The prayers were finished—the captain had lifted his hand, as a signal to launch the body into the deep, when at that moment the tall, graceful figure of a lady appeared on deck. She cast one wild, hurried, inquiring glance around. Her eye fell on the shrouded corpse as it glided into the deep. With a piercing shriek, which rung far over the waters, she cried, "Father, I follow you!" and before anyone could prevent her, she sprung over the schooner's low bulwarks into the blue sea, within the first circles formed by her parent's form, as it vanished from our sight. In an instant all present rushed to the side; the boats were lowered rapidly; but as we looked around, no sign did there appear of the unhappy young lady. Such was the result of our night's exploit! "It is better, perhaps, that it was so," said the captain, dashing a tear from his eye.

I cannot say that the catastrophe made any lasting impression even on him. It did not on me. That very night we stood again up to the convoy, and were successful in picking out another of them without being discovered. Both vessels reached Guernsey in safety, and turned out valuable prizes.

I cannot pretend to give even an outline of all the adventures I met with while serving on board the privateer. From her fast-sailing qualities, and the daring and talent of her commander, she was very successful. We were constantly on the look-out for single merchantmen; and, unless they were strongly armed, they were nearly certain to become our prey. We never attacked an armed vessel if we could help it, and never fought if we could escape an enemy capable of injuring us. Now and then, when we thought that we were going to make prize of a rich merchantman, we found that we had caught a Tartar, and had to up stick and run for it. Twice we were very nearly caught; and should have been, had not night come to our aid, and enabled us to haul our wind without being seen, and thus get out of our pursuer's way.

Once, flight was impossible, and we found ourselves brought to action in the chops of the Channel by a French sloop-of-war of eighteen guns. Captain Savage, however, gave evidence of his skill and courage by the way he handled the schooner against so superior a force. By making several rapid tacks, we got the weather-gauge of our opponent; and then, after the exchange of several broadsides, we stood across his bows, when we delivered so well-directed a raking-fire that we brought his topmast down by the run. We had not escaped without the loss of several men, besides getting an ugly wound in our mainmast; so, to avoid any further disaster, and being perfectly content with the glory of having crippled an opponent of force so superior, we hauled our wind and stood up Channel. The Frenchman was afterwards fallen in with, and captured by a corvette of her own size.

I have, I think, sufficiently described the occupation of a privateer. What I might have become, under the instruction of my old friend Peter, and the strict discipline of a man-of-war, I know not. On board the privateer, with the constant influence of bad example, I was becoming worse and worse, and more the slave of all the evil ways of the world. After serving on board the schooner for more than three years, I was paid off with my pocket full of prize-money, and, shipping on board a trader, I found my way to Liverpool.

That port then, as now, afforded every facility to a seaman to get rid of his hard-earned gains. In a few weeks I had but a few shillings left. I had not the satisfaction of feeling that I had done any good with it. How it all went I don't know. I believe that I was robbed of a large portion. I was so disgusted with my folly, that I was ready to engage in any enterprise, of however questionable a character, where I had the prospect of gaining more, which I resolved I would spend more discreetly.

Liverpool at that time fitted out a number of slavers—the slave-trade, which was afterwards prohibited, being then lawful, and having many respectable people engaged in it. Hearing from a shipmate that the Royal Oak, a ship of eighteen guns, with a letter-of-marque commission, was fitting out for the coast of Africa, and was in want of hands, I went and entered on board her. She carried, all told, eighty hands. I found two or three old shipmates aboard her, but no one whom I could call a friend.

We reached the coast without any adventure, and in those days the slaves who had come down from the interior being collected in depots, ready for shipment, we soon got our cargo on board. For several years I remained in this trade, sometimes carrying our cargo of hapless beings to Rio de Janeiro or other parts of the Brazils, and sometimes to the West Indies. It never occurred to me that there was anything wrong in the system. All the lessons I had received in the West Indies, in my early days, were thrown away. The pay was good; the work not hard, though pretty frequently we lost our people by fever; and so I thought no more about the matter.

At length I found my way back to Liverpool, just as the battle of Waterloo and Napoleon's abdication brought the blessings of peace to Europe.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

WHALING IN THE SOUTH-SEA.

Every sea-port in England was thronged with seamen whom the cessation of war had cast on shore without employment, when as I was strolling along the quays of Liverpool with my hands in my pockets, in rather a disconsolate mood, wondering in what direction my wayward fate would carry me, I ran bolt up against a post near which a gentleman was standing, and somehow or other managed to tumble over him.

"Beg pardon, sir," said I, looking up in his face; "I did not see you."

"No harm done, my man; but stop," said he, as I was moving on; "I think I remember that voice and face. Jack Williams, I am certain?"

"Yes, that's certain," said I, looking at him hard. "And I may make bold to guess that you, sir, are Mr Carr."

"You are right in your guess, Jack;—that is to say, I have been Captain Carr for some years past. I am glad to have fallen in with you, for I am fitting out a ship for a long voyage, and I like to have men with me whom I know and can trust."

"Glad to have your good opinion, sir, and without another question I'll ship with you," I answered. "Where are you bound for?"

"A South-Sea whaling-voyage," he answered. "I have been at it for some years now, both as mate and master, and I tell you there's nothing like it for excitement and novelty. There's our craft, Jack; the Drake is her name. Look at her. Not a finer ship for her size sails out of Liverpool—measures five hundred tons, and carries forty hands. You'll like the life, depend on it; and I say, if you fall in with any good men, let me know. I like to have trustworthy men serving with me."

I promised to do as he desired, and then went on board to have a look at the ship. I found her everything I could wish, and felt perfectly satisfied with the arrangement I had made. Having set my mind at ease on that point, I began to consider how I should pass my time till the Drake was ready to receive her crew on board, for she was still in the hands of the carpenters. I bethought me, then, that I would run across to Dublin, to try and find out my old captain. I found a large smack—a regular passage vessel—just sailing, so I went aboard, and in two days we reached that port. On landing I inquired for Captain Helfrich, for I had forgotten where he lived. "There he goes along the quays," answered the person I had addressed; and I saw a gentleman whom, from his figure, I did not doubt was him.

"Captain Helfrich, sir, I beg pardon; but I'm glad to see you looking so well. I'm Jack Williams," I exclaimed, running after him.

"That's my name; but I do not remember you, my man," he answered.

"I served my apprenticeship with you, and you were very kind to me, sir," I replied; but as I spoke I looked more narrowly in his face, and saw a much younger man than I expected to meet.

"Ah! you take me for my father, as others have done," he remarked, laughing. "He has given up the sea long ago, but he will be glad to meet an old shipmate; and now I think of it, I have to thank you for the model of his old craft the Rainbow. Come along by all means; I'm going to his house. You'll find him much changed, though."

So I did, indeed, and it made me reflect how many years of my life had passed away. I found my old captain seated before the fire in a large arm-chair, with a book and spectacles on a table by his side, and a handkerchief over his knees. His hair was long and white as snow, and his cheeks thin and fallen in about the mouth; but still the hue of health had not altogether fled. He received me kindly and frankly, and seemed much pleased at my coming so far to see him. He desired to hear all about me, and was greatly moved at the account I gave him of the Rainbow's loss. He was sorry to find that all the time I had been at sea I had not improved my condition in the world. I confessed that it was owing to my idleness and unwillingness to learn.

"Ah, I have learned many a lesson I did not know in my youth, from this book here, Jack," said he, pointing to the book by his side, which was the Bible. "I now know in whom to trust; and had I known Him in the days of my youth, how much grief and shame I might have avoided! Mercifully, God has by His grace taught me to see my own errors; and I have endeavoured to remedy them as far as I have been able, in the way I have brought up my son. I have taught him what I learned from this book: 'Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth.'"

I was very much struck by the way my old captain, I may say the once pirate, spoke; and I afterwards learned that he had not failed to instil into his son the better principles he had imbibed. Still I am bound to say that he was an exception to the general rule; for, as far as my experience goes, men who grow careless of their duty to God and indifferent to religion, continue through life increasing in hardness of heart and conscience, without a thought of the past or a fear for the future—truly, living as if they had no souls to care for, as if there were no God who rules the world. Dreadful is their end! Therefore I say to all my readers: Never put off for a single hour—for a single minute—repentance and a diligent searching for newness of life. You know not what an hour, what a minute may bring forth. You may be suddenly summoned to die, and there may be no time for repentance.

Among other questions, Captain Helfrich kindly inquired for my old friend Peter Poplar. How ashamed I felt of my own ingratitude, my heartlessness, when I could not tell him! No one I had met could tell me whether he still survived, or whether he had fallen among the thousands of brave men who had died that England might be free. I promised to make further inquiries before I sailed, and, should I fail to hear of him, to set out on my return from my proposed voyage with the express purpose of discovering him.

