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Revenge For the Men of the Pequod

A Short Story by D R Hann

PDH Publishing

Copyrights and Notices

Copyright © 2016 by D. R. Hann

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author, me, D. R. Hann.

Some names, characters, places and or incidents are fictitious and are of the author’s imagination.

Synopsis

     Moby Dick was written by Herman Melville

in 1851.

     Now it is fourteen years after Moby Dick destroyed the whaling ship, the Pequod, and killed Captain Ahab and all of his crew, lost to the vast ocean, except for one, Ishmael the only survivor.

     The good and Godly people of New Bedford, Massachusetts want justice for the whaling men of the Pequod and have offered a bounty of ten thousand dollars for the killing of that white devil of the sea, Moby Dick

     So far, three whaling ships, from 1851 to 1855, have taken the offer, with all three whaling ships meeting the same fate as the Pequod.  

     Now the year is 1865 and the American Civil War has just ended.  Men, like the main character, William Bowman, are returning home to family and friends, once more, wanting to have a job and possibly a peaceful life.

     Many whaling men have returned home wanting to do what they did before the war, that being whaling.

     The master and captain of the whaling ship is Abraham Ormsby Jr., a righteous, strong Quaker who has been a whaling man for thirty years. 

     The ship, the Yankee Swift, built for the war is now refitted for whaling and the brave whaling men, fifty strong, willing to sail from ocean to ocean to track down, cut and bleed, not only the blood but the high price oil from Moby Dick.

Some of my other books:

My Interview with Mary Todd Lincoln

Titanic Uncovered, From the Thomas McCutchen Journals

The Great War, From the Thomas McCutchen Journals

Journal of a Man from Doomsday

J. B. Madison

Elkosh

A Whaling Man Returns Home

     I’m returning home to Mattapoisett, Massachusetts, the Indian name meaning, “A place of resting,” where I lived all of my life until the Civil War took one hundred and forty men to fight for our nation and the Union.

     Wanting to fight in our nation’s Navy, I was assigned to the 3^rd Battalion Massachusetts Rifles.

     I have seen the evil of mankind, I have seen too much, leaving home in 1861, at the age of twenty one, young, viral and free in spirit.  I left what I believed was a good life, having been a whaling man from the age of ten when I started whaling in 1850 with my father as his carpenter apprentice.

     Now after four years and feeling much older than my numbered years, I return to my Mattapoisett.

     Four years have passed and my Henrietta, who I believed I would marry and would have born me many strong children, could not wait and married the school teacher, Crane.

     One hundred and forty strong went off to war and now from all of the information I have gathered, only fifty nine have returned and out of those fifty nine, only thirty eight are still with all of their limbs, but as I have said, I have seen too much and the rest may be broken in thy brain.

     With luck, my immediate family was spared the loss of war, me being the only man in my family, with the rest being my five sisters.

     Our family did suffer the loss of war; having lost four of my cousins.

     I am met with much fanfare and love, too many questions, too much talking.

     As I step out to breathe the salt air from the ocean and to once more listen to the gulls, my father will give me no rest and wants to know if I will work with him at his carpenter shop.

     My father left the sea and being a whaler only three years ago.  I believe I see it in his eyes that he is unhappy, but mother became a harpy and would not give my father rest.

     I am a whaler and I will go back to the sea to once more be a whaler, a salt.

     My father tells me that the Flying Salt and the Majestic Spear have already left for whaling and will not return for six months.

     With a warning, he says the only ship is the Yankee Swift, which was built to be a warship but is now being refitted for whaling and there is a rumor this ship will take the bounty from New Bedford to hunt and try to kill that white devil, Moby dick.

     Moby Dick, yes, he may be a devil but still a whale and I am a whaler and would sign on for such a task.

     I question my father asking, “Do they still need whaling men and where is the Yankee Swift docked?”

     He replied I was lucky not to be harmed by war, but if I hunt that white devil I will go the way of not only the Pequod, but three other ships in only four years, the St. Mary out of New Bradford, the New George out of New Bedford and the Sage out of Bremen, Germany, which also tried to cut that whale.

     My father knows I know the stories of Moby Dick but wants to impress upon me as to lead me to become a carpenter.

     My father turns to go back into the house and says, “Slip three, and your mother will be unhappy, William.”

     Am I not a whaling man, from a whaling family, for the last two hundred years?

