by Joan Aiken
"Cheer up!" he whispered. "Things'll look better in the morning. They allus does."
But Dido was not listening to him. Curled up like a dormouse, she burrowed deeper under the sheepskins, hid her face in the prickly straw, and cried herself to sleep.
2
The captured whale.
The mysterious weeper. Captain Casket's task.
When Dido woke once more dawn had broken, wild and red and dim. The ice-covered ship gleamed like a Christmas tree. What had roused her were the shouts of the men, who had returned towing a large sperm whale, their three boats spread around it like tugs. Dido was astonished at the sight of this huge, mouse-colored monster, almost as big as the ship, it seemed, with its steep face, flat and featureless as the side of a house. At first, in alarm, thinking it was still alive, she scrambled out of her straw bed and retreated to the far side of the deck. But then she realized that it was dead and the men were making it fast to the ship.
"What are they going to do with it?" she asked Nate, who ran along the deck with five mugs of hot coffee clutched precariously in each hand. By day he was revealed as a long, lanky redhead with friendly gray eyes and a great many freckles.
"Cut-in, o' course. I can't stop now, chick. Why don't you step down to the camboose and get some breakfast?"
Dido guessed that the camboose must be the kitchen, but she was too interested in what the men were doing to leave the deck for a while.
They had the whale's body slung on ropes from the rigging, and now, by winding a massive windlass, were causing it to turn over and over in the sea. Meanwhile they sang:
"Oh, whaling is my only failing
Sailing whaling's done for me!
Life's all Bible leaves and bailing.
Never ask me in when there's decent folk to tea!"
At the same time several men were skillfully slicing with sharp, spadelike tools so that the blubber, or skin, was peeled off the whale's body in a spiral, like orange peel. Sections of this blubber strip were removed and lowered through a forward hatchway.
"Hush your weeping and your wailing,
Six-and-thirty months I'll be at sea—
Tears and grumbles are unavailing.
And never ask me in when there's decent folk to tea!"
"What do they do with it down there?" Dido asked a passing man. He scowled at her. It was Mr. Slighcarp, the first mate.
"Ho! You've woken up to plague us, have you? Don't you go near the try works or I'll spank you with a deck spade."
"They mince it up in the blubber room, ready to be boiled down for oil," another, more good-natured man told her. "Mr. Pardon, the second mate, I'll show you sometime. He's right pleased to hear you've woken up at last."
"Which is the tryworks, mister?"
"Over there."
She looked where he pointed and saw a brick furnace in the middle of the deck, with huge metal pots built in above. Men were feeding the fire in the furnace with bits of tarred rope and frizzled scraps of whale, while others tossed chunks of blubber into the pots. Soon the brew in them began to melt and bubble. Thick, black, greasy smoke rolled over the deck.
"Cor, love a lily-white duck!" gasped Dido as a murky bank of the smoke surged towards her and almost smothered her. "I never in all my born smelt such a smell, never! It's enough to make a bad egg bust out crying and go home to mother."
Nate, who was passing with the empty mugs, laughed. "You'd better get used to it," he said. "There's going to be plenty more afore we're through."
The men worked like furies all through the morning in order to get as much as possible done while the brief daylight lasted. At noon a little old bow legged Negro, whom everybody addressed affectionately as "Doctor," came on deck with a steaming cauldron of something that smelled very appetizing, and the men helped themselves from it when they could snatch a moment from their labors.
"Go and help yourself!" Nate called to Dido—he was sharpening tools on a grindstone.
Rather timidly she approached the cook, who gave her a flashing white grin and handed her a tin pannikin of hash.
"You like lobscouse, eh? Best lobscouse from here to Christmas Island, eh Mr. Pardon? Make a change from whale oil, I b'lieve?"
Mr. Pardon, the white-haired, kindly-faced second mate, smiled at Dido and said:
"Bless me! Who'd 'a taken you for the poor little shriveled poke we hauled on board ten months ago?"
"What's lobscouse made of?" Dido asked, looking suspiciously at the mixture in her pan. "Why, corned beef and hardtack and good salt water. Eat it up! You can still do wi' a bit more flesh on your bones."