That visit to my old captain is one of the few things performed of my own accord on which I can look back with satisfaction. The next day I sailed for Liverpool.

Many strange and curious coincidences have occurred to me during my life. Two days before the Drake was ready for sea, having failed to gain any tidings of Peter, I was standing on the quay—work being over— in the evening, with my hands in my pockets, just taking a look at my future home, when I observed a boat-load of men landing from a sloop which had lately brought up in the river. By their cut I knew that they were men-of-war's men. Several of them I saw had been wounded, and, judging by their shattered frames, pretty severely handled. One was a tall thin man. The sleeve on his right side hung looped up to a button, and he leaned over on the opposite side, as if to balance himself. I looked eagerly in his face, for I doubted not I knew his figure. It was Peter Poplar himself! I sprung eagerly forward. Captain Helfrich's appearance had made me feel old, but Peter's weather-beaten countenance and grizzly hair reminded me that my own manhood must be waning. For a moment I do not think he knew me. He had thought me dead—killed by the French fishermen, or murdered in prison. At all events he had heard nothing of me from the moment I was carried off in the fishing-boat. How kindly and warmly he shook my hand with his remaining one!

"I've lost a flipper, Jack, you see," said he, sticking out his stump. "I never mind. It was for the sake of Old England; and I have got a pension, and there's Greenwich ready for me when I like to bear up for it. There's still stuff in me, and if I had been wanted, I'd have kept afloat; but as I'm not wanted, I'm going to have a look at some of my kith and kin, on whom I haven't set eyes since the war began. Many of them are gone, I fear. So do you, Jack, come along with me. They will give you a welcome, I know."

I told him how sorry I was that I could not go, as I had entered aboard the whaler; but I spent the evening with him, and all the next day; and he came and had a look at the Drake, and Captain Carr was very glad to see him, and told him that he wished he had him even now with him. I cannot say how much this meeting with my old friend again lightened my heart; still I felt ashamed that I should have been in a trader, and away from one who had been more to me than a father, while he was nobly fighting the battles of our country. He had bravely served from ship to ship through the whole of the war. He, however, did not utter a word of blame. He only found fault with himself.

"I told you once, Jack," said he, "that I ought to have been a master, had it not been for my own ignorance, instead of before the mast; and having missed that, had I not continued too idle to learn, I might have got a boatswain's warrant. I tell you this because, though you are no longer a youngster, you have many years before you, I hope, and may still get the learning which books alone can give you, and without which you must ever remain before the mast."

I need not say that he made me promise to find him out on my return. I shall never forget the kindly, fatherly glance the old man gave me as he looked down from the top of the coach which was to take him on his way to the home he had so long left.

The Drake, ready for sea, had hauled out into the stream. She might at once have been known as a South-Sea whaler by the height she was out of the water, and by the boats which hung from their davits around her, painted white, light though strongly-built, with their stems and sterns sharp alike, and with a slight curve in their keels—each from about twenty-six to nearly thirty feet in length. Although she had provisions enough on board—casks of beef, and pork, and bread, (meaning biscuit), and flour, and suet, and raisins, and rum, and lime-juice, and other antiscorbutics—to last us for nearly four years, they were not sufficient to bring her much down in the water, as she was built to carry many hundred barrels of oil, which we hoped to collect before our return. I may as well here describe the fittings of a whale-boat. In the after-part is an upright rounded post, called the loggerhead, by which to secure the end of the harpoon-line; and in the bows is a groove through which it runs out. It is furnished with two lines, each of which is coiled away in a tub ready for use. It has four harpoons; three or more lances; several small flags, called "whifts," to stick into the dead whale, by which it may be recognised at a distance when it may be necessary to chase another; and two or more "drogues," four-sided pieces of board to be attached to the end of the whale-line when it is hove overboard, and which, being dragged with its surface against the water, impedes the progress of the whale. Besides these things, each boat is supplied with a case in which are stowed several necessary articles, the most important being a lantern and tinder-box—the lantern to be used as a signal when caught out at night—a compass, and perhaps a small cooking-apparatus. A whale-boat, when going in chase, has a crew of six men: one is called the headsman, the other the boat-steerer. The headsman has the command of the boat. He is either the captain, or one of his mates, or one of the most experienced hands on board. The Drake was a strongly-built, well-found ship, and as the greater number of the crew were experienced hands, and we had confidence in our captain, we had every prospect of a satisfactory voyage. The crew are not paid wages, but share in proportion to their rank or rating, according to the undertaking. Provisions are, however, supplied them, so that although a man may, as sometimes happens, make very little all the time he is out, he cannot lose. Still, want of success falls very heavily on the married men who have families to support.

The evening before we were to sail, one of the crew fell so sick that it was evident he could not go the voyage; so the captain ordered the second mate with several hands to take him ashore. Although not shipped as an able seaman, he was a strong, active young man, and it was necessary to supply his place. While some of the others carried the sick man to the hospital, I remained in the boat at the quay. While I was sitting, just looking up to watch what was taking place on shore, a young man in a seaman's dress came down the slip and hailed me. By the way he walked, and the look of his hands, I saw at a glance that he was not a seaman.

"I say, mate," said he, in a sort of put-on manner, "I see that you've just landed one of your people. Does your captain, think you, want another man in his stead?"

"I suppose so," I answered, looking at him hard, to make out what he was, though I didn't succeed. "But the mate will be down presently— you'd better ask him. He may meantime have shipped another hand."

"I'll run the chance," he replied. "I'll go up and fetch my chest from my lodging. Just tell him, if he comes down in the meantime, that a man has volunteered to join. You can judge whether I'm likely to be fit for work." He spoke in an off-hand, easy way, and without waiting for my reply, he walked rapidly up from the quay.

The mate, directly after, came down without having found a man to his taste. I told him that one had offered—a strongly-built, active-looking, intelligent man, just cut out for a sailor, though, as I said, I did not think he was one. Mr Marsh, the mate, listened to my account, and as he stepped into the boat, seemed to be looking for the stranger. After waiting a few minutes, as the man did not appear, he gave the order to shove off.

"There he comes, sir," said I, seeing him walking rapidly along the quay with a seaman's bag over his shoulder, while a porter accompanied him carrying a moderate-sized chest.

"If you want another hand, I'm ready to ship for the voyage," said he, coming down the slip, and abruptly addressing the mate.

"Seaman or not, he'll do," said Mr Marsh to himself. "Well, put your traps into the boat, and come aboard, and we'll see what the captain has to say to the matter," he answered, aloud.

The young man dropped a shilling into the hand of the porter, who looked at the coin and then at his countenance, and touched his hat. The stranger sat down on his chest in the bow of the boat, and we were soon on board. The captain then sent for him aft, and held him in conversation for half an hour or more. What was said I do not know; but the result was, that the young man came forward and told me that he had been entered as one of the crew, requesting me to show him where he was to stow his chest and bag. "In the forepeak," said I; but he evidently did not know where that was, so without saying a word I helped him down with it.

The first night we were at sea I had the middle watch, and scarcely had I made a dozen turns on deck, when he joined me. "What is your name?" said he; "I did not catch it." I told him.

"Well," he continued, "there is no use denying it—I am not a sailor. The captain knows this; but I have promised soon to become one, and I want to keep my promise. Will you help me to do so, by teaching me all I want to know?"

I told him I would do all I could for him, but that, as this was my first voyage in a whaler, I could not help him much about whaling matters.

"Oh, that will soon come," he answered. "I seldom see a thing done once that I cannot do afterwards; but I want you to help me in seamanship. I have been constantly on the water, and know how to handle a boat, but never before made a voyage."

I was so pleased with the frank way in which he acknowledged his ignorance, and the hearty desire he showed to learn, that I resolved to instruct him in everything I knew.

I never found anybody pick up information so rapidly as he did. It was only necessary to show him once how to do a thing, while he kept his sharp eye fixed on the work, and ever after he did it almost if not quite as well. He very soon dropped the nautical phraseology he had assumed when he came on board, and which was clearly not habitual to him; and though he picked up all our phrases, he made use of them more in a joking way than as if he spoke them without thought, as we did.

From the way he spoke, or from his manner when he addressed any of his messmates or the officers, or from the way he walked the deck, it was difficult to suppose him anything else than a gentleman-born, or a gentleman by education, whatever he had now become, and he at once got the name forward of "Gentleman Ned." I asked him his name the day after he came on board.