     Isn’t this Moby Dick, a whale, which when cut does bleed blood and oil?  I will not believe good and Godly whaling men cannot cut thy Moby Dick.

     How do we honestly know if it was Moby Dick who brought an end to the four ships which hunted it, for these ships sail as all whaling ships do into dangerous oceans, such as the Flemish Cap, the Cape Good Hope, or the Cape of Good Horn or into the Arctic or any of those dangerous seas.

     For there is only one who fought the white devil beast of the oceans who survived; Ishmael, of the Pequod, who only survived because he floated on a coffin, on the sea, for three days.  Of all items to be saved by, made by a tattooed leathered skin man named Queequeg or so Ishmael tells his story.

     Ishmael is now older and is rarely seen outside his room at the New Bedford Pub.

     Ishmael no longer speaks of his time fighting the white devil beast, not even for money, which he has denied many times from the publishers of books, magazines and newspapers.      

     To make a living, he cleans the pub at night, some say they hear him cry out, speaking to those who were lost on the Pequod.

     The Pequod, out of New Bedford, was mastered by Ahab, who it is said had his very own leg taken by that white devil beast.  It became his life’s obsession, causing him to lose his family, friends, the Pequod, his crew and his life. 

     New Bedford, the foremost of all of the whaling ports, placed a bounty of ten thousand dollars on the white devil beast as restitution and justice for all who were lost on the Pequod.     

     None since 1855, after four ships where supposedly lost to Moby Dick, have wanted to even spot that white devil whale they call Moby Dick.

     Now, once more, one more ship goes forth to search and hopefully destroy and reap the bounty.

     Never have I been a very godly man, but now I shall pray that I be one of the crew of the Yankee Swift.

     Moby Dick, no one knows how old that white mountain of a fish is; some say he has been around since the earth itself.

     There are reports as early as 1632, by those who traveled the ocean from England to the new world, of what would become America, as to having seen a beautiful white whale which sang his song so loud that it would be heard for days, even though they passed in opposite directions.

     Knowing true in my heart, these stories are like those of fairy tales or as things that go bump in the night as what happened in Salem, Massachusetts in 1692, like mass hysteria that drove the stories of witches.

     As Moby Dick is a whale and the Yankee Swift is a whaling ship, if the two meet, Moby Dick shall bleed its blood and oil.

     Oil, whale’s oil, is the best of all oil that God placed on this earth.

     There is talk about Drake’s oil, from Pennsylvania, which some say is better and some day it will replace whale’s oil.  This is the no brain talk of the money people who have invested in Drake’s oil.

     Some even say coal kerosene may replace whale’s oil, but I say try it yourselves, go ahead, light your lamp with kerosene from oil in the ground or kerosene from coal and after you test your lamp’s light then test the lamp’s light from the light sweet oil from a whale, there you shall know the truth and know my words are the truth. 

     Never finer oil shall be than that of a Sperm Whale’s head, about five hundred gallons of the best and most expensive oil.  Fact; it is worth three times more than other whale’s oil.

     There is more to a whale than oil, for there is the jaw and teeth for scrimshaw.

     The mighty Baleen Whale, its baleen used for so many products, such as the frames of trunks, buggy whips, buggy springs, fishing rods, and unmentionables for the ladies. 

     I am a whaler and darn proud of it.  A very dangerous job it is, but whalers love what they do and are willing to go forth in foul weather, in dangerous seas, willing to eat rotten food and have a high potential for death.  We go forward to do what we do best, go out to the oceans of the world, spot the great leviathans, hunt them down, stab them, cut them and bring the world what it wants.

A Prayer Answered 

     I am a whaling man and since I am a whaling man, I shall go whaling.

     The sun is just starting to rise and even though it is the end of June, the morning breeze makes the heat comfortable.

     There it is, the Yankee Swift, so large, I believe this may be the largest whale ship I have seen.

     Most good and sound whaling ships are about one hundred feet long, three hundred and forty long tons, with the beam at twenty nine feet, but the Yankee Swift is larger, at one hundred and forty feet, three hundred and seventy five long tons, with the beam at thirty three feet.

     The master whaler is Abraham Ormsby Jr., a good and godly Quaker.

     I know Ormsby, as I am sure he knows me, and knows my father, who went whaling with him on several occasions.

