casks and bullets
and buckshot plowed up the sand and sung through the air about the
Portuguese. Utterly surprised at the unexpected volley, the raiders
hesitated for an instant, and then fired wildly at the pile of casks.
Then, an answering shot spat from the barricade and as two of their
number threw up their hands and plunged forward, the raiders commenced
to retreat, and when a bomb from Mike’s gun burst in their midst, they
flung aside guns and fairly raced towards the boat.

Leaping in, they shoved off and bent to their oars, while about them
splashed and spattered the bullets of the victorious whalemen.

And then, from those on shore, a mighty shout went up and the beaten
raiders turned to see a trim, white whaleboat racing towards them from
beyond the point.

Madly they pulled to reach their brig ere they were overtaken by these
new enemies. Already the first boat had gained the vessel’s side, and
panic-stricken, the crew flung themselves over the ship’s rails,
dropping the painter of their boat and thinking only of safety. But the
second boat was too late. When still far from the brig, the _Hector’s_
boat was upon them, and, as the raiders glimpsed the grim, heroic figure
of old Pem standing with uplifted iron in the bow, deadly fear gripped
them and with agonized screams they strove wildly to escape. The next
instant the heavy iron hurtled through the air, and as it crashed among
them, the men, with one accord, leaped from their seats and plunged
headlong into the sea.

“Reckon that finished of ’em!” growled Cap’n Pem grimly. “Sarves ’em
right if I speared ’em like pupusses. Wonder what in tarnation’s the
rumpus is anyhow. Give way, lads!”

Long before the boat had reached the beach, the brig had slipped her
cable, her yard had been swung, and as the last of the swimmers pulled
himself into her chains, she was standing towards the open sea.




CHAPTER XIII

HOMEWARD BOUND


As the boat grated upon the beach and Cap’n Pem and the two boys leaped
ashore, Mike started to relate his story of the raiders and the battle,
but in the midst of his narrative his jaw dropped, he rubbed his eyes
and then suddenly burst into a roar of laughter.

“Saints presarve us!” he shouted. “Shure an’ ’tis another cripple yez
are afther bringin’,—an’ black as the ace o’ spades! B’gorra ’tis three
av’ a koind we are. An’ what wid the b’yes, ’twill be a foine full-house
we’ll be afther havin’ on the barrk!”

Then, controlling his mirth with an effort, he related the events of the
raid.

“Didn’t I tell ye that there bo’sun bird was bad luck!” ejaculated Cap’n
Pem. “Fust the storm an’ then this ’ere raid. How much ’ile’d they git
off with?”

“But who were they?” queried Tom, before Mike could reply.

“Jes’ low-down or’nary, black Portugee raiders,” exploded the old
whaleman. “’T’ain’t the fust time they’ve turned the trick. Derned ef I
ain’t sorry I didn’t spear a few on ’em!”

“Shure, sor, Misther Potter, O’im not countin’ av thim casks they took,”
explained Mike as Pem ceased. “’T’was three boatloads they put aboard
the brig, but b’gorra Oim thinkin’ ’tis not manny. The most av thim wuz
yonder where we druv thim off. An’ faith, Oim afther thinkin’ the storrm
bust more av the casks than the haythens sthole.”

But the loss of oil was far greater than Mike had imagined, for when
they reached the pile of casks which had served as a barricade, they
discovered that nearly every one in the outer tiers was riddled with
bullets and that the precious oil had leaked out. Of the hundreds of
filled casks which the men had toiled so hard to secure, barely two
hundred were left—not enough to grease their boots with, as Cap’n Pem
put it.

It was all very discouraging and disheartening, and while Cap’n Pem knew
that, had he not gone to rescue Sam, the loss would not have occurred,
or at least would have been far less, still he refrained from mentioning
it, for to the whalemen the saving of a human life, even if a crippled
negro, meant far more than several thousand dollars worth of oil. Mike
too, was far more disturbed and disgruntled over the injury to his
wooden leg than over the loss of oil or the other misfortunes that had
befallen the whalemen, and every man agreed that it was all due to the
bo’sun bird having rested upon the _Hector’s_ mast.

