Young Dick

by John Jarvis

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Enter!” came the reply to Richard’s knock on the Captain’s door. Richard entered and found he looking at the Captain’s back. Captain Nathanial Smith had positioned his desk to look out the wide stern window, and he spun around on a swivel chair that was fastened to the deck.

  “Welcome on board Horizon, Master Digby; you may take a seat while you relate your adventures that led you to be abandoned on a heathen shore.”

  Richard did so, but avoided sensitive details as to the wealth Subtile had accrued and the means used to obtain the same. He was likewise deliberately obscure as to navigation and the ship’s positioning, but the Captain seemed satisfied and only sought clarification on weather and sailing conditions.

  “Now, young man, we must get down to business matters. My beloved wife will rejoice in the fact that I have saved a Christian gentleman from the clutches of Godless savages, but I have to show our company a profit. I take it you have no money?”

  “None, Sir.”

  “Then you must work your passage, young man. I will sign you on as a deck hand and you will receive a small share of the profits from any future catch, but I must point out that we need only one more sperm whale to achieve our target of five hundred tons. The First Mate will assign you quarters and watches.” The Captain began to swivel before Richard delayed his dismissal.

  “There is on other matter, Sir.”The Captain raised his eyebrows. “The heathens have presented you with gifts, Sir – if I may retrieve them from outside the door?”

  “You may.”

  Richard gathered up the cloak and clubs, leaving his basket beyond the door. The Captain was both delighted and dismayed by the gifts.

  “The cloak is magnificent Digby; how could such a backward culture manufacture such a garment? But I find the savages’ weapons offensive and you may keep them, they may fetch you some well-needed funds for your future, whatever God decides that is.” The Captain completed his 180-degree swivel.

  Richard was assigned a hammock in the crew’s quarters as far away from the companionway as possible. He was to start again, even lower in the pecking order than he had on Subtile. The hammock next to him was obviously in use, with items of clothing folded neatly and more alarmingly, a seven-foot long harpoon tipped with vicious barbs lashed to the bulkhead. There was a gap where four hammocks had once swung, with kit bags and trunks stacked and lashed to the deck, and then the remaining hammocks of the watch clustered around the door-way.

  Richard dropped his few possessions into his hammock and was about to report to his watch officer when the bunkroom grew dark. A huge figure completely blocked out all light from doorway, and when it straightened up after entering Richard saw a native as tall as the harpoon and as wide as the door coming towards him.

  “My name is Squanto and I from the Wampanoag people of Canopache, the place white men call Nantucket. No need you go on watch, soon finish, I sent to tell you duties. They put you beside Indian, you used to natives they say, white man’s fun.” He offered the largest hand Richard had ever seen and he grasped it expecting to be crushed, but the shake was surprisingly gentle.

  “My name is Richard Digby and I am more of a stranger to these people than are you; I will need your help.”

  “You now my friend, no need help, I show you duties, tonight we talk again.”

  After his instruction Richard was allowed to wander the ship and make himself familiar with all aspects of life aboard a whaler. Firstly, there was the stink of whale oil – it was everywhere: in the holds, in the air, in the ship’s timbers and even under one’s skin. Horizon was different in every way from Subtile: no fine lines, gracefully raked masts and the need for fast sailing; instead, Horizon was longer, far beamier and deep drafted, a solidly constructed vessel built for harsh conditions and heavy work. ‘Not a ship you could fall in love with,’ thought Richard.