     I once missed a chance to go whaling with Ormsby on his prior ship, the Dutchman’s Hook.  I was late by only several minutes and can only hope he may have forgotten that incident as it was eleven years ago.  Remember, I am a whaling man who has sailed from this port on the good ships, the Majestic Spear and the Flying Salt.

     There is Ormsby standing on the deck overseeing the work that must take place for the Yankee Swift to become a whaling ship.

     Ormsby spots me and greets me warmly, “Mr. William Bowman, welcome home and permission to board my ship.”

     “Captain Ormsby, are you in need of a good and sound whaling man, for if you be, then I be that man.”

     “Are thee sound and true in heart and mind William?”

     “As sure as I can be, Captain Ormsby.”

     “William, we whale with men of color; of black, yellow and red, what thou say, do thee hesitate with eating, sleeping or whaling with these men?”

     “Captain Ormsby, I did fight in a just war for such a cause, there is no color on a whaling ship only whaling men.”

     “Then make hast William Bowman and do not be late for thee are now a whaling man on the whaling ship, the Yankee Swift.

     Do thee, William Bowman, pledge and guarantee thee loyalty to me and this ship?”

     “I do Captain Ormsby.”

     Captain Ormsby calls for first mate, T. Dugan, to officially sign me into the ship’s log book and give me my assignment while the ship is in port and what I will do when at sea.

     “T. Dugan, I be, T. because I don’t like my first name, so call me T. or Dugan.  What

have you done in your life William?”

    “First I am a whaler for fifteen years except for the four years I missed because of the war.”

     “What ships have you been whaling on?”

     “I have been on the Majestic Spear and the Flying Salt.”

     “You from a whaling family?”

     “Yes, my father, James Bowman, the finest carpenter there has ever been.”

     “James Bowman, now there is a funny son of a bitch if there ever was.  I know James well, I know your father; a fine carpenter he is.  Are you half as good as your father as a carpenter William?”

     “I can hold my own, but it is not wood I want to do, I want to kill whales.”

     “Kill whales?  Do you have any experience with the whale iron?”

     “No, not yet, but given the chance I’ll strike true and firm.”

     “We have enough boatsteerers and harpooners, I being the best harpooner of the lot, and we also have two good carpenters (pointing to the two black men.)  What I need while at sea is general help and oarsman when we spot the whale.  Can you put your back into it until we catch the whale?”

     “Aye, till the whale runs no more.”

     “Good, for now, help Moses and Luther, the carpenters.”

     I had made it, my prayer was answered and because of that I knew this would be a good whale hunt because of Captain Ormsby being a good Quaker.

     A profitable whaling journey it shall be.  

The Hot Days of Summer While Getting the Yankee Swift Ready

     Since this is the last day of June, I shall work only three more days and receive a free day as this is our nation’s birthday.  Then I will work only one more day until the Sabbath comes.

     I know that Whale Master, Ormsby, is a good and godly Quaker and he shall not let one man toil on the Sabbath.  It is known that even if a whale is spotted, there shall be no whale hunt on the Sabbath. 

     Being one of the crew, I must attend the services every Sabbath at the Friends Meeting House.  If there are any men among the crew who do not attend, they shall find themselves not part of the crew on the Yankee Swift.

     Moses and Luther are fine carpenters and seem to be fine men, from New Orleans, having been slaves their whole lives.

     They take me on a tour of the Yankee Swift pointing out things which must be fixed before we leave port.

     Queer; for an iron beam runs from the bow to the stern of the ship with six more, well placed iron beams placed at equal spaces from the port to the starboard sides of the ship.

     Moses, who is very knowledgeable, states that this ship was to be a war ship for our late, great president, Abraham Lincoln’s navy, and the beam in the bow, was to be used to ram those damn, foul, confederate ships and sink them to the bottom of the sea.

     “But what of the beams, which run from port to starboard,” I ask?

     Moses replies, “No Confederate ship was going to sink this ship by ramming it, no ship.” 

     “Have you heard this ship may hunt that white devil fish, Moby Dick?” I ask.

     “Rumors, just rumors,” replies Moses.

     “But if we do, then we catch him, cut him, take his oil and bleed his blood, for he be no white devil, for Henry Tally be the white devil.”

     “Who is Henry Tally?” I ask.

     “Henry Tally was our former owner and if ever there was a white devil, it was him, with a heart as black as the night and no conscience.”

     As we begin our work in the boughs of the Yankee Swift, and being so hot, we remove our shirts and in the dim light I can see the backs of Moses and Luther, which have many scars, cut deep and wide that there is not an inch left untouched by the rawhide of a master’s hand.