In fact, the men, as a whole, were very morose and sullen and not a few,
including Cap’n Pem himself, expressed doubts of the _Hector_ coming
back and declared that if she were wrecked it would be no more than
might be expected. It was useless for the boys to try to laugh at their
forebodings, or to ridicule them out of their superstitions, for their
belief was firmly fixed and the very fact that so many misfortunes had
befallen them was proof, to their minds, that they were right.

Indeed, as the boys constantly heard the men discussing the matter and
listened to stories of death and disaster following the visits of bo’sun
birds to other ships, they found themselves getting nervous. And when,
after the _Hector_ was a week overdue no signs of her had been seen, the
boys began to fear that something _had_ happened to the bark and that
they would be marooned upon the island for an indefinite time. But
despite their troubles and superstitious fears, the men went back to
their labors and as the sea elephants again began to return to the
island they resumed the killing and boiling.

In the meantime, the two wounded raiders were on the road to recovery,
although unable to work, but they steadfastly refused to divulge any
information in regard to the brig or the raid.

“Wall, I reckon ye’ll tell when we git ye back to New Bedford an’ shet
up in jail,” remarked Cap’n Pem. And deciding it was useless to question
them further, he dropped the matter.

Then, one day, as the boys clambered over the hillside above the camp,
Jim glanced seawards and gave a glad shout. Faint upon the horizon
gleamed the upper sails of a ship.

“Hurrah!” he cried. “There’s a ship. I’ll bet it’s the _Hector_!”

“Maybe it’s some other ship,” said Tom. “And perhaps it’s not coming
here at all. Let’s wait and be sure before we tell the others.”

But the vessel was evidently heading for the island, for gradually sail
after sail rose above the tossing sea and each minute the ship became
more and more distinct, until the watching boys could see that it was a
bark with every sail set.

“It must be the _Hector_!” insisted Jim. “Come on, Tom, let’s go down
and tell the men.”

But by the time they had reached the shore, Cap’n Pem had already
sighted the oncoming vessel and both he and Mike were studying her
through their glasses.

“_Is_ it the _Hector_?” cried Tom. “Oh, do hurry up and tell us!”

“Looks like her,” admitted Cap’n Pem, “but can’t say yit awhile. Comin’
dead head-on and can’t make her out.”

“Shure an’ ’tis the barrk all right, all right,” declared Mike,
decisively. “Oi kin say thot patch on her foretorpsail phwat Oi put
there mesilf.”

“Derned ef ye kin, ye old liar!” exclaimed Cap’n Pem. “Reckon my eyes is
better’n yourn, an’ I can’t see it.”

“Thin ye’re oisight’s a-failin’ yez,” replied Mike, with a chuckle, “as
well as yer manners, Misther Potter, sor.”

But here further argument ceased, for at the moment the bark altered her
course a little disclosing her hull and spars and old Pem slapped his
thigh.

“Blow me if ’tain’t!” he cried. “Comin’ a sky-hookin’, too! Git busy,
lads, the _Hector’s_ a-comin’! Work lively an’ we’ll be home’ard boun’
this time to-morrer!”

Elated at the good news, the men fell to with a will and by the time the
bark shortened sail and slowly worked into the anchorage, everything was
in readiness to be sent aboard. The boys thought they had never seen
anything quite so beautiful as the old bark and a wave of homesickness
swept over them as the anchor plunged into the sea and the _Hector_
swung to her moorings off the beach. But even before the yards had been
swung or the cable had roared out, Cap’n Pem had manned his boat and the
boys were speeding towards the bark.

Welcome, indeed, to the boys were the kindly, sunbrowned features of
Captain Edwards, the scarred face of Mr. Kemp, the stolid,
expressionless face of Swanson, the freckled countenance of the boy and
even the rough, unshaven, but well-known members of the crew. It was
almost like being home again to be once more upon the decks of the bark
and the boys could scarcely believe that they had been away from her for
more than two months.

“How are you getting on, boys?” cried the captain as he shook their
hands heartily. “Got enough oil to fill up, I suppose.”

