William H. Macy  Source  Whalesite

Leaves from the Arethusa's Log.
No. 23

W. H. Macy

Flag of our Union.
Vol. 23, No. 47 (Nov 21, 1868)
p. 750.

Leaves from the Arethusa's Log.

No. 23.

HOMEWARD. — THE EPISODE OF GALWAY MIKE. — CAPE HORN. — THE LAST WHALE.

      The inspiring cry of "There she blows!" greeted our ears the third day after leaving Sydney, and two sixty-barrel bulls, tugging at the fluke-chains that night, were the rich reward of our hard day's labor, putting us all in high spirits, for another hundred barrels would fill the ship, and this we hoped to get somewhere on the passage. Our progress was somewhat delayed, of course, as we were obliged to lose the fair wind while cutting. We had the last "junk" in the tackles, when a sail was seen to windward running down across us, and, on drawing nearer, was made out to be a small hermaphrodite brig. He seemed to recognize us, for, instead of running down across us, he rounded to windward and lowered his boat. As he came up to the wind, exposing his broadside to view, we had no difficulty in recognizing a little brigantine that lay a little inshore of us, while in Sydney. "That's the Paramatta!" said a dozen voices at once, and no one knew her better than our supernumerary shipmate. He said not a word to those near him, but went aft to the captain. He stood respectfully on the lee side of the quarter deck, waiting till the old man should be at liberty to notice him. Nothing in his manner or appearance indicated that he was at all disturbed or alarmed.

      "Well, Mike," said the old man, as, shutting up his spyglass and turning round, he, for the first time, perceived him. "What's the word? You know that fellow, I suppose?"

      "O, yes, sir. That's the Paramatta, bound to Auckland. I suppose it's all up with me."

"How so?" asked the old man. "Do you mean to go on board and give yourself up?"

      "No, sir, not I; I shall never go unless I am carried by force; but I thought perhaps you might give me up, as it would save you the trouble and delay of landing me at New Zealand. Perhaps I did you injustice in thinking so. I hope I did, sir."

      "Of course you did, Mike," said the captain, severely. "I gave you my word that I would land you, and I shall keep it. Perhaps you had better keep out of sight for the present, as I don't care to have it known that you are on board my ship, and some of the boat's crew might recognize you."

      "All right, sir," replied the convict. "I'll be all snug before they get here. His crew wouldn't be likely to blow upon me any more than yours would, but old Pickering himself would sell me at sight to get the reward. He would like nothing better than to take me to Auckland. You see he isn't a regular-built seaman, sir; he's a sort of 'long shore trader."

      "I see," said the old man. "Well, he won't be much the wiser for his visit to me. But here he is, close under our quarter. You wont need any instruction about hiding yourself, for you are qualified to teach me," he added, with a laugh, as Mike passed forward and vanished below the deck.

      "It's very likely," said the old man, walking to the mainmast, and raising his voice for the benefit of all who might be within hearing, "that some inquiries will be made about that man who is not down by name on the ship's articles. As for myself, I don't mean to know anything about him. The rest of you, of course, are at liberty to turn informers, if you wish to. I should be sorry to think any of my men would do so, but I have no authority to dictate what subjects you shall talk about."

      He had said enough; Mike's secret was perfectly safe. Pickering, the skipper of the brigantine, a "comfortable" looking Englishman, with thin side whiskers, and a general roast-beef appearance, stepped on deck and shook hands with Captain Upton.

      "Ah! captain, you've got a good cut, I see."

      "Yes," answered the old man. "We've had greasy luck, and got a couple of nice whales. When did you leave Sydney?"

      "The same day that you did, in the afternoon. Have you got a strange man on board, captain?"

      "I don't see any," said our conscientious skipper, glancing innocently forward among the groups of men. "Your harbor police overhauled me pretty severely before I tripped my anchor, and they didn't see any, either."

      "Yes, I noticed they spent some time on board of you. But there was a mighty stir among them within two hours after you left. The keeper of that public near the landing was arrested for having harbored and concealed him. Some one informed against him, and it was proved that this Galway Mike had been seen near the house the evening before, and so, instead of putting back into the bush, it was thought he had gone on board some vessel."