     Then so be it, Henry Tally is the white devil and Moby Dick is just a whale, a large whale, the largest whale to have lived but still a whale.

    

     Today is a holiday, our nation’s birthday, a day when we rest from work, a day for fun and celebration.

     We eat good food, drink good ale and play the game called baseball and when dark comes, fireworks light the sky, all given to us by Abraham Ormsby, Sr., who is the owner of the Yankee Swift.

     As dusk settles in, Abraham Ormsby, Sr. wants to speak to us and asks for silence.

     “As thee know, I am the builder and owner of the Yankee Swift.

     I know there have been rumors about our mission.  I can tell thee this, our mission is to find whales, kill whales and to bleed thy beast of thy fine oil from the blubber.

     A profitable hunt for this voyage would be only twelve whales, but if thee catch twelve, will thee catch me twelve more?”

     And the crew said, “Aye.”

     “But if this ship spots that white leviathan, then being this is a whaling ship and those aboard her deck are whalers, then thee shall hunt thy fish, cut it and bleed it of his blood and fine oil.

     Fear not, for I send my own son, my own precious son.

     This ship was built for war but now is becoming a strong whaling ship.

     A crew of fifty, which is fourteen more than needed, three hundred whale irons, one hundred more than needed, and if Moby Dick turns and tries to run at the Yankee Swift, it shall not be as it was with thy Pequod, for this ship has iron beams from bow to stern and from port to starboard.

     So I ask as a good and godly man, who will now board my ship, the Yankee Swift?”

     Not one man hesitated to raise their hand, not one.        

             

Autumn’s Wind Blows in 

     We work late each night driven by the fact we want to set sail by September 15^th, to do what we do best, whaling, to spot, hunt, kill and bleed thy oil from the Baleen, the Right and the dangerous Sperm whales.

     A crew of fifty Captain Ormsby wanted but the men number now forty six and I guess if not another whaling man is found to sail on the Yankee Swift, we sail anyway.

     I go for several reasons; not only because I am a whaling man, but to once more roll on the ocean, sail from sea to sea and maybe forget what I had seen and done in the war.

     My father now is comfortable with me going back to the sea, to hunt the whale.  I can see it in his eyes; if he could go too, he would, once more, hunt the whale.

     Mother may have forgiven me but her anger may not finish until I return from this whaling hunt.

     Mother reminds me each and every day that I was lucky not to have lost any of my limbs or life to the war and yet I now risk all again to go after a great white whale who she believes may be Satan himself.

     In the two months that I have been preparing the Yankee Swift to sail, I have gotten to know it well and every day it is like greeting a friend, every little creaking sound is the Yankee Swift’s voice speaking out and now I feel as one with it.

     Now there are whaling ships, which take wood and coal to produce steam to power them.

     A lot of the Norwegian whaling ships now hunt thy whale with steam and sail and maybe this shall be the future but I still believe there may be nothing finer than to hunt the whale under a full set of sail.

     A ship as the Yankee Swift gently cuts through the water and glides on the ocean.

     From what I heard, the steam powered ship bobs on the ocean, and your chances of finding a whale is less, as the whale can hear the ship from hundreds of miles away.  Aye, it may be fast to travel but not as good as a silent ship, as the Yankee Swift, in finding thy whale.

     There is the clanging of the steam engine, so not a man can sleep, not as on board a sailing ship, so gentle and quiet for all shall sleep a sound sleep.

     With the Autumn wind in the air and with just one week to go until we set sail, we are now a crew of forty nine with the youngest being just the age of ten who is the cabin boy, Solomon, and the oldest being sixty years, Matthew, who is the copper and not a finer one I have seen, for once Matthew has laid his hands to the cast it needs no other adjustments and not one drop of whale oil will leak.

     Now it’s just three days till I taste the salt from the ocean, just three days till my life returns to me.

     Captain Ormsby put us through the whaling test for speed, strength, and competency and when we finish, we do it again and at day’s end if we scored well, Captain Ormsby gives us all one portion of rum, but does not partake himself.

     The Yankee Swift has four sound and swift whale boats with eight rowers each and one

boatsteerer and the first rower who will thrust thy whale iron true and firm are the best, I believe, there be alive.

     I am in whale boat three and I am rower two, right next to a Mohegan Indian named Wapisi; his name means above or high up.