Then, turning to Cap’n Pem: “Everything ready to come aboard, Pem? How
many casks you got? Hope you’ve had good luck. Crew we put ashore on
Deception had tough luck. Elephants scarce and whole catch didn’t come
to two hundred bar’ls.”

But the news that Cap’n Pem brought was far from encouraging and the
face of the skipper became very grave as he listened to the mate’s story
of the raid and the loss by storm.

“I expect that’s the same ship that’s been over to Deception,” he said.
“The men reported vast quantities of bones from last season. Very likely
they intended killing here, and finding the oil and so few men decided
to raid it and save the trouble of killing and boiling for themselves.
It’s an old trick of some of the island Portugees, and with oil so high
they could well afford to take risks. Glad you got a couple of ’em.
Maybe they’ll tell enough so the gang can be broken up. It’s too bad,
though, the whole catch won’t pay expenses unless we have good luck and
take whales on the voyage. Well, no use crying over spilt milk. I’m
thankful no men are lost. So you found a castaway, eh? If everything’s
ready, lower the boats and get everything off. I’m anxious to get clear
as soon as possible. Don’t like the looks of the glass. I’m afraid we’re
in for a rip-snorter of a blow.”

Rapidly the goods on shore were loaded into the boats and brought off
and within a few hours of the time when the _Hector_ had arrived, the
last boat load was on board, the boats were at davits, and with the
joyous feeling of being homeward bound the crew bent to the handspikes
and roared the ever-welcome chorus of:

    We’re homeward bound, may the winds blow fair.
        Good-bye, fare ye well,
        Good-bye, fare ye well!
    Wafting us true to friends waiting there,
    Hurrah, my bullies, we’re homeward bound!

Then, as the bark veered to the wind and the great sails filled and the
land slipped away astern, the boys looked for the last time upon the
desolate Antarctic island with its towering mountains, its wheeling
albatrosses, its giant seals and its forbidding shores.

With every stitch of canvas set, the _Hector_ heeled far over to the
freshening breeze and plunged forward like a steamer through the seas,
with the foaming bow-wave rising to the catheads and acres of yeasty
froth streaming astern.

Steadily she raced onward towards the north and still no signs of the
approaching storm which the skipper had feared. But the glass was
falling steadily, the clouds scurried in wispy shreds across the sky and
the waves constantly increased in size.

The following morning, the boys came on deck to find the crew aloft
shortening sail, with only the lower topsails and spanker set and the
bark wallowing sluggishly to the long, oily rollers running in from the
western horizon.

“Looks like a mighty hard blow a-comin’,” remarked Mr. Kemp to the boys.
“Some wind behind these rollers you can bet.”

Then, hurrying forward, he barked out orders while the crew scurried
about, lashing down everything movable, securing the boats and making
everything snug. Much to the boys’ surprise the negro, Sam, was the
liveliest and hardest worker of all and despite his peg-leg, he
scrambled aloft like a cat and hopped along on the footropes with the
best of them.

Cap’n Pem eyed him approvingly. “Derned if he ain’t a proper sailorman,”
he remarked. “Wisht ev’ry gosh-derned man’d lose a leg if ’twould make
’em good as him.”

By noon, the sky had become a deep, sickly, yellowish-gray, the seas had
increased to mountainous size, and ever and anon, a sudden blast of
cold, chilling wind screeched through the rigging, heeling the bark to
her lee-rails, only to be followed by an ominous calm. By now, the bark
had been stripped to close-reefed topsails and Captain Edwards and old
Pem paced the deck with anxious faces, peering intently into the west,
while at the wheel three men were stationed with lashings ready for
instant use in case of emergency. Along the rails and between the masts,
lifelines had been stretched and everywhere were evidences of
preparations for severe weather.

Suddenly, from the lookout forward, came a sharp, warning shout and
against the black horizon, the boys saw a streak of milky-white,
gleaming like snow against the inky sea.

“Hold fast!” roared Cap’n Pem, plunging to the shrouds and bracing
himself. “Git below there, boys! Hurricane’s a comin’!”