By this time the whole deck was covered with an unbelievable mess of oil and slime and bits of the whale's thin outer skin. The sails were blackened by smoke, and the rigging was all furred up with greasy soot.
"This is a mucky trade, ennit?" Dido said to Nate, who was still whirling away at his grindstone, sharpening the cutting spades as they became blunted by use. "What do they want the whale oil for, anyways?"
"Oh, lamps and horses' legs," he answered vaguely. "And trains, I guess. Here, pass this down to Uncle 'Lije as you're about, won't you? Mind the slumgullion."
"When I'm old and weak and ailing
Sailing whaling still I'll be;
Lash me standing to the lash railing
And never speak my name when there's decent folk to tea."
came the voices from the windlass.
Dido moved cautiously over the littered deck, but she had the ill-fortune to tread on a particularly slippery patch of oil, lost her footing, and slid, entangling the cutting spade she carried with the legs of Mr. Slighcarp as he stretched up to pull down a blanket of blubber from the hook. He fell sprawling, with the blubber on top of him, and, when he rose, cursed Dido most evilly. Matters were not helped by the shouts of laughter from the crew.
"I—I'm sorry, mister," Dido gulped, trying to suppress her own giggles. "I couldn't help it, honest!"
"Git below!" snarled Mr. Slighcarp. "I'll have no frog-spawn like you littering the deck while I'm in charge. Git, or I'll toss you overboard!"
Terrified at this threat, Dido picked herself up and scurried away. Guided by a gesture and a wink from Nate, she slipped down a hatchway and found herself suddenly out of the noise and stink and bustle, on a neat little winding stair, white-painted and silent. Where did it lead? On she went, cautiously exploring, and presently entered a good-sized stateroom, also white-painted, and very tidy. A rocking chair stood by a glowing stove; a swinging bed was made up with a patchwork quilt; over this hung a compass, upside down. Dido studied the compass for a moment, but it meant nothing to her; nor did the charts spread on the table. A huge book held them down; she opened it; it was the Bible. While sniffing the petals of a blooming pink geranium on a shelf, she was startled by a small sound from somewhere close at hand. It sounded like a sob.
Arrested, Dido stood motionless, listening. Yes! There again! More sobs, half-stifled at first, then breaking into a low, wailing cry: "Mamma! Oh, Mamma!"
Dido thought she had never in her life heard a sound so lonely and desolate.
The cabin was empty; where, then, did the voice come from? There were two doors, one on each side, in the white paneling. Trying them, she found that both were locked, but the sound seemed to come from behind the right-hand one. When she tried it a frightened voice whispered, "Who's there?"
"It's me. Dido Twite. Who are you?"
No reply. Dead silence from beyond the door. Dido tried again.
"Come on! Do say summat! I ain't a-going to bite you! Why are you shut in?"
No answer.
"Croopus," Dido sighed to herself. "This is a rum brig and no mistake. Pink whales and spooky voices. Don't I jist wish I was safe home."
A whisper hit her ear like a small cold draught. She leaned to catch what it said.
"I believe you're Aunt Tribulation. Go away!"
"I'm Dido Twite, I tell you!"
"Go away!"
"Pooh," said Dido, hurt. "All right, I jist will. And you can holler for me next time." She made her way back on deck, greatly puzzled. Whose could the voice be? No one she had seen or heard of yet, that was certain. It had sounded like a child—but nobody had mentioned a child.
This time, keeping well clear of the tryworks and the fierce Mr. Slighcarp, she made her way to the quarterdeck. There she found Captain Casket, silent, withdrawn, and stern-looking. He had his back to her and was studying the compass in the binnacle, so she tiptoed to the rail and stood watching two gulls on an ice floe as they quarreled over a scrap of blubber.
Presently she felt a chilly sensation in her shoulder blades and turned to find that Captain Casket had his strange, sad eyes fixed on her.
He cleared his throat once or twice, as if speaking were not a very common activity with him, and said, "What is thy name, child?"
"D-Dido, sir. Dido Twite."
"A heathen name," the captain murmured. "No matter. There may be godliness within." He scrutinized her with an intent, close regard, as if measuring her for some purpose he had in mind. Dido looked back wonderingly.