     Our boatsteerer is Paul Ormsby, cousin to Captain Ormsby.  Paul is a quiet man about the same age as I who was at Gettysburg but I have not heard a word from him, even when we tested our whale boat, for it was Mick, rower one and harpooner, who realized we needed encouragement and told us to press our backs and muscles and told us to sing a fine whaling song; to which we did and sang, “Hunt and Kill thy Whale my Boys.”

     We are not the best whaling boat but we are not the worst.

     I believe with a couple of whale hunts under our bows we will gain to be the best, but somehow it will be tough to pass T. Dugan, who barks his orders and tells his crew that if they lose then women they be.

     Our crew is a sound crew, whale iron mate and rower one, Mick Buford, from Edgartown, Mass, alongside William Hanna from New Bedford.  Rower two is Wapisi and I, rower three Mark Cooke and Michael Cooke, brothers from Provincetown, Rhode Island.  Rower four are Abraham Thomson and Samuel Willoughby from Mattapoisett and last the silent boatsteerer, Paul Ormsby, cousin to the captain.   

     We all are good men who get along very well, which I believe will become thy best whalers for Master Whaler and Captain Ormsby and the Yankee Swift.

     The last day in port and there is a large delivery to the ship of the final provisions.  There are several very large wooden crates which seem to peak Captain Ormsby’s excitement.

     He calls all hands to deck and has Moses and Luther open the crates, pulling the items out.  At first I thought they were small cannons but look too slender to be cannons, they are whale iron cannons, which I have heard of but never seen.  

     Captain Ormsby gives us instructions on how they operate; you load the explosive charge then place the whale iron into the cannon, aim and fire.

     In another wooden crate, there are more whale irons but these are special as these whale irons have explosives in the tips.  These are loaded into the whale cannon as the other whale irons but after they are fired and find their mark inside the whale, an explosive is released, which will cause death to the whale much quicker.

     As the crew takes a closer look, a man states he will not be on a whaling ship that uses these destructive devices and says, “This, I believe, goes against how whaling is done and I will not whale on such a ship!”  He takes his belongings and leaves without wishing us a safe voyage.

     Some men speak amongst themselves and I believe others may be thinking about leaving too.

     It is T. Dugan who speaks out and says, “Aye, this is a new form of whaling.  Does it matter how you kill the beast?  If this is against the natural order of things, then why hunt and kill the whale, isn’t it more human to finish off the whale quickly rather to have the poor beast suffer; sometimes being taken slow by the sharks.

     What man here can say they have never seen that, for even if you have whaled, even for a short time and you have taken the leviathan, towing it back to the ship as it is slowly dying and the sharks come in taking what they want making the great whale suffer more.  If there be anyone who has not seen this and ye be whaling for five years, raise thy hand.”  Not a man raises his hand.

     “So you call yourselves whaling men, then show me you be whaling men, true to what you love, true to your whaling blood within you, which sets you apart from all other men God has placed on this earth.

     For those who stay; two portions of rum!”

     Every man drank the rum and sang the whaling songs, and we knew we were all whaling men on the Yankee Swift.  

Weigh the Anchor and Hoist the Sail

     The day breaks on this Friday, September 15^th 1865, and if this day was the thirteenth, we would not be leaving as it would be bad luck and not a crewman would be present to leave harbor on that day.

     But as we only have forty nine crewmen, we are short one man, which some say is bad luck if you leave port not with a full crew.

     On the dock, are wives, family and friends of our crew, along with a godly reverend who will say a blessing to keep us safe, and for a profitable journey.

     There stands a man wearing a Confederate hat and coat.  I saw this man in the pub last night but he never spoke to any of the crew.

     Strange, we all thought that this man who wore any item of the Confederacy would be in a Yankee town.

     The man approaches the ship and asks for the master whaler.  Captain Ormsby steps forward and asks, “What business do you have?”

     The man, whose name is John James states, “My name is John James, I was a whaling man my whole life out of Charleston, South Carolina, until the war took my life away, and since Charleston will not be whaling anytime soon, I come to the whaling capital, that being New England.  Would you have whaling work for me sir?”

     “Why do thee wear thy hat and coat of the Confederacy, John James?”

     “Captain, because this is all I have left in the world, my wife and two children died of the fever two years ago, I have no family, home or clothes.  I am looking for whaling work and if you be a godly man, I was hoping you would help me, and as far as this hat and coat, I will ditch them if that is the only reason why you would not hire me.”