But before they could obey, the screaming wind was upon them. The boys
had a passing glimpse of the steersmen hastily lashing themselves fast,
of the skipper wrapping his arms about a backstay, and the next second,
they were half smothered under a blinding, roaring sheet of snow and
hail. They felt themselves lifted from the deck, their hands were torn
loose from their grip upon the companionway; they were whirled, bumped,
tossed and rolled head over heels and were sure their last moment had
come when, with a resounding thump, they brought up against the mizzen
mast and clung to the belaying pins for dear life. Over and over went
the bark, until it seemed as if her swaying yards would be buried in the
hissing brine and her deck sloped like the roof of a house, while
overhead, with the roar of thunder, howled the gale. Then, when the boys
thought destruction was inevitable, there was a report like a cannon
above them and the great topsail ripped from its bolt-ropes and sped,
like a huge bird, into the murk. Gradually and sluggishly the bark
righted, her bow swung off, and gathering headway, she sped before the
hurricane like a frightened bird. For hour after hour the wind screeched
through the rigging and the _Hector_ tore onwards before the gale,
burying herself under tons of green water, staggering drunkenly to the
summits of the white-crested waves, but gallantly, bravely, weathering
the storm. After the first mad onslaught the worst of the hurricane had
blown itself out and the boys, clinging to the lifeline, had crawled
aft, drenched and half frozen and had taken to the cabin. Then, changing
clothes and buttoning pea-jackets and oil skins about them, they again
made their way on deck, for life was unbearable in the tossing,
groaning, heaving cabin and the boys felt deathly sick as long as they
were below.

The storm, however, while severe, was not of long duration and by eight
bells the wind had died down, the glass had begun to rise and Captain
Edwards ordered the crew to make more sail.

Under her increased canvas, the bark made better weather of it and by
night she was sailing easily, but with terrific speed, through the still
heavy seas. By the following morning, the sky was clear and blue, the
wind had died to a good, stiff sailing breeze, the sea had fallen to a
moderate swell and the decks and woodwork glistened like frost as the
dried salt sparkled under a brilliant sun.

“Gee, but the old _Hector_ is a wonder, isn’t she!” exclaimed Tom, as
the boys reached the deck and gazing about saw that there was not a sign
of damage from the stress the ship had been through.

“She is, that,” replied the captain. “Ships like her are not built
nowadays and she’s good for another hundred years.”

“How about your old bo’sun bird, now?” laughed Jim as Cap’n Pem
approached. “According to you we should have sunk yesterday.”

“Hump!” snorted the old man. “Don’t ’spect one bird kin bring bad luck
f’rever, do ye? Reckon he’d oughta be satisfied with all the
shennanigans he’s kicked up a’ready.”




CHAPTER XIV

THE BOYS MAKE A DISCOVERY


Day after day, the wind held fair and steady, and the gallant, old bark
hurled herself through the hissing seas as though she knew she was
homeward bound and as anxious to see New Bedford light as were the men.

The second day after the storm, sail after sail had been piled onto her
and even her stunsails had been set, for the captain’s last hope of
making the cruise a success lay in securing sperm whales, and he drove
his ship at her utmost in order to reach the tropics and the sperm whale
grounds as soon as possible.

In order to obtain fresh supplies, the _Hector_ again put into Tristan
da Cunha and the boys received a rousing welcome from Paul and Getty.
When the story of their adventures on Elephant Island was told, the
Potter boys thought Tom and Jim the two luckiest fellows in the world,
and they roared with merriment over Mike’s amazement at seeing Sam and
finding him a negro with a wooden leg. But they were just as firm in
their belief that the bo’sun bird was responsible for the ship’s bad
luck as were Pem and Mike, while their grandfather prophesied that, in
his opinion, the bark’s troubles were not yet over.

“Boun’ to be a death in the bark’s comp’ny,” he declared. “Never knowed
it to fail. Jes’ as soon as that happens the curse’ll be off.”