"Oh, ay. I forgot that," he answered, quickly. "Call me Newman—Ned Newman. It's not a bad name, is it?" So Ned Newman he was called; but I felt pretty certain from the first that it was not his real name.

He was good-looking, with fair hair and complexion, and a determined, firm expression about the mouth. He seemed to put perfect confidence in me, and we at once became great friends—not that we had at first many ideas in common, for I was very ignorant, and he knew more than I supposed it possible for any man to know. He showed me his chest, which surprised me not a little. Most of his clothes were contained in his bag. He had not a large kit, but everything was new and of the best materials, calculated to outlast three times the quantity of sailors' common slops. Instead of clothes, his chest contained a spy-glass, a quadrant, just like those of the officers, and a good stock of books, which I found were in a variety of languages, and some even, I afterwards learned, were in Greek. Then he had all sorts of drawing-materials—papers, and pencils, and sketch-books, and a colour-box, and mathematical instruments, and even a chronometer. He had a writing-case, and a tool-box, and a flute and violin, and some music-books. I asked him if he could use the quadrant.

"I never took an observation in my life; but I can work a day's work as well as a lunar, so I think that I may soon learn the practical part of the business," he answered.

I pointed to his musical instruments. "Yes; I play occasionally, when I wish to dispel an evil spirit; but books are my great resource. Jack, you lose much pleasure from your ignorance of the rudiments of learning. Take my advice and study. It's not too late to begin. Nonsense! difficult! everything worth doing is difficult! There's pleasure in overcoming difficulties. Come, you have begun to teach me seamanship— to knot and splice—to reef and steer. I'll teach you to read, and then the way is open to you to teach yourself whatever you like. Navigation! certainly. Why, you would have been master of a vessel by this time if you had known that." In the interval of Newman's remarks I was making excuses for my ignorance; but he would listen to none of them, and I promised, old as I was, to put myself under his instruction, and to endeavour to be as apt a pupil to him as he was to me.

As I have said, I never saw anyone learn so rapidly as he did everything which came in his way. Before six weeks had passed, there was very little remaining for me to teach him. Every knot and splice he mastered in a week or so, and could make them as neatly as I did. I don't think he had ever before been up a ship's mast; but from the first day he was constantly aloft, examining the rigging, and seeing where all the ropes led to. I had shown him how to reef and furl sails, and the very first squall we had, he was among the foremost aloft to lay-out on the yard. His hands went as readily as those of the oldest seaman into the tar-bucket; and so, though when he came aboard they were fair and soft, they soon became as brown and hard as any of ours. With the theory of seamanship he was already well acquainted—such as the way by which the wind acts on the sails, the resistance offered by the water on the hull, and so on; so that, when any manoeuvre was performed, he at once knew the reason of it. It is not too much to say that before we crossed the line he was as good a seaman, in many respects, as most of the hands on board; and certainly he would have made a better officer than any of us forward.

We were bound round Cape Horn, and Captain Carr intended to try his fortune on the borders of the Antarctic ice-fields, in the neighbourhood of New Zealand and the coast of Japan, among the East India Islands; and those wide-spreading groups, among which are found the Friendly Islands, the Navigators, the Feejees, the New Hebrides, the Loyalty Islands, and New Caledonia, and known under the general name of Polynesia. Perhaps other places might be visited, so that we had a pretty wide range over which our voyage was likely to extend. People at home are little aware, in general, of the great number of places a South-Seaman visits in the course of a three or four years' whaling-voyage; and certainly in no other trade is a lad of a roving disposition so likely to be able to gratify his tastes.

The first place we touched at was Porto Praya, in the island of Saint Jago, one of the Cape de Verds, our captain being anxious to fill up with water, and to get for the crew a supply of fruit and vegetables and poultry, which are here to be procured in abundance. Sailors, however, are apt to forget that fruit, at all events, is not to be found all the year round; and I have seen people very indignant because the fruit-trees were not bearing their ripe produce at the very moment they were honouring the place by their presence, and heartily abuse previous visitors for having deceived them.

I was one of the boat's crew which went on shore to get provisions, and we were half pulled to pieces, as we entered the town, by men, women, and boys—brown, yellow, and black—chattering away in a jargon of half-African half-Portuguese, as they thrust before our eyes a dozen chickens a few weeks old, all strung together; baskets of eggs, or tamarinds, or dates, or bananas, and bunches of luscious grapes, and pointed to piles of cocoa-nuts, oranges, or limes, heaped up on cocoa-nut leaves close at hand. The place seemed filled with beggars, pigs, monkeys, slatternly females, small donkeys, and big oxen; dirty soldiers and idle sailors of all the shades and colours which distinguish the human race, dressed in handkerchiefs, and shirts, and jackets, and petticoats of every hue of the rainbow—the only thing they had in common being their dirt. Indeed, dirt predominates throughout the streets and dwellings, and in every direction. The houses, though mean, from being white-washed deceive a stranger at a little distance as to the cleanliness of the place. From a spirited sketch Newman made of the scene I have described, I here discovered his talent for drawing.

We next touched at the Falkland Islands, then uninhabited, except by a few Gauchos, who had crossed from South America with a herd of cattle, which have since increased to a prodigious number, as they thrive well on the tussac grass, the chief natural production of the country. The fresh beef afforded by a couple of oxen was very acceptable, and contributed to keep us in health.

Even before crossing the line, we had been on the look-out for whales, and all the boats and gear were in readiness to be lowered, and to go in chase at a moment's notice. Everybody on board a whaler must be wide-awake, and prepared for all emergencies, or the ship may chance to return home with an empty hold. In no position in which a seaman can be placed is it so necessary to belong to the try fraternity. If whales are not to be found on one fishing-ground, the ship must move to another; and if not seen there, she must sail on till she chases them round the globe. So if, when a whale is seen, the harpooner misses his aim, and the fish dives and swims a mile or more off, he must watch and watch till she rises, and try again. This try principle should be followed in all the concerns of life. Whatever ought to be done, try and do it; never suppose a work cannot be done till it has been tried— perseverance in duty is absolutely necessary. Its neglect must bring ruin.

We had a look-out at each mast-head, and one of the mates, or the boatswain, and sometimes the captain, was stationed at the fore-topgallant yard-arm. Sharp eyes were, therefore, constantly watching every part of the ocean, as our ship floated over it to the very verge of the horizon in search of the well-known spout of the whales. Great improvements have taken place since the time I speak of in the apparatus employed in the whale-fishery. I am told that guns are now used with which to send the harpoon into the whale's body, while in my time it was driven by sheer strength and dexterity of arm, as the harpooner stood up at his full height in the bow of the tossing whale-boat, close to the huge monster, one blow of whose tail is sufficient to dash her into atoms.

We were, it must be understood, in search of the sperm whale, which is a very different animal from what is called the black or Greenland whale, whose chief habitation is towards the North Polar regions, though found in other parts of the ocean. There are several sorts of whales, but I will not attempt to give a learned dissertation on them. I should not, indeed, have thought much about the matter, had not Newman called my attention to it. I should have hunted them, and killed them, and boiled down their blubber, with the notion that we had the produce of so many fish on board. Now naturalists, as he told me, assert that whales should not be called fish. They swim and live in the water, and so do fish; they have no legs, nor have fish; but their implements of locomotion are more like arms than fins. But whales do what no fish do: they bring forth their young alive—they suckle them, and tend them with the fondest affection in their youth. They have warm blood, and a double circulation; and they breathe the atmospheric air by true lungs. The tail of a fish is placed vertically, or up and down; that of a whale, horizontally—that is to say, its broadest part is parallel with the surface of the water. The tail of a large whale is upwards of 20 feet wide, and with a superficies of 100 square feet, and it is moved by muscles of immense strength. This will give some idea of the terrific force with which it can strike a boat. I have, indeed, heard of instances where a whale has stove in a ship's bottom, and caused her to founder, with little time for the crew to escape. Their progressive movement is effected entirely by the tail; sometimes, when wishing to advance leisurely, by an oblique lateral and downward impulse, first on one side and then on the other, just as a boat is sent through the water when sculled with an oar; but when rushing through the deep at their greatest speed, they strike the water, now upwards and now downwards, with a rapid motion and vast force. As whales breathe the atmospheric air, they must come to the surface frequently for a fresh supply. They have then to throw out the water which has got into their mouths when feeding. This they do by closing a valve leading to the nasal passages, and forcing it by means of air through the blow-hole placed in the upper part of the head. It is this necessity of whales for breathing at the surface which enables man to make them his prey, in spite of their immense strength, while their spouts point out to him the place where they are to be found.