     “We have two freed Negro slaves on board, how would you feel about whaling with these men?”

     “Captain, on a whaling ship, there are no color of men only whaling men.”

     Captain Ormsby turns to the crew and asks if there are any opposed to hiring this man.

     One man raises his hand and states, “Captain, if he ditches his hat and coat then I would not oppose him.”

     The man takes his hat and coat off and drops them into the water and the captain asks the man to take the pledge of allegiance to the Yankee Swift, the owner, the captain and crew, and the man says yes.

     Captain Orsmby welcomes the man on board and tells the man he will be a seaman general helper, and Luther steps forward and gives the man a Yankee blue coat and cap, and now we are fifty strong and with a full crew.

    We weigh the anchor and scramble to the whale boats to pull the Yankee Swift out of the harbor. We put our backs and muscle in towing the Yankee Swift out of the harbor.  As we do, I see my mother, father and five sisters bidding me a farewell. 

     Farewell good family, farewell Mattapoisett, farewell land.   

     We do not sail for open ocean but sail the Nasketucket Bay headed southward, passing Whale Rock and Gull Island.

     We spot a pod of Humpback whales and we are ready to take to the whale boats but the captain says we will not take whales today and we will not hunt the hump as most of the time they sink.

     When we whale, we will only hunt the Baleen, Right and the same species as Moby Dick, the Sperm whale.

     By twelve bells, we dock at New Bedford. The captain tells the whalers, all thirty six strong, to sow our wildness as man and be back on the ship come five bells. 

     As Captain Ormsby and T. Dugan go to the whaling office to stake the Yankee Swift’s claim for the bounty of Moby Dick, the crew heads to the pub.

     So much I want to see Ishmael, so much I want to speak with him that I take a room for the short night at the Pub.

     A tiny room with 8 beds crammed into a space fit for only four but I must get used to this as this is larger than the accommodations on board the Yankee Swift, maybe that is why most crewmen stay top side.  

     I never did see Ishmael’s face nor did I speak to him but shortly after twenty two bells the other men and I in the room heard Ishmael speaking to those who were lost of the Pequod.

     When we arrive on the dock, an old whaler who says he has been a whaler from 1810 till the Pequod vanished in 1851, states not to use this whale’s name until we cut him and every last drop of his oil is drained and his blood is cleaned from the deck of the Yankee Swift.

     Moby Dick; that name will not even be whispered until we cut him, bleed his oil and clean his blood from the deck of the Yankee Swift. 

A Whale Hunt

     By six bells, we are on our way traveling south, traveling by Buzzards Bay, passing Naushon Island, Aquinnah, and Chilmark, onto Nantucket Sound, passing Tuckernuck Island into the unforgiving Atlantic Ocean.

     I now feel whole, even at peace again, the last four years I can almost blot them out of my mind.

     Captain Ormsby calls us to deck saying that all whalers’ main purpose is for whaling and that is why this ship is carrying five general crewmen.  We will help when we can but our main concern is practicing our skills as whaling men.

     No more beautiful a sunset I have seen in the past four years.  Gone from the ocean, the ocean is my mistress, I so desired you when I was gone.

     “It blows!” is heard from the nest.

     T. Dugan asks, “And what shall it be man?”

     “They be Sperms, Mr. Dugan.”

      “Where do they lie?”

      “They lie south to the bow, on starboard.”

      Mr. Dugan looks to Captain Ormsby, maybe we do not go as it is sunset, but Captain Ormsby answers with an enthusiastic, “Yes, to the whaling boats ye good whaling men.”

     We are the first to have our boat into the water but almost having lost Abraham.

     Mick yells out for a song, “The Wind Blew South.”  A lively song that I believe helps us with our task of rowing.

     Closing in on our stern is Dugan’s boat yelling at his crew to put more back into their rowing, “Row boys, row till every part of ye hurts, row for we are the best, row boys row.”       

     Followed by Captain Ormsby’s boat, who has his crew singing, “I Hunt the Whale, I take the Oil.”

     The last boat is steered by Daniel Brown who is gaining on the captain’s boat. 

     We seemed to be closing the gap on the pod of Sperm whales.

     After a forty five minute run, with Daniel Brown’s boat in the lead and our boat third, darkness is upon us except for the full moon which lights the ocean, the Captain yells, “Back to the Yankee Swift ye good whaling man.”