“Well, there’ve been plenty of chances to have a death,” Tom reminded
him, “and yet there hasn’t been. Seems to me, if the bird wanted any one
to die he’s missed some awful good opportunities.”

“Mebbe,” admitted old Lem. “But ye never _can_ tell what fate has in
store fer sailors. I been to sea nigh fifty year an’ I _tell_ ye the
more ye see the less ye knows.”

But despite their superstitions, the islanders sympathized most heartily
with Captain Edwards and all wished him the best of luck and professed
confidence in his finding whales and filling up with sperm oil. When the
bark hoisted anchor and sailed from Tristan, one member of her company
was left behind, for Sam declared his intention of waiting on the island
for the yearly mail ship which would take him back to St. Helena.

Three days after the island had dropped below the horizon astern, the
lookout on the _Hector_ reported a steamer’s smoke ahead, and soon
afterwards, the smudge of black was visible to those on deck.

“Can’t imagine what she is,” declared Captain Edwards. “We’re out of the
track of merchant ships.”

“Maybe it’s a German raider,” suggested Jim. “Then Cap’n Pem _would_
crow over us for scoffing at the bo’sun bird.”

Scarcely had he spoken when Mr. Kemp hailed them from the crosstrees.

“Warship, sir!” he shouted.

“Gosh, perhaps you’re right, Jim!” exclaimed Tom. “Say, wouldn’t that be
the limit?”

“Jest erbout what I’d be expectin’ of,” declared Cap’n Pem. “Onluckiest
cruise ever I seed. Reckon I’ll stick ter shore arter this.”

“Better wait till you get there,” teased Jim. “If it’s a raider you may
be killed. Some one’s got to die, you know.”

“Shet up!” retorted the old whaleman petulantly. “Ain’t there ’nough
troubles without a talkin’ ’bout bein’ kilt?”

But all fears as to the identity of the approaching warship were put at
rest a moment later, when the second mate called down that she was
British and flying signals.

“Can you read them?” asked the skipper.

“Yes, sir,” replied Mr. Kemp.

Slowly he read the flags and called them out, while below, Captain
Edwards ran his finger down the code book and, a moment later, with a
wild yell, he dashed down the book and seemed suddenly to have gone
raving mad.

Throwing his hat in the air, shouting and laughing, the usually staid
and dignified skipper danced and leaped about and capered like a
schoolboy. Then, leaping to the rail and steadying himself with a grip
on the shrouds, he yelled, “Whoop her up, boys, the war’s over! Three
cheers, my lads—three times three!” And as the good tidings dawned upon
them, the crew gave such rousing cheers that even those upon the warship
must have heard.

“Up with your ensign, Mr. Potter. Up with Old Glory and salute!” roared
the skipper. “And dress ship! Run up everything you can find!”

But already the boys had forestalled Cap’n Pem and before the old mate
could reach the flag-locker, Tom was bending the Stars and Stripes to
the halliards and a moment later it rose fluttering to the peak. Three
times he dipped it in salute to the trim British cruiser, and, an
instant later, the Union Jack dipped in return. Long ere the cruiser was
out of sight strings of gay bunting were fluttering up to the bark’s
mastheads and Captain Edwards ordered the _Hector_ hove-to.

“No more work to-day!” cried he, as the yards were swung and the light
sails furled. “Summon all hands and tell them it’s a holiday, Mr. Kemp.
Serve cigars from the after stores, and tell cook to get up the best
meal he’s ever cooked for the crew. Nothing’s too good for this day!”

Never had a more boisterous or uproarious day been spent at sea than
that which celebrated the close of the World War on the old _Hector_,
even though the Armistice had been signed two months previously.

A few days later, a whale was sighted and the spirits of every one rose
as three boats were lowered, Captain Edwards himself going in one. But
despite every effort, not one of the boats succeeded in getting near the
whale until after a long and heart-breaking chase. Then Cap’n Pem got
fast, but before the other boats could come near, the iron drew and the
thoroughly frightened whale disappeared. Crestfallen, the three boats
returned to the bark and once more, yards were squared and the _Hector_
plunged northwards on her course. Then followed day after day of light,
baffling winds and an oil-like sea upon which the _Hector_ rolled lazily
with canvas slatting idly against the masts and with barely enough
motion to give her steerage way.

