Author: Neil Martin

Publisher: Xlibris Corporation

Published: 2013-04-18

Total Pages: 286

ISBN-13: 148362594X

UNDER topsails and courses, the Diana cruised slowly south by east, working the whaling grounds that reach across the Atlantic between Bermuda and the Cape Verde Islands. For a month she cruised hither and yon, following a zig-zag course that took her halfway across the Western Ocean, with her lookouts scanning the barren sea day after day, but with never a sight of spout or fluke. In the meantime, the crew had not been allowed to bask in idleness. When the watches had been chosen, Brett had picked Steve in his. Later, after a week of boat drills, the mate had chosen him to be his boat steerer. Gormley couldn’t account for this – unless the mate wished to have him handy when the time came to even matters for the beating he had suffered at Steve’s hands. Sooner or later the showdown would come. Gormley was sure of that. Because he had demonstrated his seamanship, he was spared the “breaking in” suffered by the green hands. At least half the crew were making their first voyage to sea. These had to be taken in hand by the mate and “shown the ropes,” from the jib downhauls aft to the spanker sheets. And woe to the unlucky wretch who failed to learn promptly! Left with the seasoned hands, Gormley was kept busy doing odd jobs about the ship. Shrouds had to be set up and tarred down, ratlines renewed, halyards spliced. Harpoon irons were fastened to their poles, scraped of their coatings of red lead, and polished. The grindstone was kept busy, as knives, cutting spades and lance points were ground to a razor-like edge. In the early seventies, kerosene and coal gas were fast displacing whale oil as a means of illumination. But other uses had been found for the oil, which was still selling for one dollar a gallon. Yet in spite of the high price of oil, the decline of the whaling trade was setting in. In the old days, before the Civil War, crews had been easy to get. But now, in the 1870’s, with plenty of work ashore at high wages, it was increasingly difficult to get sufficient men to work the ships. Few men cared to go whaling. The reason was not hard to find. In the first place, whale men did not receive wages. The whale ship was a cooperative enterprise, with the men before the mast on a one-hundred-and-sixty-fourth lay, the boat steerers on a seventy-fifth, while the mates ranged from the sixtieth received by the third mate, to the fortieth that was the mate’s share. The master stood to receive a thirty-second share of whatever oil was taken in the course of the four-year voyage. Out of this, the food they ate was charged to the men’s accounts. Damage to the ship or any part of her gear was also deducted. Likewise, the owners were insured against the desertion of the crew, and the premiums were charged to the men – with interest. The ship, too, was insured, exacting a further toll against the final lay. They were scandalously overcharged for the shoddy clothing they drew from the slop chest, and for the moldy, dank tobacco they smoked. Reasons enough for the decline of the whaling trade! Aside from all that, the Diana wasn’t a hard ship. Captain Larrabee wouldn’t stand for the hazing of the crew. Only when the Old Man was below did Brett ever dare to strike a man. Twice every Sunday, from nine to ten in the morning, and during the second dog watch, all hands gathered aft for religious services – wherein Captain Larrabee thundered his denunciations of the devil and all his works with great earnestness and fury. “Saves our souls on Sundays, and damns ‘em on week days,” old Sankey remarked one Sunday to Steve, as they headed aft to morning worship. But there were no services that day. Hardly had the crew gathered below the break of the poop when the lookout on the foremast bawled: “Blows – ah, blows!” Instantly the meeting broke up. Without waiting for orders, the men rushed to the boats and made ready to lower away. And then the lookouts on the main and mizzen yelled simultaneously: “Wreck h