At last he said, "Thee has a firm chin, my child, and a philanthropic brow."
"Has—have I?" Dido said, surprised. "Coo, I never knew. Maybe I got some o' the gurry on it when I fell down." She rubbed her forehead with her sleeve.
"I need thy help," Captain Casket went on. "Thee looks like a strong, brave character."
Am I? Dido wondered. She realized with surprise that she did feel strong, far stronger than she had been before she fell into her ten-month sleep.
"Does thee think thee can be kind but firm with somebody not so blessed in courage and strength?"
Suddenly Dido began to guess what he was leading up to. Forgetting her awe of him, she blurted out, "Well, mister, if it's anything to do with that poor little thing that's locked up downstairs, I can tell you straight I think it's a wicked shame. How would you like to be locked up?"
Captain Casket looked at her sadly. "Child, thee doesn't understand," he said. "I am not her jailer. She did it herself. She bolted herself in when her mamma died. No words of mine avail to draw her forth."
"Ohhhh!" Dido breathed, round-eyed. "Mercy gracious, why ever'd she do that? Is she your little girl, then?"
"Yes," he said, sighing.
"What's her name? How old is she?" Dido was all curiosity. What a queer thing, to shut oneself in a cabin!
"She's nine," he said heavily. "Her name is Dutiful Penitence Casket."
"Croopus," Dido murmured.
"Her mamma, my dear wife, though endowed with every Christian virtue, had one foolish failing," he went on, half to himself. "This was her incurable fear of the sea. I thought that if I took her with me on a voyage it would allay her fear and improve her delicate health. Fool! Fool that I was. From the very night she came on board she closed the curtains tight across the portholes of the cabin and never so much as glanced out. Nor never set foot out on deck, neither she nor the child. Nor never let any of the crew come near the cabin." He paused and added in a lower tone, "But the ways of Providence are strange to us."
"And so the poor lady took and died?" Dido said compassionately, as he seemed to have come to a stop.
"Yes, my child. And Penitence, who had imbibed her mother's fears, believed the sea had caused her death."
"So she shut herself up."
"From that day to this," he agreed, sighing. "I believe she thinks the sea will kill her too, if she ventures out."
"Coo," said Dido. "What a jobberknoll. But what does she do for prog—for vittles?"
"The little cabin where she slept next to my wife is also the store where my dear Sarah kept preserves and spices and medicines. I believe Penitence has been living on beach-plum jelly and sassafras all this time."
"Well, my ma would soon clobber me if I went on in such a way," said Dido frankly. "And if you was to ask me, I think she sounds touched in the upper works. But I can see what you wants. You wants me to put the wheedle on her and make her come out, ain't that so?"
"Yes, my child. Thee has guessed right. I have a hatred of violence or trickery; I would not force her to come out. But if thee can somehow persuade her..." He looked at Dido hopefully and added, "After all, we did pull thee out of the sea. We saved thy life."
Ignoring this, Dido looked at him sharply and asked, "Why didn't you get Nate or Mr. Pardon to have a go with the little girl?"
Captain Casket appeared slightly embarrassed. At last he said, "My child, I tell thee this in confidence. The crew are not aware that Penitence has locked herself up in this way. They—they believe that she is ailing. To have it known that she defies me would be bad for discipline. Thee"—he gazed at her anxiously—"thee will not divulge what I have told thee, my dear?"
"Oh, now I twig your lay," Dido said. He looked bewildered. "I see why you been so havey-cavey about her. All right, I'll keep mum. And I don't mind having a try."
"Thee is a good child. I am truly grateful," Captain Casket said almost humbly. "I feel thee may succeed where I have failed."
Dido gave him a shrewd look. "If I manage to wheedle her out, will you see I gets a passage on the fust ship that'll take me back to England?"
"Anything in my power I shall do," he assured her quickly. "As soon as we return to New Bedford I shall inquire about sailings."
"What'll happen to Dutiful Penitence then?"
"Oh, my sister Tribulation will look after her," Captain Casket said, avoiding her eyes. "Now I must leave thee to oversee the cutting-in. Goodbye my child. Thee may have the use of my stateroom. I will move into Mr. Slighcarp's cabin."