Lolling upon the decks on the fourth day of the sweltering calm, the
boys were gazing idly at the lofty trucks as they slowly swung to and
fro across the cloudless sky, when Tom suddenly jerked himself upright
and stared fixedly at the fore royal yard.

“Gee, it is!” he ejaculated. “Look, Jim, isn’t that a bo’sun bird up on
the fore royal yard, close to the mast?”

Jim peered at the spot indicated and for a moment could see nothing.
Then a slight movement caught his eye and he made out the snowy plumage
and long tail feathers of the bird.

“You’re right!” he assured Tom. “It’s another bo’sun all right. Funny no
one else has seen it.”

“No one’s looked aloft,” replied Tom. “They’re all busy on deck and even
Cap’n Pem hasn’t bothered watching the sails, it’s been so calm.”

“Well, don’t let’s tell any one,” whispered Jim. “It’ll just make them
nervous.”

But the bird had no intention of not having his presence known, and
scarcely had Jim spoken when it uttered several harsh cries. Instantly,
every man’s eyes were turned to the royal yard and at that moment a
second bo’sun bird fluttered down and alighted beside the first. Almost
like a dirge, a deep, moaning sigh arose from the crew.

“Gosh!” exclaimed Tom. “That must mean twice as much bad luck to come
and three men to die. Cap’n Pem will be——”

“Thar she blows!” shouted the lookout, and instantly the harbingers of
misfortune were forgotten as the men rushed to their boats.

Within a mile of the motionless bark, two big sperm whales were swimming
lazily, now and then rolling on their sides, occasionally slapping their
enormous flukes against the water playfully and evidently utterly
oblivious of the enemies so near. Rapidly all four boats were lowered
and went speeding towards the whales, and ten minutes after they had
been sighted both of the creatures had irons in their sides and were
towing two boats each at express train speed. Directly away from the
_Hector_ they sped; one to the west and the other to the north, and in
an incredibly short space of time the boats were out of sight of the
deck. But the lookouts on the mastheads could still see them and
constantly reported their doings to Mike, who had charge of the ship.

“Skipper’s fin-up!” shouted a lookout presently. “Mister Potter’s
millin’! Now he’s sounded! Breached again! Going in! In his flurry!
Spoutin’ blood! Fin-up!”

“Hurrah, they’ve killed ’em both!” yelled the boys, who had been
watching from a point of vantage on the main royal yard. “Now who says
bo’sun birds are bad luck!”

“Faith Oi do,” replied Mike. “’Tis tin good moiles they be an’ wid
noight a-comin’ on. B’gorra, ’tis a foine fix we do be in wid the barrk
becalmed. Shure ’tis aither losin’ o’ the whales or av the ship for
thim, loike as not.”

Then, as if to prove the ridiculous superstition false, a breath of hot
wind stirred the Hector’s upper sails; another stronger puff filled the
topsails; the glassy sea broke into shimmering crinkled ripples, and ten
minutes later, the bark was gliding swiftly towards the distant boats
before a steady wind.

Just as the sun was sinking beyond the rim of the sea, the two whales
were alongside and by the time darkness fell, cutting-in was in full
swing and the black smoke of the try-works rose like a pall above the
_Hector’s_ trucks.

Throughout the night, the following day and the next night, the work
went on without cessation and at the end of the time one hundred and ten
barrels of sperm oil had been stowed in the bark’s hold.

Once more the captain and men looked hopeful while Tom and Jim teased
old Pem and the others unmercifully over their superstition. At first,
the old whaleman strove to find some argument or excuse to uphold his
belief, but failing in this, he wisely declined to say anything, while
Mike, with Irish wit, declared that three always was a lucky number
whether bo’sun birds or anything else and that he was sure that their
bad luck was over.