      "The Jolly Tar is fallen into melancholy, then, I suppose."

      "Yes," replied Pickering; "the landlord had his 'ticket' revoked, for he was a lag himself. He was lugged up to Hyde Park Barracks and put into uniform. He will have to serve out his time in the stone quarry."

      "But don't you think," asked the old man, "that if that convict had been on board the ship, he would have shown himself before this time?"

      "Yes, he would," said the Englishman, "unless some of your men are parties to his concealment, and furnish him with food. In that case he might be concealed for some time."

      "So he might," said our captain, dryly. "That's true."

      "He may be hid somewhere on board at this moment," observed Pickering, in a low and mysterious tone.

      "I shouldn't wonder," answered Captain Upton, in the same manner. "Or he may be on board the Paramatta."

      "He wouldn't be likely to run from New South Wales to New Zealand, if he could get any other voyage. There's thirty pound reward offered for his apprehension," said Pickering.

      "Is there, indeed? That's quite an object. But, come, let's go below and take something. I'm too busy to hunt for the man now, but if I should find him on board before I get to New Zealand, I'll land him there."

      They reappeared in a few minutes, and Pickering manned his boat and left us. The brigantine was soon running off on her course, and the convict was again at work among the rest.

      "His fingers are itching for that thirty pounds, Mr. Grafton," said the old man. "He didn't make anything by coming here. I didn't tell him any lies though — or, at least, nothing but Quaker lies," said he, compromising with his conscience. The mate laughed, evidently understanding what he meant; but Mr. Dunham inquired his meaning.

      "Well," said the captain, in explanation, "you don't remember Uncle Reuben the shoemaker, but Mr. Grafton does. I went there to be measured for a pair of boots, and, of course, I asked him when they would be done? 'Well,' said he, 'thee may come in seventh-day night.' So at the appointed time, I went for my boots, and he hadn't begun on them yet. I was much disappointed, for I expected to have worn them on Sunday, and I said to him, indignantly: 'You told me they would be done Saturday night.' 'O, no!' said Uncle Reuben, in his mild way; 'I didn't tell thee so. I told thee, thee might come seventh-day night, and that was just what I meant. If they were done, thee could have them; if not, I would tell thee when to come again.' Now that was as near a lie as anything that I said to Captain Pickering."

      We finished boiling and stowing down our oil, and again cracked sail on the ship. On the twelfth day after leaving our port we made the North Cape of New Zealand, and the islands named, by Tasman, "The Three Kings." We stood in near the coast, looking for an eligible place to set our man ashore, and the old man said to him:

      "I suppose, Mike, you wouldn't want to be landed very near the Bay of Islands?"

      "No," said the convict, "I would rather not. Put me among the Maories, and that is all I want. There is a headland here not far off. I'll tell you when we come to it. There, I can see it now," said Mike, who appeared to be better acquainted with the coast than any one on board. "There is the entrance to a snug, land-locked bay called by the natives, Wangaroa. It's not generally known to whalers yet, but will be visited more, by and by. Put me on the rocks, anywhere within the entrance, and I'll give you no more trouble. I am known among that tribe there. The English authorities will not find me, there. The Maories are in a state of war with the English, and they are not to be despised when they fight in their own way, among their native mountains."

      We hove to off the place indicated, and lowered our boat, taking the convict himself as our pilot. He shook hands heartily with everybody, seeming neither elated nor despondent, but self-collected and impassible as he always was. He took with him nothing but an old musket and some ammunition which the old man had given him. We rounded a point of rocks and pulled a short distance into the bay, when two Maories, on an elevation a short distance from us, hailed us, at the same time bringing their muskets up to the shoulder. We ceased pulling and lay on our oars. The convict rose and answered them in their own dialect, seeming to speak it quite fluently. They answered again, and a short conference seemed to produce satisfactory results, for they lowered their guns and descended the hill towards us, after giving a louder shout than any before, to which we could hear a responsive yell from voices further up the bay.