As he walked aft, rather fast, Dido stared after him thoughtfully. Why had he been so anxious to get away? Somehow she felt that, although he seemed a good man, she could not entirely trust Captain Casket. And what a ninny to let his daughter get the upper hand in so decided a way! He's weak, Dido decided. Means well, but he's weak. That's the sort that allus lets you down in the end.
Still, she thought, I can look after meself. I'm a big girl now. And she surveyed her extra six inches with pride before squatting down, chin on fists, to consider the problem of how Dutiful Penitence Casket was to be persuaded out of her shell.
3
Talking to Penitence.
The veiled lady. Hopscotch. Dido makes a promise.
Long after dark had fallen Dido was still loitering on the quarterdeck, her brow wrinkled in thought. Twice since her talk with Captain Casket she had gone below, tapped on the panel in the captain's stateroom, and tried to persuade the hidden occupant of the little room beyond to come out. Her first attempt had met with no response; next time, the only reaction had been a fierce, miserable whisper from behind the panel: "Go away. Go away! Whoever you are, I shan't come out. I know you're only trying to trick me to go up on deck and be drowned!"
Dido saw that she would have to be clever.
"What do you do all day long in there?" she asked, the beginnings of a plan sprouting in her mind. There was no answer. She had not really expected one. She went on, half to herself, "Well, I don't wonder you gets blue-deviled if you does nothing but sit and think o' drowning all the time. Cheesy, I calls it!"
She left the cabin, shutting the door behind her with a loud, annoying slam.
After more than sixteen hours of frantic, continuous work, the captured whale was all cut up and melted down; Mr. Slighcarp's watch staggered below, blind and speechless with fatigue. At last the moment arrived that Dido had been waiting for. She stretched, rose, left the quarterdeck, and went along to the tryworks, which were simmering down, now, to a dull red glow. Half a dozen weary men were scrubbing the deck with ashes; their shadows flitted to and fro under a towering, arctic moon. From time to time they paused in their labors, dipped bits of hardtack in the still-molten blubber, and chewed them. The good-natured Mr. Pardon was supervising the work.
"Why, dearie," he said in surprise, "you shoulda been in your bunk hours ag
one. Cap'n Casket tells me he's given you his stateroom for to be company for little Miss Penitence. Mr. Slighcarp's not best pleased at having to move in with me, but 'tis more fitting for you than lying up here on a donkey's breakfast. And I guess you'll be better able than a man to look after that poor little ailing lass."
Dido nodded soberly. "Mr. Pardon," she said.
"Well, dearie?"
"What's Captain Casket's little girl like?"
"Like?" Mr. Pardon scratched his white head, puzzled. "Why, I guess she's like all little gals. Sews her sampler, reads her lesson—Mrs. Casket allus used to hear her lessons when she was alive, poor lady."
"But what's she like?" Dido persisted. "What kind o' games does she like to play?"
"Play? Why, I dunno as how she plays any games. But my nephew Nate here'd know better'n I do; his home's right near to the Casket place."
"Games?" said Nate when appealed to. "Don't reckon she ever played any. Very quiet little thing, sorta peaky. Her ma allus kept her pretty much at her stitching and so forth."
"Blimey," muttered Dido, "what a setout. No wonder she's such a misery. Mr. Pardon, d'you reckon as how you could make me a shuttlecock for her? Out o' whalebone or summat? I could stick it with gulls' feathers."
"I don't see why not," Mr. Pardon said doubtfully. "Guess it would be simple enough. But what would Cap'n Casket think? Mrs. Casket allus used to say that toys were inventions of the Devil."
"I guess he'd have to put up with it," Dido said. "He asked me if I'd try to take Dutiful Penitence out o' herself. She's pining for her ma."
Nate was interested in the scheme. "I could make a whalebone bat," he offered. "And some checkers or spilikins."
"Could you? That'd be bang-up!"
Dido went below, well pleased with the way matters were shaping.
The big cabin was lit by a hanging whale-oil lamp. Dido turned the wick up to its brightest. Then she listened. No sound came from Dutiful Penitence, so Dido banged the cabin door, opened and shut some drawers several times as loudly as she could, and overturned a chair with a tremendous clatter.