Captain Edwards claimed that he never had had much faith in such things
and was convinced there was nothing in it, while Mr. Kemp admitted that
he never knew of three bo’sun birds lighting on one ship on one voyage
before and therefore didn’t know what it might foretell. But not even
the most superstitious and pessimistic seaman could have found any
reason for saying, “I told you so,” for the weather held fine until
after the bark had crossed the equator and three more whales had been
taken and had added their quota of nearly one hundred barrels of oil.

Every one was in high spirits and Captain Edwards felt confident that
even if he could not fill up he could secure enough oil to meet the
expenses of the cruise when he reached the West Indian grounds. Once
more, however, ill luck seemed to be with the _Hector_. For week after
week she cruised about, with lookouts constantly at the mastheads, but
never the welcome “There she blows!” sounded from aloft, and once again
the men began to grumble and the skipper lost his smile and jollity.

“Guess it’s no use, Mr. Potter,” he announced one day. “Might as well
give up. We’re just wasting time and money here,—must be I’m getting too
old for a-whaling.”

Faint upon the distant horizon, shimmered a small island, and putting
his glasses to his eyes the captain studied it intently for a time.

“I expect we’d better run over to Monita yonder,” he remarked, half to
himself. “There’s good water there and coconuts. Might as well fill the
casks and let the men stretch their legs ashore before squaring away for
Gay Head.”

At his direction, the helmsman spun the wheel a few spokes, the bark’s
head swung towards the island and the boys, elated at thoughts of going
ashore, gazed with interest at the little speck of sea-girt land as the
bark rapidly bore down upon it. Soon the nodding palms upon the shores
were visible, the boys could see the rich, green growth upon the low
hills; upon the beach of coral sand they could see the slender thread of
white foam and near one end they made out a small stream flowing across
the beach to the sea. Never, they thought, had they seen such a
beautiful spot as this little West Indian island. They were fascinated
by the wondrous blue and turquoise of the sea. The fact that it was
uninhabited thrilled them with the boyish love of desert islands, and
they were crazy with impatience to get ashore and explore the land
beyond the wave-worn rocks that bounded the beach at either end.

Half a mile from the shore, the bark came to anchor, and as the boat was
lowered and the boys dropped into it, they uttered cries of wonder and
delight at the marvelous scene which met their eyes as they looked over
the boat’s side. Through the crystal-clear water the bottom, five
fathoms below, was as plain as though they were looking through air.
Half buried in the sand, was the bark’s great anchor with its trailing
cable; huge starfish and sponges of every hue dotted the ocean’s floor;
big purple and violet sea-fans waved gently to an unseen current and
about the many-colored masses of coral, gay-hued fish swam to and fro
like submarine butterflies.

As the boat grated upon the snowy sand beach, the boys leaped ashore,
and yelling like Indians with the sheer joy of the feel of land under
their feet they raced up the beach. While some of the men rolled the
water casks to the edge of the stream, others proceeded to gather
coconuts, while Cap’n Pem seated himself under the shade of a spreading
tree, and lighting his pipe lay back upon the soft, warm sand.

Intent upon exploration, the two boys hurried along the beach to the
outjutting rocks—stopping now and then to examine some odd specimen of
marine life cast up by the sea—and scrambling over the sharp limestone,
they found themselves at a little semicircular cove bordered by a second
beach.

A few yards from them, a large, irregular grayish object was bobbing
about at the edge of the water and thinking it some strange fish or
animal, the boys hurried to it. Much to their surprise, they found it to
be a mass of curious, porous material unlike anything they had ever
seen.

“It looks like pumice-stone,” commented Tom. “But there isn’t any
volcano here.”

“And it’s soft,” announced Jim who had poked it with a bit of driftwood.

“Must be some sort of sponge, I guess,” said Tom. “Let’s pull it ashore
and look at it.”

Bringing sticks from the fringe of brush along the beach, the boys tried
to drag the stuff ashore, but it broke or pulled apart easily and the
sticks could get no hold on it.

“Funny stuff,” remarked Tom, as he stooped to examine a small lump he
had dragged up with his stick. “Something like water-soaked bread.
Hello! Hasn’t it got a funny smell.”