      "They'll pass the word all the way over those mountains," said our cool and ready companion. "There's a chain of sentinels and pickets on every hill. It's all right; these fellows know me well. Lay right in for that flat rock, and I'll land there."

      We did so; he jumped out on the ledge of rock, and with a single "good-by" to us, he rushed up to meet the two natives half-way. They seemed to greet each other as former acquaintances might, and the three disappeared over the brow of the hill together, as we pulled out at the mouth of the bay. This was the last that any one of us ever saw of our "government man;" but some two years afterwards, I read, by accident, in a Sydney newspaper, an account of a smart and bloody skirmish between the English troops and the Maori tribes, and among the slain had been found the body of a white man, tattooed in the face like a chief of rank, and it was recognized as that of a desperado long known in the colonial settlements as Galway Mike. Thus read the statement in the Gazette, and this is all I know of his history.

      The passage across the South Pacific Ocean is monotonous and barren of incident. From New Zealand to Cape Horn we had rugged weather and strong winds, for the most part fair for running on our course, at times blowing, day after day, with the regularity of trades, again hauling a few points so as to trim for it on the other quarter, and in one or two instances increasing to a gale, so violent as to compel us to heave to for the safety of the ship. As we approached Cape Horn we again encountered the cutting hail squalls which seem almost peculiar to this part of the world, but with the wind aft, we did not mind them so much as when outward bound. Rolling off before the westerly gales with sufficient press of canvas on the ship to keep her well clear of the mountainous seas in chase of her, with everything well secured, and careful men at the wheel, we laughed at the weather now, and wondered at our own progress, as we counted off five, six, or seven degrees of longitude each day, and reckoned how many more days at this rate of sailing ere we should have room to edge away to the northward and begin to steal towards a milder climate. Degrees of longitude are short ones in this latitude, and we seem to be "putting a girdle round about the earth," if not, like Puck, "in forty minutes," yet still at a rate that appears to us marvellous, as we find our clock nearly half an hour behind the sun each day at meridian, and push her ahead to keep her up to our flying rate of progress.

      Land ho! most welcome to our eager eyes, rough, barren and uninhabitable though it be, the storm-beaten rock of Diego Ramirez, for it tells us where we are, better than the whole slateful of figures. "Shake out another reef!" she'll bear it! another day's run, and we can shove her off north-east on the "home side of the land" — the towering seas gather and roll on after us — but keep the canvas on her and she will keep ahead of them — every one of them shoots her on towards "Home, sweet home" — Diego Ramirez fades into the dark squall astern, and if the wind stands where it is, we shall catch Cape Horn asleep. That squall has passed — it is not so heavy as it promised to be — "Give her the mainto'gallantsail!" We must make the most of the breeze while we have it, for we're homeward bound! The sun rises brightly this morning, and the wind is fresh yet, and canting to the southward — "Never mind! let her slide off two points, east-north-east now!" for we've plenty of sea room — we're in the Atlantic!

      We passed to the eastward of the Falklands, and were nearly on the ground where we lost our third mate, when outward-bound. Of course the melancholy circumstance was recalled, and talked over, and the captain mentioned that some twelve years previous, when mate of the Colossus, he had struck a whale in this vicinity, and lost him in consequence of his iron breaking.

      "I hope," said he, "to see whales yet in crossing this ground. It bids fair to be a good day to-morrow, and I think we will shorten sail at night and let her jog easy, so as to take a good look along here. One large whale would be all we want to chock us off, and we would go home with flying colors."

      The next morning we had hardly got the reefs shaken out, when whales were raised. There were several of them, but they did not appear to run together, but were seen here and there in different directions, and were also irregular in their time of rising and going down.

      "These whales have been gallied," said the old man, "and have not got regular yet. Some ship has been whaling here yesterday, I think. But here is one off the lee quarter that I think can be struck, Mr. Grafton. You and Mr. Dunham lower away and go down there and try him, and I will wait a while and take the ship's chance. If you get fast, I'll come down there to you."