The remarks I have made apply in common to the two chief sorts of whales, but the Greenland whale is a very different animal from the sperm whale, of which we were in search. The Greenland whale, (Balaena mysticetus), is also called the common, true, or whale-bone whale. I remember once, in a man-of-war, falling in with a dead whale in a perfect calm. We towed it alongside, but so ignorant was everybody on board of natural history, that no one knew where the whale-bone was to be found. At the cost of great trouble, with a horrible odour to our noses, we cut out a jaw-bone; which was perfectly valueless, except to make the front of a summer-house for our commander; and we then let our prize go with its rich contents, and glad enough we were to get rid of it.

The Greenland whale is less in size than the sperm—its length being about 60 feet. The head occupies about a third of the entire length. It is narrow above, and broad, flat, and rounded beneath, so as to allow it to move rapidly under the water. The body is largest about the middle, and tapers suddenly towards the tail. The general colour is a blackish-grey, with part of the lower jaw, and throat, and belly white. The lips are five or six feet high, the eyes very small, and the external opening of the ears scarcely perceptible. The pectoral fins or arms are not long, and are placed about two feet behind the angle of the lips. The black whale has no teeth; but from the upper palate and jaw there hang down perpendicularly numerous parallel laminae—the baleen, or whale-bone, as it is called. [Footnote: The baleen or whale-bone I have described forms a most valuable portion of the produce afforded by the black whale, although not so valuable as the oil extracted from the same animal.] These filaments fill up the whole of the cavity of the mouth, and form a most complete strainer, so that only the most minute animals can enter. This is necessary, as the swallow is too small to admit even the smallest fish. When a black whale feeds, it throws up millions of small animals at a time with its thick lower lip, into the straining apparatus I have described; and as they are scarcely perceptible to the naked eye, when its vast size is considered some slight notion may be formed of the prodigious number it must consume at meal.

There is another whale, found in the northern regions, called the razor-backed whale, from a prominent ridge on its back. It is found 100 feet long. As it is constantly moving along at the rate of five miles an hour, and is very powerful and active, frequently breaking away and carrying lines and gear with it, only the most daring whalers, in default of other prey, venture to attack it. There is a third sort of whale, called the broad-nosed whale, which is in many respects like a razor-back, but smaller—its length being from 50 to 80 feet.

The smallest sort is the beaked whale, which is about 25 feet long. Great numbers of this whale are often caught in the deep bays and firths of Shetland and Orkney.

I must now give an account of the spermaceti whale, (the Physeter macrocephalus), to capture which was the object of our voyage. It is found through every part of the South Pacific and Atlantic Oceans, and frequently makes its way to far northern latitudes. Still the southern seas must be considered its chief abode. In appearance and habits it is very different from the black whale. It is nearly as long as the razor-back, and exceeds it in bulk. In length it may be said to be from 80 to 85 feet, and from 30 to 35 in circumference. Looking at a sperm whale, the stem on its nose or snout appears very thick, and perfectly blunt, like a huge mallet about to strike. The head is a third part of the length of the body. At its junction with the body a hump rises, which we whalers call the bunch of the neck. Behind this is the thickest part of the body, which tapers off till there is another rise which we call the hump, in the shape of a pyramid—then commences the small, as we call it, or tail, with a ridge partly down it. The "small" gradually tapers till it contracts very much; and at the end the flukes, or what landsmen would call the tail, is joined on. In the immense head is contained the case, which is a cavity of almost triangular shape, and of great size, containing, when the whale is alive, that oily substance or fluid called spermaceti. I have frequently seen a ton taken from the case of one whale, which is fully ten large barrels. The use to the whale of the spermaceti in its head is, that, being much lighter than water, it can rise with great facility to the surface, and elevate its blow-hole above it. Its mouth is of great size, extending all the length of its head, or, as I have said, a third of its whole length. Its jaws narrow forward to almost a point— indeed, the lower one does so; and thus, as it swims along, like the stem of a ship, it serves to divide the water wedge, parting to make way for its huge body—the blunt snout being all the time like the lofty forecastle of an old-fashioned ship, clear of the waves high up above it. The inside of the monstrous cavity, the mouth, has nothing like the baleen or whale-bone, such as is found in the Greenland whale; but in the lower jaw it has a formidable row of large teeth of conical shape, forty-two in number. It has, however, none in the upper jaw; but instead, there are holes into which fit the points of those in the lower. These teeth are blunt, and are not used for biting or mastication, but merely to keep in the food which has entered its mouth. This food is chiefly the Squid or Sepia octopus, known also by the name of the cuttle-fish. In the South-Seas they are of enormous size, and, with their long feelers or arms growing out of their heads, are sufficiently strong to hold a man under the water and to kill him.

The sperm whale, however, swallows a variety of other fish. It catches them, not by swimming after them, but by opening wide its mouth and letting its prey swim into it! We will suppose ourselves looking down that vast mouth, as the lower jaw hangs perpendicularly to the belly; incapable it seems of moving. The interior of the throat is very large—capable of swallowing a man; the tongue is very small and delicate, and of a pure white colour; so are the teeth, which glisten brilliantly; and so is the whole interior. Fish are particularly attracted by their white appearance. They take it, perhaps, to be some marble hall erected for their accommodation; so in they swim, big and little squid equally beguiled! How the whale's mouth must water when he feels a fine huge juicy octopus playing about his tongue! Up goes the lower jaw like a trap-door, and cephalapods, small and large, find their bright marble palace turned into a dark, black prison, from which there is no return; for, giving a turn with his tongue, he gulps them all down with a smack which must make old Ocean resound!

In another respect, the sperm is very different from the Greenland whale. It seems to know the power of its jaws, and will sometimes turn on its pursuers and attack them, though generally a timid animal, and disposed to seek safety by flight. The general opinion is, that sperm whales often fight with each other, as we have caught them with their lower jaws twisted in a variety of directions, and otherwise injured. The sperm whale's eyes are very small, with movable eyelids, and are placed directly above the angle of the mouth, or a third part of its whole length distant from the snout. It is very quick-sighted, as it is also quick of hearing. Its ears—small round holes, which will not admit a little finger—are placed directly behind the eyes. The fins, which, as I have said, might be called paws, are close to the angle of the mouth. I have known a female whale support her young on them; and they are used to balance the body, to steer by, and, when hard pressed, to sink with greater rapidity below the surface. The skin of the whale is perfectly smooth, though old bulls get rough marks about them. As a rule, though black above and white below, as they advance in years, like human beings, they get grey on the head. Oftentimes an old grey-headed bull proves a dangerous enemy.

I have with greater minuteness than I intended given an account of the sperm whale. Its habits and mode of capture I will describe in the course of my narrative.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

INCIDENTS OF WHALING.

Away, away the good ship flew to round the far-famed Cape Horn. Stern and majestic it rose on our starboard-hand; its hoary front, as it looked down on the meeting of two mighty oceans, bore traces of many a terrific storm. Now all was calm and bright, though the vast undulations of the ocean over which the ship rode, as they met the resistance of the cliffs, were dashed in cataracts of spray high up in the air, and gave evidence of what would be the effect when a storm was raging across them. There was something more grand in the contemplation than in the actual appearance of the scene, when we reflected where we were—on the confines of those two great seas which encompass the earth, and which wash the shores of nations so different in character—the one having attained the height of civilisation, the other being still sunk in the depths of a barbarism too terrible almost for contemplation, as I afterwards had good reason to know. Then there was that strange, vast, dreamy swell—the breathings, as it were, of some giant monster. It seemed as if some wondrous force were ever acting on that vast body of water—that it could not for a moment rest quiet in its bed, but must ever go heaving on, in calm and sunshine as well as in storm and tempest. There was likewise in sight that wild weather-beaten shore, inhabited, as report declared, by men of gigantic stature and untameable fierceness; while to the south lay those mysterious frost-bound regions untrod by the foot of man—the land of vast glaciers, mighty icebergs, and wide extended fields of ice. On we sped with a favouring breeze, till we floated calmly on the smooth surface of the Pacific off the coast of Chili.

With regard to Patagonia, old Knowles told me he had been there, but that, as far as he saw, the people were not much larger than the inhabitants of many other countries. Some were big men; a few nearly seven feet high, and proportionably stout. They are capital mimics—the very parrots or magpies of the genus Man.

"I say, Jack, bear a hand there now," exclaimed one, repeating the words after a sailor who had just spoken.

"What! do you speak English, old fellow? Give us your flipper then," said Knowles, thinking he had found a civilised man in that distant region.

"What! do you speak English, old fellow? Give us your flipper then," repeated the savage with a grin, putting out his hand.

"I should think I did! What other lingo am I likely to speak?" answered Knowles, shaking the Patagonian's huge paw.