“And here’s a piece of horn or something in it,” exclaimed Jim. “Say,
let’s take this piece back and ask Cap’n Pem about it. They must have
some coconuts down by now.”

Picking up the small piece of the material which had so aroused their
curiosity, they made their way back over the rocks and found the old
whaleman snoring.

“Oh, Cap’n Pem!” cried Tom, poking their friend gently in the ribs.
“Look here, what’s this stuff?”

“Lemme be!” ejaculated the old man. “Derned ef ye _ain’t_ a nuisance.
Why can’t ye ’muse yersel’s? What ye want, anyhow?”

“We want to know what this is,” explained Tom, holding out the lump of
greasy, gray stuff they had found. “There’s a big pile of it yonder and
we never saw anything like it.”

Impatiently Pem raised his head, glanced at the object Tom held out, and
the next instant leaped to his feet as if a bomb had exploded under him.

“Jumping Jehosephat!” he shouted as the boys gazed at him in amazement.
“Where’n tarnation’d ye git it? Got a lot on it, ye say! Well, I’ll be
everlastin’ly biled! What is it? Sufferin’ cats, don’t ye know? It’s
ambergris, boys, ambergris, an’ wuth five hundred dollars a poun’ ef
it’s wuth a cent! Come ’long, where in Sam Hill is it?”

“Ambergris?” cried Jim as the two boys hurried towards their find, with
Cap’n Pem stumping at his top speed beside them, “and worth five hundred
dollars a pound! Hurrah! We’ve got a fortune, Tom. There must be a ton
of it.”

But although there was far less than a ton of the valuable material,
there was enough to make the old whaleman’s eyes fairly bulge from their
sockets, and, calling on the boys to help, he plunged into the water to
his armpits and feverishly rolled and dragged the mass of ambergris
beyond the water’s edge. Then, floundering about in the shoal water, the
three gathered a number of smaller masses which had broken loose, and
hunted over every corner of the beach and rocks searching for more,
while Cap’n Pem constantly uttered exclamations of wonder and
congratulations to the boys.

“Better’n a full cargo o’ ’ile!” he declared. “Why, ding-bust me! Ye’ve
got nigh onto two hunderd pound here, an’ that’s a hunderd thousan’
dollars—jes’ as good as two thousan’ bar’l o’ ile. Derned ef ye ain’t
millionaires! Reckon they’re bein’t no more. Run over and fetch the men,
Tom, and hev ’em bring some o’ them casks.”

When at last the ambergris was safely secured in the casks and in the
boat, everything else had been forgotten, and hastily throwing in the
coconuts, Cap’n Pem and the two boys were pulled to the bark. Carefully
and with constant cautioning from Cap’n Pem the casks of treasure from
the sea were lifted on board and carried aft, where, to the wondering
eyes of the skipper and the others on board, the boys’ find was
exhibited.

“But it’s not ours,” declared Tom, when the captain congratulated the
boys on having made a fortune. “It belongs to the ship. We’re officers,
you know and we won’t take more than our lay.”

Despite the captain’s protests, the boys were firm in their decision and
at last the other gave in.

“Well, have it your way if it pleases you,” agreed the captain. “The
ambergris weighs a little over 300 pounds so your share of that alone
will be about $3,000, each. Looks as if the _Hector_ wasn’t so unlucky
after all. If we’d taken three thousand barrels of oil—besides what we
have—it wouldn’t have been worth more than those casks. You’ve saved the
day, boys.”

“Reckon I’ll have ter knuckle down about them there bo’sun birds,”
chuckled Cap’n Pem. “Mebbe three on ’em does mean good luck, jes’ as
Mike said.”

“Shure an’ didn’t Oi tell yez ’twas a full-house we’d be afther havin’
aboord ship?” exclaimed Mike. “An’ b’gorra, ’tis harrd to bate
thot—burrds or no burrds!”

“Or perhaps it was your wooden leg,” laughed Tom. “Dad said the bark was
as likely to go to sea with a wooden-legged mate as to come back with a
load of ambergris, and it’s done both. Gee, won’t we have the laugh on
him, though!”



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