     After the boats are stowed, Captain Ormsby calls us to deck and says he is proud of us as a father with his sons, and orders one portion of rum for all on the Yankee Swift, but not a drop he drinks.

     “Drink boys and tomorrow at six bells we awake and at seven bells we pray together and no work shall be done.”

     So it was on the Sabbath, we awoke at six bells, prayed together at seven bells and not one task we did, but I did write a letter to my family, which I will send at the next port.

     Monday, September 18^th, we head north and will dock in two days at Yarmouth, Scotia.   

     Today we will fit the whale iron guns on each of the whaling boats and test fire them.

     As we are test firing the whale iron guns, the call comes from the nest, “It blows, they be Rights, east to the bow.”

     T. Dugan looks to the Captain who says, “Let’s take these whales.”

     Once more the race is on, with Brown and his crew taking the lead followed by Dugan’s boat, then us and last the Captain’s boat.

     After a thirty minute run, the Captain realizes the Right has more distance on us than when we started and calls the hunt off.

     I know if we hunt the whale for the third time and have no luck there will be some who will think this voyage may be doomed and may leave at the next port, but I feel it has more to do with timing and maybe just a little luck, for if we could spot the whale early and cut its direction, we could kill a whale.

     There has been talk if we could cut that white devil we could earn as much as one thousand, two thousand or even as much as five thousand dollars each.  The most I have earned on a whaling voyage has been nine hundred and ninety which was on the Majestic Spear on my last whaling hunt in 1860.

     I have earned as little as twenty three dollars but that was for a three month hunt and after the whaling master and two other men had died. Since we only caught five whales, the first mate, Nesmith, made the decision to return the Little Sally to New Bedford.  I believe if Nesmith would not have made that decision there may have been a mutiny. 

     We arrive at Yarmouth on Wednesday, September 20^th, at thirteen bells and will take on more provisions and I will mail my short letter home.

     We were all wondering why we made port so soon but it seems Captain Ormsby has business and this may be good for the Yankee Swift as we will check every inch to make sure all is well and fit.

     We will be leaving at six bells and not one man has given up his faith yet.

Keep Thy Faith

     One more day at sea and we spot not a whale as we head north towards St. John’s but we will not be docking.

     The weather is cooler, even cold at night, and I cannot get warm in the nest for my time at the watch.

     We try to keep up each other’s spirits and Captain Ormsby is most gracious by giving us one portion of rum today and tells us, “Keep thy faith, for thy whale shall come to us within the next three days and with it another portion of rum.” 

     The nest yells out, “St John’s lighthouse, port side!”

     Captain Ormsby orders the Yankee Swift to a new direction of a southerly course.

     Sunday, we all pray with a sense of urgency that God himself will deliver thy whale into our hands.

     Tuesday morning, six bells, the sea is rough and even though we are whaling men who have mostly all been born on the ocean, we shall not partake of the ship’s biscuit or a portion of white fish.  I place my portion of ship’s biscuit in my pocket.  I have found out if you take the

biscuit and place it in a cup and add water it will become soft enough to eat.

     I have taken my portion of coffee and molasses, as I prefer it to sugar, although there is a drawback to sweetening your coffee or tea, as the roaches always find their way into it. 

     It is still cold at night and the chill in the morning is unbearable but we know that soon we will be in warmer waters and off the coast of the island of Bermuda.

     We are on the lookout for the migrating Right whales which is the season for them to migrate from the cold waters of Canada to the warm waters of Georgia and Florida. 

     As the sun peaks near twelve bells, the nest calls out, “It blows!”

     T. Dugan replies, “What they be?”

     “Be a pod of Rights they are.”

     “Where they be?”

     “Five miles north of us heading south, on the port side.  I believe if they don’t change course they come right by our stern they will.”

     T. Dugan looks to Captain Ormsby, who gives the nod, and T. says, “To the boats me boys, for on this day we take our first whale and if we are good as I think we are we take more than one whale.”

     We are the second to the water and prepare for the Rights.

     In the distance, we can see the spray and because of the Rights course we just sit and wait.

     Closer and closer they draw, T. Dugan yells out, “Don’t choose the same whale and take your time to make sure thy shot is true boys, for this, I believe, is God in heaven who has delivered the Rights unto us.”  

     I had forgotten how large the Rights are, forty, fifty, sixty feet or more with seventy tons or more.