"What other lingo am I likely to speak?" said the savage, with perfect clearness.

"Why, I should have thought your own native Patagonian, if you are a Patagonian," exclaimed Knowles, examining the savage's not over-handsome physiognomy.

"If you are a Patagonian!" said the savage, looking in like manner into Knowles' face.

"I—I'm an Englishman, I tell you!" cried Tom, somewhat puzzled.

"I'm an Englishman, I tell you!" cried the Patagonian in the same indignant tone.

"That's just what I want to arrive at," said Tom. "So now just tell me where we can get some good baccy and a glass of honest grog."

The Patagonian repeated the words.

"But I ask you!" said Tom.

"But I ask you!" said the savage.

"I tell you I'm a stranger here!" exclaimed Tom.

"I tell you I'm a stranger here!" cried the savage.

"Where do you come from then?" asked Tom.

"Where do you come from then?" repeated the savage.

"I tell you I'm an Englishman," cried Knowles, getting angry.

"I tell you I'm an Englishman!" exclaimed the Patagonian in the same indignant tones.

"That's more than I'll believe; and, to speak my mind plainly, I believe that you are an arrant, bamboozling hum-bug!" cried Tom. "No offence, though. You understand me?"

Whether it was Tom's expression of countenance, or the tone of his voice, I know not, but as he uttered these words, all the savages burst into loud fits of merry laughter; and as he thought they were laughing at him, he said that he should have liked to have gone in among them, and knocked them down right and left with his fists; but they were such precious big fellows, that he thought he should have got the worst of it in the scrimmage.

He used with infinite gusto frequently to tell the story for our amusement.

I am not quite certain, however, whether he was describing the Patagonians or the inhabitants of Terra del Fuego. The latter are very great mimics and are much smaller in size, less clothed, and more savage in appearance than the Patagonians.

We touched at Valparaiso, in Chili, or, as it may be called, the Vale of Paradise. It is certainly by nature a very beautiful and healthy spot, built on a number of high hills with ravines intervening; but man, by his evil practices and crimes, made it, when I was there, much more like the Vale of Pandemonium. Drunkenness and all sorts of crimes were common, and the cuchillo—the long knife—was in constant requisition among the Spaniards, scarcely a night passing without one or more murders being committed. It was then little more than a village, but has now become quite a large town, with a number of English and American merchants settled there. The houses are built with very thick walls, to withstand the constant attacks of earthquakes which they have to undergo. Having supplied ourselves with fresh provisions and water, we sailed, and stretched away into the wide Pacific.

We had left the coast of Chili about a day's sail astern. A light easterly breeze was just ruffling the blue sea—the noon-day sun shining brightly over it—the hands going listlessly about their work, rather out of spirits at our want of success, not a whale having hitherto been seen—when the cheery shout of the first mate reached our ears from the look-out, of "There she spouts! there she spouts, boys!"

In an instant every one was aroused into the fullest activity—the watch below sprung on deck—Captain Carr hurried from his cabin, and with his hand to his mouth, shouted eagerly, "Where away?—where away?"

"About a mile on the starboard-bow," cried Mr Benson, the first mate, in return.

"Lower the boats, my lads!" exclaimed the captain, preparing to go in the leading one himself; the first and third mate and the boatswain went in command of the others. Both Newman and I, as new hands, remained on board, as did the second mate, to take charge of the ship.

Before the boats were in the water, the whale had ceased spouting; but just as they were shoving off, the look-out broke forth in a cheerful chorus, "There again—there again—there again!" the signal that the whale was once more sending up its spout of spray into the air. The words were taken up by all on deck, while we pointed with excited looks at the whale, whose vast head and hump could be clearly distinguished as he swam, unsuspicious of evil, through the calm waters of the deep. Away flew the boats, urged on by rapid strokes, in hot pursuit. The captain took the lead. We who were left behind felt that we were accompanying them in heart and spirit. The foam bubbled and hissed round the bows of the boats as they clove their way through the water. Not a moment was there to lose—the distance was great—the whale had been for some time breathing, and might go down, and perhaps be lost altogether, before the boats could get up to her, or they might have to chase her for many miles before they could again reach her. Meantime, the wind being fair, the ship was kept almost in the wake of the boats. Away they flew; each was anxious to strike the first whale, but the captain's took the lead, and maintained it. As they got nearer the monster, it was necessary to be careful, lest he should take the alarm, and, seeing his pursuers, go down to escape them. The men bent to their oars even more energetically than before; the captain stood up, harpoon in hand; his weapon was raised on high; we thought that the next instant it would be buried in the monster, when up went his small—the enormous flukes rose high in air—"Back of all!—back of all!" we cried; not that our voices could be heard. If not, that terrific stroke it is giving will shiver the boat in atoms. The boat glided out of the way, but just in time, though her crew were drenched with spray. Down went the whale—far, far into the depths of the ocean.

Nothing is to be had without trying for it—our captain knew this well. All eyes were now turned to watch where the whale would next rise, for rise, we knew, he before long must, and in all probability within sight; so the boats paddled slowly on, the men reserving their strength for the moment when it would be required; while we on board shortened sail, that we might have the ship more under command, to follow wherever they might lead. Every one was watching with intense eagerness; the four boats were separated a short distance from each other; now and then the officers would stand up to see if the monster had risen, and then they would turn their gaze towards the ship for a signal from the look-out aboard. Still the time passed away, and no whale appeared.

An hour had elapsed, when again the inspiriting shout was heard of "There she spouts! there she spouts!" the look-outs pointing, as before, over the starboard-bow, where the whale had again risen, not much more than a mile away from the boats. Again they were in rapid movement. We doubted not that this time they would reach the monster. Through our glasses we made him out to be a bull—an old greyhead, and probably a cunning fellow, one likely to try every dodge which a whale can think of to escape, and if failing to do that, and hard pressed, one who was likely to turn on his pursuers, and attack them with his open jaws or mighty flukes.

"Well, whatever freak he takes, our captain is the man to meet him," observed old Tom Knowles—a long-experienced hand in the South-Seas, but who, having hurt his arm, was unable to go in the boats. "As long as daylight lasts, he'll not give up the chase."

I had thought that when a whale was seen, it was merely necessary to pull after him, dig the harpoons into him, and allow him to drag the boats along till he died; but I found it was often a far more difficult task than this to kill a whale.

"There again—there again!" shouted the look-outs from aloft; and the cry was repeated by all on deck, while the whale continued spouting. Fast as at first, if not faster, the boats flew after him—the captain's again leading.

"This time we'll have him, surely," exclaimed Newman, who was as eager as any of us.

"Not quite so sure of that, Ned," observed old Knowles. "I've seen one of these old chaps go down half-a-dozen times before a harpoon was struck in him, and, after all, with three or four in his side, break away, and carry them off just as the sun was setting, and there was no chance of getting another sight of him. I say, never be certain that you've got him, till he's safe in the casks. I've seen one, after he has been killed, go down like a shot, for no reason that anyone on board could tell, except to spite us for having caught him."

While old Tom was speaking, the boats had approached close to the whale. For my own part, after what I had heard, I fully expected to see him lift his flukes, and go down as he had done before. The captain's boat was up to him—the rest hung back, not to run the risk of alarming the wary monster. The captain stood up in the bows—a fine bold figure he looked, as he poised his glittering harpoon in his right hand, high above his head. "There!—peak your oars," cried old Tom, as the crew raised them with a flourish to a perpendicular position, having given the boat sufficient impetus to take her alongside the whale. Off flew the weapon, impelled by the captain's unerring arm, and buried itself up to the socket in the fat coating with which the leviathan was clothed.

"It's socket up!" cried old Knowles. "Hurrah, lads—hurrah! our first whale's struck—good-luck, good-luck—hurrah, hurrah!" The cheer was taken up by all on board, as well as by those in the boats. They now gave way with a will after the whale; the harpooner, as another boat got up, sending his weapon into its side.

But it is no child's play now. The captain had time to dart a lance into him, when, "Stern all—stern all!" was now the cry of the headsman; and the crews, with their utmost strength, backed the boats out of the way of the infuriated animal, which in his agony began to lash the water with his huge flukes, and strike out in every direction with a force which would have shattered to atoms any boat they met. Now his vast head rose completely out of the water—now his tail, as he writhed with the pain the weapons had inflicted. The whole surface of the surrounding ocean was lashed into foam by the reiterated strokes of those mighty flukes, while the boats were deluged with the spray he threw aloft—the sound of the blows reverberating far away across the water. The boat-steerer now stood ready to let the lines run through the loggerhead over the bows of the boat. Should anyone be seized by their coils as they are running out, his death would be certain. Soon finding the hopelessness of contending with his enemies above water, the whale lifted his flukes and sounded.