  He returned below to the empty bunkroom and undid the stitching of his gift basket. He gave it a shake and heard a hollow rattle. He put his hand in and drew out one of the objects. At first he thought it was some kind of coconut – but when he realized what it was, he dropped it back into the basket as though it was red hot. The hackles on the back of his neck rose, his stomach gave a lurch and his heart pounded beneath his ribs. When he managed to control his breathing, he retrieved the object and gave it a close scrutiny. Sightless eye sockets, half covered with dried lids looked at him from a shrunken skull of a tribal warrior. The quality tattoos suggested he was once a Chief. The dried lips had shrunk back from the mouth, leaving yellow teeth in the rectus of a smile and lank black hair sprouted from the dried scalp; it was the most disgusting object that Richard had ever seen. Richard’s first inclination was to run topside and heave the basket into the ocean, but pecuniary necessary overruled his initial revulsion. Such a gruesome artifact from a newly-discovered savage land would demand a price that only the very rich could afford, so he re-stitched the basket, took up the long club and sought out Sebastian the First Mate. He found him legs astride on the quarterdeck, his eyes taking in the set of the sails, the haul of the boat and the pitch of the sea.

  “What is this, Digby – come to take over the ship, have we?” he said, not unkindly.

  “No Sir, I am in need of a chest and would trade this weapon for such an item,” Richard replied. The First Mate’s eyes lit up.

  “You may take your choice of those of the late departed as they have no further use for them,” said Sebastian, “I will arrange another receptacle later.” Richard left him swishing the club as if dispatching piratical boarders.

  Back in the bunkroom Richard selected the only chest with a lock and key, removed the pathetically few possessions and secured his own few items. He fashioned a cord from sail thread and placed the key around his neck. Eight bells called him to his first watch.

  Although exhausted after a four-hour watch where Horizon plunged ever deeper into the Southern Ocean, Richard found the energy to tell Squanto his story of life with the natives before his rescue. Other crewmates had gathered by the door and ignited foul pipes; they were playing some game of dice but did not speak. All sailors love a story.

  Richard told of his voyage on the Subtile exactly as he had to Captain Smith, but omitted nothing about his experiences with the two tribes. When he finished Squanto gave a long sigh and said, “I hope those tribes do not fight the white man as we tried to do in open land. They will be defeated.”

  “They are very skilled in jungle warfare and are masters of defense; they will be difficult to defeat,” suggested Richard. “May I ask you questions?” Richard received a nod. “What happened to those missing crew members?”

  “They were killed by whale, some say whale attacked but whale gentle creatures; this great one surfaced under longboat, spilling crew in sea and in fright smashed down tail killing four.” Squanto shrugged as if it was all part of a whaler’s life.

  “But why are you so far away from the Americas; are there not whales closer to home?” Richard asked. Squanto nodded as if he had expected the question.

  “Many right whales off coasts, but the sperm whale has wax in head that makes bright flame and pays bounty like on us in time past.” Squanto glared at his crewmates but they were talking, engaged in their game and not listening. “Captain says he chase them to end of world, but we need to catch only one more.”

  “Tell me about your people,” asked Richard gently.

  “My people are no more,” Squanto began sadly, “I am last Sachem. We called our lands Canopache, place of peace, but white men came, no bring peace but war. We fight but were destroyed; only four hundred left and white man’s sickness took them. No one left but me on whaler. Now other tribes move into poor land not wanted by whites; soon other tribes have same fate as more whites come.” Squanto turned his face away and remained silent in his hammock. The dice game came to an end and the rest of the watch did the same.

  Richard had never worked harder in all his young life. His hands became raw fr
om lines and canvas, his face became leather from the wind and hail, and when ice appeared on the yards, frostbite added to his misery. Compounding this was that he was often placed on consecutive watches and the Captain used Richard’s bursarial skills to complete the ship’s accounts. On a bad day he would grab only four hours’ sleep. All these trials would have been more manageable had the food on Horizon been adequate, but it was at best barely palatable and at worst disgusting. The cook, an angular man with a gamey leg courtesy of a shipboard accident, never washed his hands and had the capacity to destroy any nutrient residing in food bordering on rotting by boiling it to death or smothering it with lard. The smoked fish bartered from the tribe was rendered down to a tasteless mash and only Squanto could intercept it and share it with Richard, marinated in oil and served with drooping watercress. The officers fared only marginally better in that they had first call on the concoctions.