      Away we went off to leeward, but it soon appeared that his whaleship was too shy for us, and was playing a dodge game with us. In vain we tried to "prick for him;" we spread our chances, and used our best judgment, but all to no purpose. He always rose in some unexpected quarter, and spouting but a few times, was down again before we could get near enough to "stand up." At length he took a start and went off to leeward at a round pace, and led on by our ardor in the chase we pursued it until we were full three miles from the ship, when it became evident that he was moving faster and faster at each rising, and we abandoned the chase, especially as the ship showed no signs of running off, but still lay aback in the same position as when we lowered. We laid round the heads of our boats towards the ship, and pulled to windward, wondering why the old man still kept his luff, when up went the ensign at the peak, and the small signal at the main was run up and down several times in rapid succession.

      "Give way hard, boys!" said the mate. "We are wanted in a hurry. The old man must have lowered and struck a whale to windward, and wants help. Perhaps he's stove! spring hard and shoot her up there!"

      We put our strength to the oars with a will, the second mate keeping way with us, and, though doing our best, it seemed in our anxiety and impatience, that he did not make any headway. The signal was now and then run up and down again hurriedly, speaking the most urgent language of which it was capable. We saw men on the bearers, apparently trying to clear away the lashings of the spare boat which was turned up overhead, but soon this seemed to be abandoned. We could make out now, as we drew nearer, that the cooper was on the hurricane house, waving with all his might to us and thus stimulated to greater exertion, we toiled away at our oars, the boats jumping into the head sea, and sending the spray all over us. We could hear them hailing us from the ship, long before we could make out the words. We could see them pointing to windward, as if to tell us we were needed there. Up across the stern we held our long and strong stroke, receiving the information as we passed, that the old man had struck a whale off the weather bow, and he had run him into the "sun-glaze," so that they could not see him from the ship, and they thought he must be stoven. He could not be far off, however, as he was not more than a mile from the ship when last seen.

      "Give way hard, boys!" said the mate again. "Brace forward, Cooper, and down tacks!" but he was already mustering his small force for this purpose. We "laid back" on our oars, the mates heaving at the stroke oars, and keeping a sharp look out, not pulling directly at the glare of the sun, but in a direction abaft it so as to look broad off the bow and beam of the boat. Soon the mate's countenance lighted, and he threw her head suddenly off with the steering oar.

      "Here they are!" said he, "and not far from us, either! Spring hard, men! They're all on the wreck — two, four, five, six — all safe yet!"

      They were, indeed, all safe as yet; but we were none too soon, for they were nearly exhausted, as there was a smart sea on, washing over them, and they had all they could do to keep their positions, the strongest assisting and encouraging the others. My friend Ashton was almost gone when I dragged him into our boat; a few minutes more would have finished him. The whole bottom of their boat was crushed, she had filled and rolled over with them, and they had all clung to the bottom.

      "Never mind the boat," said the old man, "she isn't worth picking up. Set a waif for the cooper to tack and stand towards us. Let's get on board, some of us and get the spare boat out. I think we shall see the whale again if we work up to windward a tack or two."

      The ship went about, and soon hove to again close to us. We shot alongside, put the half-drowned men on board, and had hardly done so when the whale came up in the ship's wake, distance less that half a mile. "Shove off!" was the word, and we were after him again with two boats, while the captain with his force were already rousing the third one off the bearers. The second mate got the lead this time and was fast a few minutes after pushing astern of the ship. The whale rounded to, and "showed good play," and we were quickly on hand to let more blood from him. He was already weakened from his wounds, and a few touches of the lance made him our prize. The spare boat was not called into service; but another short tack with the ship, and with shouts of triumph that rang loud and clear over the sea, we hauled alongside our last whale, that was to "chock off" the between decks and fill all our spare casks. Our perils in the attack of these monsters were over, for this voyage. No more hard pulls to windward — no involuntary sea-bathing — no more tedious "mastheads" to be stood. Well might we shout over this "last but not least" of our hard-earned prizes.

Source:

W. H. Macy.
"Leaves from the Arethusa's Log - No. 23."
      Flag of Our Union.
Vol. 23, No. 47 (Nov 21, 1868)
p. 750.

William H. Macy  Source  Whalesite