Down, down he went into the depths of the ocean. Away flew the line over the bows of the boat. Its rapid motion would have set fire to the wood, had not the headsman kept pouring water over it, as it passed through its groove.

An oar was held up from the captain's boat: it was a sign that nearly the whole of their line, of two hundred fathoms, had run out. With caution, and yet rapidity, the first mate in the second boat bent on his line; soon the captain's came to an end, and then that flew out as rapidly as the first had done. To assist in stopping the whale's downward course, drogues were now bent on to the line as it ran out; but they appeared to have little more effect in impeding his progress than a log-ship has in stopping the way of a vessel; and yet they have, in reality, much more, as every pound-weight in addition tells on the back of a racer.

Again an oar went up, and the third boat bent on, adding more drogues to stop his way. They at length appeared to have effect. "There; haul in the slack," cried old Tom. "He's rising, lads; he's rising!"

The boat-steerer was seen in the last boat busily coiling away the line in the tub as he hauled it in. When he had got all his line, that belonging to the next boat was in like manner coiled away; then the captain's line was hauled in.

Thick bubbles now rose in rapid succession to the surface, followed by a commotion of the water, and the huge head of the monster rushed suddenly upward, sending forth a dense spout on high. The captain's boat was now hauled gently on, the boat-steerer guiding it close up to the fin of the wounded whale. Again Captain Carr stood up with his long lance in hand, and plunged it, as few on board could have done, deep into his side. At the same moment the rest of the boats pulled up on the opposite side, the harpooner in the leading one striking his harpoon into him. Again the cry arose of "Stern all—stern all!" It was time, indeed, to get out of the way, for the whale seemed to feel that he was engaged in his last struggles for freedom and for life. He threw himself with all his monstrous bulk completely out of the water, in a vain attempt to get loose from his foes. Off from him all the boats backed.

He now became the assailant. He rushed at them with his head and lower jaw let drop, seemingly capable of devouring one of them entire. I almost thought he would; but he was already fatigued with his wounds and previous exertions. The line, too, of the mate's boat had many times encircled his body. Suddenly it parts! The boat of the captain, after he had darted his lance, was backed in time, and got clear from the whale's attack, but the first mate was not so fortunate. The whale seemed to have singled him out as the victim of his revenge. Having in vain lashed at him with his flukes, he turned towards him with his head, rushing on with terrific force. He caught the boat as she was retreating, in an instant capsizing her, and sending all her crew struggling in the waves. I thought he would immediately have destroyed them; but he swam on, they happily escaping the blows of his flukes, and went head out across the ocean, followed by the first boat and the two others.

Were they going to allow our shipmates to perish unaided? I thought and fully expected to hear the second mate order another boat to be lowered to go to their assistance. But they did not require any. Two of the men could not swim, but the others supported them till they got them up to the boat, from which they had been a little way separated, and then by pressing down the gunwale they quickly righted her. They then, holding on on either side, baled away till they could get into her, and still have her gunwale above water, when they very quickly freed her altogether. Everything had been secured in the boat, so that nothing was lost; and as soon as she was to right, off she started again in the chase.

Away flew the captain's boat, dragged on by the line, at the rate, it seemed, of full ten knots an hour. The other boats followed as fast as their crews could lay their backs to the oars; but for a long time they could gain nothing on him, but were fast falling astern. We had again filled, and were standing on. At last he began to slacken his pace. The loss of blood from his many wounds, and his evident exertions, were rapidly weakening him. Still, so far-off had he gone, that the captain's boat was scarce to be seen, and the others were mere specks on the ocean.

Once again, however, we were overtaking them. The captain was once more hauling in the slack—the other boats were getting up—the headsmen standing, harpoon in hand, ready to give the whale fresh and still more deadly wounds. They ranged up alongside, and harpoons and lances flew from the boats. The monster no longer threw up water alone, but blood was sent in a thick spout from his blow-hole, sprinkling the men in the boats, and staining the bright blue sea around. Still, in spite of all his foes, he struggled on bravely for life. Lashing the water, so as to drive his relentless assailants to a distance, he once more lifted his flukes and sounded; but they were prepared to let the lines run. Down he went again.

"He'll be lost—he'll be lost!" I exclaimed, as did others not accustomed to the work.

"Not a bit of it on that account," said old Knowles. "He can't remain long under water after what he's gone through. He'll be up again soon; and then stand by, my hearties, for his flurry!"

Old Knowles was right. Up came the whale again, at a short distance only from where he had gone down, having dragged out from each boat not a hundred fathoms of line. Once more the boats approached, and fresh lances were darted into him; but they quickly had to retreat, for now his head went up, now his tail; now he sprung again right out of the water, twisting and turning in every direction.

"He has his death-pang on him," cried Old Knowles. "He'll be ours before long;—but, ah! one of them has caught it!"

One of the boats had indeed caught it. We could not tell which, for the others were covered with the foam and ensanguined water cast on every side by the monster in his wild contortions. The fragments lay floating, scattered far and wide, and several men were seen striking out towards the other boats, half-turning their heads, as if in expectation of being pursued. But, as we counted their number, they did not appear to be all there. There were but five. One, we feared, was missing. Anxiously we kept our eyes fixed on the spot, hoping to see our shipmate, whoever he might be, appear.

"Hurrah!—he's there—he's there!" we shouted, as we discovered the sixth man swimming out from among the mass of bloody foam which surrounded the whale, who for an instant seemed to be resting from his exertions. While the boats were taking them on board, again the whale darted rapidly out, but this time it was to perform the segment of a circle.

"He's in his flurry, lads—he's in his flurry!" shouted old Knowles. "He'll be dead in another minute."

"Last scene of all, which ends this strange, eventful history," said Newman, who through his glass had been eagerly watching the chase. As the words went out of his mouth the whale rolled over on his side, a well-won prize, and loud shouts from the crews of the boats and from all on deck rent the air.

The fragments of the shattered boat being collected, and the three remaining ones made fast to the whale, they began towing it towards the ship, while we made sail to meet them.

All hands were employed for an instant in congratulating each other when we got the whale alongside, and then every means were taken to secure it for "cutting-in"—so the operation of taking off the blubber is called. The coopers had meantime been getting ready the large caldrons for boiling the blubber; which operation is called "trying-out." A rope passed round the windlass, and rove through a block fast to the head of the mainmast, was carried over the side, with a large hook at the end of it. The first thing done was to cut off the head of the whale, which, with the neck-part up, was strongly secured, and floated astern.

"That head has got better than a ton of oil in it," observed old Knowles, who was aiding the work. "It's worth no end of money."

"Wears yet a precious jewel in his crown," observed Newman, leaning eagerly over the side. "It's fine work this, though."

A stage had been let down at the side of the vessel, on which those who had cut off the head were stationed. One of them now made a hole in the blubber with the instrument used for cutting-in, called a spade. A rope was then fastened round the waist of another man, and he descended on the body of the whale, taking the hook I have spoken of in his hand. This hook he fastened into the hole he had cut. The operation now began.

Some with spades cut the blubber or fat mass which surrounds the body into a strip between two and three feet wide, in a spiral form, while others hoisted away on the tackle to which the hook was attached. Slowly the blanket-piece, thus cut off, ascended over the side, the body turning round and round as its coat or bandage, for so we may call it, was unwound. By the side of the pots were horses—blocks of wood—on which the blubber was cut up. As the long strip was drawn up, another hook was secured lower down, and the upper part of the blanket-piece was cut off and chopped into thin pieces on the blocks. The pieces were then thrown into big pots, under which fires were kindled. After the first caldrons-full had been boiled, the lumps of blubber from which the oil had been extracted were taken out, and served as fuel to continue our fires. In reality, the whole operation was performed in a very cleanly and orderly way; but a stranger at a distance would scarcely think so.

Night overtook us while we were engaged in the work, and watch and watch we continued it, lest a gale might spring up and compel us to abandon our prize before it was all secured. No scene could be wilder or more unearthly than that presented during the night by the whaler's decks. The lurid fires surrounding the seething caldrons cast a red glare on all around—on the masts and rigging of the ship, enveloped in the dense wreaths of smoke which ascended from them—on the sturdy forms of the seamen, with their muscular arms bared to the shoulder. Some were cutting off huge blanket-pieces; others chopping them small on the horses; others throwing them into the pots, or with long poles stirring the boiling fluid, or raking out the scraps, as the refuse is called, to feed the flames; while others, again, were drawing off the oil into the casks ready to receive it, and stowing them away in the hold.