  Richard was in the Captain’s cabin attending to the accounts, and in the process learning more about whaling. The white wax Squanto had referred to was called spermaceti and was located in front of and above the skull. The government paid a bounty on the waxy substance that burnt with a bright flame, but this was expected to be withdrawn: hence the Captain’s desire to fill his ship before returning to Nantucket.

  “Thar she blows!” The strange call from the masthead filtered down to Richard in the cabin, and he hurriedly completed his accounts and hastened up on deck.

  The southern sea had settled into a gray heaving mass, and in the short distance a waterspout fell back into the sea followed by the sounding of a very large sperm whale. This leviathan of the deep soon resurfaced and blew another jet of water discharge, oblivious to the fact that Horizon was hurriedly lowering boats and filling them with big powerful men armed with a variety of barbed and barbless weapons. Squanto stood proudly in the bow of the first boat out of the davits hefting his massive harpoon. Richard watched in awe.

  “Trust our Captain Smith to run down a lone sperm whale in this vast expanse of southern ocean.” Sebastian had joined Richard at the rail. “Observe well, young Dick, the most dangerous occupation on the sea; you may never see another.”

  Three boats had closed to within fifty yards of the giant whale that seemed unaware or unconcerned of their presence, but that was about to change. Even at the distance Richard could see the calf muscles and biceps of Squanto bulge as he prepared to launch his harpoon into the whale’s heaving side. With a primeval yell that could be heard on the mother ship, Squanto cast long and straight, his harpoon burying deep into the whale’s body. Ripples of shock radiated out from the deeply implanted barb like water on a pond, the giant reeled itself out of the water, plunged deep into the ocean to rid itself from the torment, and then the playing began. Squanto shifted to the stern of the whale-boat, the crew hurriedly shipped oars, and a leading seaman began pouring cold water from a bucket onto the smoking line as it uncoiled and raced through the hawser.

  The whale sounded long and deep and Richard had no way of knowing how long the line was, but he could see the leading seaman take up an axe, ready to sever the snaking line should it threaten to reach its end and drag the boat under. The other two whale boats rowed furiously to catch up and support their careering crewmates. Just when the prey seemed lost, the line went slack and the men cheered. Minutes later, that seemed like hours, the giant surfaced, burst into the air and then crashed down onto the surface of the sea. With a defiant spout the whale dived again and the hair-raising procedure was repeated. Three more times the stricken whale surfaced, and sounded each time shorter and slower until it rested, exhausted, on the surface. The whale-boats closed in like sea wolves and lanced the hapless creature to death. The sea turned red.

  The whale’s carcass was hauled alongside Horizon and secured. Men armed with razor sharp flensing knives swarmed over the dead creature and began cutting its blubber into strips. Richard was excluded from this dangerous work because the carcass moved in the swell, nor was he strong enough to heave the strips into the try pot stationed amidships; instead he was assigned to keep the fire blazing from the supply of lumber in the hold. This was far from an easy task as the dried wood burnt quickly and with great heat. Richard had no break from clambering up the ladder, one hand for the ship and one for the bundle of wood to keep up the required heat. Too much fire would endanger the ship and a ship’s pump stood by in case sparks or spitting timber fired the deck.

  It took all day and most of the night to dispose of the whale, and Richard was glad he was spared seeing the flayed and butchered remains of a once proud whale and the world’s largest mammal sink beneath the wake of the departing Horizon.

  Before Richard collapsed into his hammock Squanto brought him some cooked whale flesh. He initially recoiled in horror, but the giant Indian gently explained and encouraged him.

  “I have prayed for the spirit of the whale Richard, and thanked him for the bounty of his nourishment. This strong healthy food, and you need it to survive the voyage. All crew no eat but they fools and waste much, eat.”

  Richard did and was pleasantly surprised at the fine texture and taste. He added his prayer to the spirit of the sperm whale.