The whole of the following day and the following night found us employed in a similar manner. At last the whole carcass was stripped to the very flukes of every particle of blubber, and, to our no little satisfaction, cast loose to float away, and to become a feast for the fish of the sea and the birds of the air. The head, full of the valuable spermaceti, was now floated alongside. A bucket was then forced down through the neck; by means of a long pole, into the case, till, by repeated dips, it was entirely emptied of its contents; and, as Knowles predicted, the case was found to contain even more than a ton of oil. The spermaceti was carefully boiled by itself—an operation necessary to preserve it. The blubber surrounding the head was also taken off and boiled down, and the empty skull was then cast loose, and sunk, by its own weight, with rapidity to the bottom—there, perhaps, to form the caverned abode of some marine monster never yet seen by human eye. It took us nearly three days to cut-in, try-out, and stow away that huge whale, the produce altogether being no less than eighty-five barrels! We broke forth into loud shouts when our work was accomplished and our first fish stowed away.

I have no great sympathy with those who talk of the cruelty of the work. A whale feels acutely, no doubt, and so does a mouse or a sparrow, when wounded; but not having huge bodies to twist and turn about in their agony, they do not appear to suffer so much as does the mighty monarch of the deep. I suspect that the amount of pain felt by the small animal is equally great with that felt by the large one. However, I would make my argument a plea for merciful treatment of all alike, and urge that pain should never be unnecessarily inflicted on even the smallest of created beings in whose nostrils is the breath of life.

Our success put us all in spirits, and we were ready to do or to dare anything. Our captain had heard that sperm whales were to be found in the icy seas towards the Antarctic Pole, and, accordingly, before keeping across to New Zealand and the isles of the Indian Ocean, he resolved to take a cruise to the south for a few weeks in order to try our fortune. Over the seas on which we were sailing it was necessary, both night and day, to keep a very sharp look-out; not only for whales, but to avoid the dangers of coral-reefs, and islands of all sizes, which in many parts sprinkle it so thickly.

"Land ahead!" was shouted from the foretopmast-head one forenoon, as we were slowly gliding over the blue surface of the deep. As we got up with it, we saw that it was a long, low, almost barren island, a few trees only in the higher parts retrieving it from actual sterility. It was a wild, desolate, melancholy-looking spot, such as would make a man shudder at the very thought of being wrecked on it. At one end, inside a reef over which the surf was breaking violently, lay a dark object. As the officers were inspecting it through their glasses, they pronounced it to be a wreck. There could be no doubt about it, and Captain Carr resolved at once to visit the spot, to discover whether any of the crew still remained alive.

As we stood on, a loud sound of roaring and yelping reached our ears, and we saw on many of the rocks which surrounded the island a vast number of seals, of the sort called "sea-lions." Newman and several of us were eager to get in among them, to knock some of them on the head, that we might make ourselves caps and jackets for our cruise in the icy seas. The captain was equally anxious to get some seal-skins, and he told us that, after we had visited the wreck, and explored the island, we should try and catch some of the animals.

Seals are curious-looking creatures. The head, with its large mild eyes, and snout, and whiskers, looks like that of some good-natured, intelligent dog; and one expects, as they are swimming, to see four legs and a thin curly tail come out of the water. Instead of that, the body narrows away till there is seen a tail like that of a fish. The hind-feet are like those of a duck when in the water, and the front ones have, beyond the skin, only a flapper or paw with claws, at the end of it. They are covered with thick, glossy hair, closely set against the skin. The form of their jaws and teeth proves that they are carnivorous, and they are known to live on fish, crabs, and sea-birds. The birds they catch in the water, as they can swim with great rapidity and ease. They can remain also for a considerable time under the water, without coming to the surface to breathe.

The sea-lion, which was the species of seal we were hoping to attack, grows to the length of ten feet. The colour is of a yellowish-brown, and the males have a large mane, which covers their neck and shoulders, so that they have very much the appearance of lions when their upper part alone is seen above the water. Such were the monsters which seemed to be guarding the island towards which we were pulling, their roar vying in loudness with the hoarse sound of the surf as it beat on the rock-bound shore.

Newman and I were in the captain's boat. As we pulled in for the land, we saw that the surf rolled up on every side, and for some time we could not discover a clear spot through which we might urge the boats. We continued pulling on for half a mile or more, and caught sight of what appeared to be a channel between the reefs. The captain ordered us to give way, and bending to our oars, we pulled on with a will. A sailor loves a run on shore, even though that shore may be but a barren sand; but here we had two objects to excite our interest. The deserted wreck claimed our first attention. It was easy to see how she had got into her present position. An unusually high-tide and heavy gale must have lifted her over the reef, and driven her on shore; and the wind falling before she had time to go to pieces, must have left her comparatively safe from further injury. The captain stood up in his boat to watch for an opportunity to enter the passage.

"Now, again, my lads, give way!" he shouted. The boat lifted on the summit of a roller, and rushing on with the dark rocks and hissing foam on either side of us, in another instant we found ourselves calmly floating in a reef-surrounded lagoon or bay. We had to pull back for some distance to get to the wreck, and as we advanced, we looked along the shore to discover, if we could, traces of any of the crew. All, however, was silent and desolate.

From the appearance of the island, Newman observed that he thought it must be the crater of an extinct volcano, and that even the lapse of ages had allowed scarcely soil enough to collect on it, to permit of more than the scanty vegetation which was visible.

As we approached the wreck, we found that she had gone stem on into the mouth of a little creek, and there had been held fast by two rocks. Her build at once made us suspect that she was a whaler like ourselves. All her boats and bulwarks were gone, and her stern was much stove in. Her main and mizzen-masts had been carried away, so had her foretopmast and the head of the foremast below the top, the stump only remaining. On this a yard still hung across, and the tattered fragment of a sail, showing us that she had run stem on into her present position. As her stern could be approached by water which was quite smooth, we ran the boats under it, and climbed on board. The sea had made a clean breach through the stern, and inundated the cabin, which presented a scene of ruin and desolation. The bulkheads had been knocked away; the contents of the sideboard, and sleeping-places, and lockers, all lay scattered about, shattered into fragments, in the wildest confusion, among sand, and slimy sea-weed, and shells, which thickly coated the whole of the lower part of the cabin; while the hold itself, between which and the cabin all the partitions had been knocked away, was full of water. No living being remained on board to tell us how the catastrophe had occurred. On going forward, we found that the rocks between which she was jammed were separated from the shore, and that without a boat it would have been difficult to get aboard. After the captain had examined the wreck, he gave it as his opinion that she had been there three or four years, if not longer. One thing appeared certain, that she could not have got where she was without people on board to steer her; and then the question arose, what had become of them?

If any of them were still alive on the shore, they must long ago have seen the ship, and would have been waiting to receive us. The captain thought that they might have possibly been taken off by another ship soon after the wreck; still he resolved not to return without having searched thoroughly for them. We pulled round astern of the wreck, and there, in a sort of natural dock, found an easy landing-place.

As we walked across the island, we found that some of the lower spots, the dells and valleys, produced a greater amount of vegetation than had appeared at a distance; but could not retrieve the character of desolation given by the black, barren hills, and dark abrupt cliffs which arose on every side. We had given up all expectation of finding anyone alive, or any signs of the spot ever having been inhabited, when we heard a cry from Newman, who had wandered a little on one side.

We found him standing on a green hillock, raised a little above the valley, whence on one side a wide view over the blue sparkling sea could be obtained, with some shrubs of semi-tropical luxuriance, and the bright yellow sands forming the foreground, while behind arose the dark frowning cliffs and hills I have described. On the top of the hillock were four mounds, side by side, and at one end of each was seen a rough, flat piece of wood, a rude substitute for a grave-stone. There were names on them of Englishmen, and dates showing that they had died at intervals of a month or two from one another.

Where were the survivors?—who had buried these men? was now the question. A group of cocoa-nut trees, all that were on the island, marked the spot. It was one selected with much taste. The discovery induced us to persevere in our search. We wandered on for another hour, turning in every direction; for so full of undulations was the island, that we might easily have passed the very spot we were in search of. At last we were again called together by a shout from Newman.

We found him standing before a rude hut erected in front of a cave, which formed, indeed, a back apartment to it. There was only one rough bed-place on one side of it, though there were several stools, and a table in the centre. A seaman's chest stood open, and contained a few articles of clothing. There were two muskets, and some powder-flasks hung up against the wall; but there was no food, although an iron pot and a saucepan, with a place where a fire had been made, showed that provisions had at one time been cooked there. On a shelf there were several books, both in English and in foreign languages, and above them was a flute with a music-book. A few carpenter's tools were arranged on another shelf. Several things showed that the place had last been inhabited by a person of superior education. On opening the books, a name was found in several of them. It was that of William Evans. Two of them Newman discovered to be on medical subjects, which of course made us conjecture that they had belonged to the surgeon of the ship. The decayed state of the books showed that it was long since they had been opened, and on a further examination of the hut, it also was found to be in a very dilapidated condition. From the number of things left in the hut, Captain Carr surmised that the last occupants must have left the place very suddenly, if, indeed, they had left it at all. One thing was certain, that we were not likely to find any of them on the island.

We were, therefore, on our return to the boats, when I saw the figure of a man sitting, with his back to a rock, on a gentle slope, whence a view could be obtained of the blue ocean. I had separated a little from my companions. I called to him, and I thought I heard him answer, "Halloa, who calls?" His face was turned away from me, and he did not move. I called again, and at that moment Newman broke through the brushwood, and joined me. Together we climbed the hill, both equally surprised that the man we saw did not get up to meet us. In another minute we were by his side. The straw-hat, stained and in tatters, covered a skull; the clothes, decayed and discoloured, hung loosely on a fleshless skeleton. A book was by his side. It was a copy of a Latin poet—Horace, Newman told me. Before him was another book of manuscript; and, as we looked about, we picked up the remains of pencil, which had dropped from the dead man's fingers. Newman opened the manuscript, and though it was rotten, and the characters much defaced, he could still decipher them. He glanced his eye rapidly over them.

"Ah! poor fellow, his appears to have been a sad fate," he remarked, with a voice full of sadness. "Compelled by a strong necessity to leave England—to wrench asunder all the ties which held him there, and embark on board a South-sea-man as surgeon—he seems to have had a hard life of it with a drunken, brutal captain, and ignorant—not a human being with whom he could sympathise. Unable to return home, after three years' service he exchanged into another ship. His master and officers, with all the boats, were away in chase of whales, which had appeared about them in great numbers, when a gale arose. The crew, already too much weakened by that scourge of the ocean, the scurvy, and the loss of several men, were unable to shorten sail. The boats were far out of sight, as they believed, to windward. In vain they endeavoured to beat up to them. The main and mizzen-masts went by the board; and the gale still further increasing, they were compelled to run before it, without a prospect of picking up their shipmates in the boats.

"Away they drove for several days before the wind, till one night all who were below were thrown out of their berths by a violent concussion. Again and again the ship struck—the sea beat in her stern. They rushed on deck. It was to find nearly all those who had been there washed away. The next instant, the ship again lifting, was carried into smooth water, and finally jammed fast in the position we had found her.

"Five only of all the crew then survived, and they were the most sickly. The writer was himself suffering from illness; happily, however, he bore up against it. They collected all the provisions, and all articles likely to be useful, which the sea had not destroyed, and carried them on shore, which they easily reached by means of a raft.

"They had food enough to last them for some time; but they had but a scanty supply of water. In vain they searched through the island—no springs were to be found. With great labour they got up all the casks of water still uninjured from the hold, and resolved to husband the contents. They formed themselves a habitation. They made reservoirs in which to catch the rain when it fell; but, in those latitudes, for many weeks together no rain falls. For a time, with their fire-arms, they killed a few birds; but their ammunition failed them, and they could kill no more. Their water was at last expended, and for many weeks together the only moisture they could obtain was by chewing the leaves of the shrubs and grass they found. They continued, as at first, very weak. They talked of building a boat from the wreck, but had neither strength nor knowledge among them sufficient for the undertaking.

"At last their spirits gave way, and disease made fearful progress with them all. One by one they died, and the survivors buried them. The writer of the sad journal was alone left." Alas! not a word did he say about seeking consolation where alone it can be given—not a thought about another world and judgment to come. The writer seemed to pride himself on his heathen stoicism—heathen expressions of resignation were alone mentioned. His dying eyes had rested on the pages of Horace—his dying thoughts, were they heavenward?

"In vain had he crawled to the spot where we found him, day after day, in the faint hopes of seeing a ship to bear him away. Three long years had thus passed, and all the food that had been brought on shore had been consumed; and he had not strength to search for more, so he came up there and sat himself down, and his spirit passed away."

Mr Newman had read this rapid sketch of the last events in the life of this unhappy exile before the captain came up, when he handed him the journal. The captain desired Newman to keep the "Horace," observing that he could not himself understand the contents.

We had found some tools in the hut, with which we dug a shallow grave close to where we had found these sad remains of mortality, and in it we placed them. On the rock above we cut the name of William Evans, and the date of the day on which we found him dead. Loading ourselves with the articles found in the hut, Newman being allowed to take most of the books as his share, we returned to the boats.

Although a longer time had been spent on shore than the captain intended, he allowed us to endeavour to capture some of the sea-lions. After pulling, however, some way along the lagoon, we discovered that they could not be approached from the land-side, as they had taken up their quarters on some high rocks, almost islands by themselves, in advance of the reefs. We were, therefore, compelled to pass into the open sea before attacking them—the passage by which we entered; and, waiting an opportunity, we dashed through in safety.

As we approached the largest rock, it was curious to watch the hundreds, or, I may say, thousands of fierce-looking monsters which covered its slippery surface. It would have required bold men, not acquainted with their habits, to attack them, as they looked down upon us from their seemingly unapproachable fortress. On one side, the surf broke far too fiercely to allow the boats to venture near; but on the other, although there was a good deal of surf, Captain Carr told us we might land. The only way, however, to get on shore was to pull in on the summit of a breaker; and while those in the bow leaped out on the rock, the rest of the crew had to pull back the boat again with all their force into smooth water. We were armed for the attack with two or three harpoons, a lance, and the boat's stretchers.

"Stand by, my lads—now's the time!" shouted our captain, as the two boats rolled in towards the shore. He led the way, lance in hand; Newman and I and old Knowles following from his boat. Our sudden appearance on the confines of their fortress evidently not a little astonished the sea-lions. Opening wide their jaws, and gnashing with their formidable tusks, they glanced at us from the heights above, and then, with reiterated and terrific roars, began to descend with impetuous force, as if with their overwhelming numbers to drive us into the sea. An old sea-lion led the van—a fierce monster, who looked capable of competing with all of us together. So he might, if he had possessed legs instead of fins or flappers, the latter only enabling him to twist and turn and slide down the inclined plane on which we stood into the sea. On the beasts came in dense masses, roaring and snarling. I certainly did look for a moment at the boats, and wish myself safe back again in them; but it was only for a moment, for our antagonists demanded all our strength and agility to compete with them. Our captain advanced boldly towards the old leader, and as he came right at him, plunged his lance into his side. It had not the effect of stopping the beast in his career; but, instead, very nearly carried him and the lance into the water. Old Knowles was, I thought, very inadequately armed only with a thick stick, which he always carried on shore with him, curiously cut and carved, and fastened to his wrist by a lanyard.

"Let me alone," said he; "Old Trusty is better in a scrimmage, whether with man or beast, than all your fire-arms and steel weapons. He always goes off, and never gets blunt."

Newman and I were armed with harpoons. Newman, following the captain's example, plunged his harpoon into the side of a seal, just as the beast, with the greatest impetus, was sliding down the rock. In attempting to stop its way, his foot slipped, and with the line coiled round his arm, before any of us could go to his assistance, he was dragged off into the boiling waters. He was a first-rate swimmer, but with so huge a sea-monster attached to him, how could he hope to escape. The rock sloped in a different direction to where the boats were, so that they could render him no assistance. I thought of the scene we had just witnessed—the unhappy exile dying alone on the desert island—and I dreaded a similar fate for my friend. With a cry of dismay we looked towards the drowning man. He disappeared among the foaming breakers.

Still, but with little hope, we watched the spot. Yes—there was his head! He was swimming free! Bravely he mounted the crest of a roller; it rushed in for the rock; but before he could find his footing, or we could stretch out our arms to help him, he was carried off again among the foaming waves. Meantime old Knowles had climbed up the rock in the face of the sea-lions, whom he was knocking on the head right and left with his club, and signalled the boats to pull round to Newman's assistance. Still, however, with only a couple of hands in each, it would take, I saw, a considerable time before they could reach him, and I resolved to make one attempt to save his life, at the risk, though it might be, of my own. Sticking my harpoon in a crevice of the rock which my eye at that instant fell on, I seized the end of the line, and in spite of the sea-lions, which kept rushing past me, I struck out into the surf as I saw Newman once more approaching. Happily I grasped him by the collar as the sea was once more heaving him back, and the captain and other shipmates coming to our assistance, we were hauled safely up the rocks.