     The captain takes the lead whale and fires his whale iron gun, hitting the mark true and sound.

     T. Dugan orders Brown to take his pick and because his Right is so close he throws his whale iron by his hand and it makes its mark.

     T. Dugan orders Mick to take his whale.

Mick fires the whale iron gun hitting the whale, not the largest but not the smallest, a good hit, and now the whale sprays blood from its hole.

     Paul shouts the order to row towards the stern less we be smashed by the tail of our Right.

     The line runs fast and hot as our Right dives, and at this point I have two thoughts, the first, I hope our line does not become fouled and pull our boat down and my second thought is I hope the logger holds as I have been on boats where the logger has failed, which gives you an empty feeling to watch your whale disappear.

     Now we wait for the great beast to surface and make a run.

     I can see all four whaling boats have caught a whale, now we will wait.

     Brown’s whale is the first to breach and run, now the captain’s whale.

     We know our whale is breaching as you cannot miss the sound when a leviathan breaches.

     My eyes are wide, my pulse quickens as our whale runs towards T.’s boat but at the last moment changes course which may have been because T.’s whale breaches and now we run together, which has only happened on one other occasion in my whaling life.

     Our boats being pulled, the ocean sprays upon us as a good rain would do.

     We are happy, and will not think we could be pulled out to the ocean never to be seen again.

     After several hours, our whale gives up and Mick strikes the whale’s heart and with each breath it draws, its blood spouts and some of it rains upon us.

     Now the real work begins and even though we are tired we must begin to tow the Right back to the ship.

     After T. Dugan strikes his whale dead, he tells us that he could see the captain and Brown’s whale ran south and as soon as the Yankee Swift picks them up they will head this way and tells us, “Do not tire boys for today you have proven you can whale, today ye be the best whalers in the world, ye be, so row boys, row.”

     Row we did, till the blisters swelled and the blood came forth and our backs felt to the breaking point, but row we did and as the sun was setting, the Yankee Swift came into view, so beautiful a sight it was.

     We must process the whales quickly, as the sharks have come to take what they feel is rightfully theirs.

     When we can, we take a shark, as the white meat is solid and tasty.

     We work through the night and when day comes we will rest as the others will work till dusk, then we will work and do this until the whale’s blubber is boiled down, the oil is made,

and the blood is cleaned from the deck; only then we will rest. 

       

     Thursday, September 28^th, we awake ready to take our turn to do the task and we are happy to find the last of the oil had been processed and the decks had been scrubbed clean.

     Captain Ormsby calls all crewmen together, says a prayer, not only for us but gives thanks to the whales for giving themselves up to us.

     “Now men, these Rights have given up to us and the blubber has been processed to oil which will light the lamps all over the world and you cleaned the deck of the blood and thy task is done for now, so we celebrate with two portions of rum.”

     We drank the rum but, as always, the captain did not partake in any.  We played fine Irish tunes and watched as Moses and Luther danced. How we did laugh and had a good time.

     We have spotted and hunted Baleen, Right, and Sperm whales along the way but not a one

we were able to catch.

   

     October 11^th, we make port at St. George’s Harbor, Bermuda.  The captain has allowed us to leave the Yankee Swift for six hours as the ship will take on fresh provisions of salted pork, beef, horse and fresh vegetables and fruits, which we all have longed for since having none in the last ten days.

     The captain has warned us to stay vigil as Great Britain has become insecure towards America because during the war there were many southern sympathies on Bermuda and Great Britain feels that America may look for retribution.

     Many head to the pub but several of us head to the market where we indulge ourselves in cooked sweet potatoes, bananas and different kinds of tropical fruit.   

     When we return to the ship, the captain calls us to deck and gives us good news as he has sold our seventy six barrels of whale oil for top dollar, but not even a pound of Baleen they desired.

     At twenty one bells, the last of the whale oil is off loaded to the dock, our work is complete, our day is done.

Baleens

     Eight days out of Bermuda and the nest yells out, “It blows!”

     The captain asks, “What is it?”

     “It is Baleen, captain.”

     “Where does it lie?”

      “North of us; five miles out on the starboard side, captain.”

     This time the captain does not give the order to the whale boats, he orders his looking glass, takes a look at the Baleen, turns, and orders us to be quiet for the Baleens are at play.

     “Quiet and quick to the boats men.”

     Silently, all four boats row toward the pod of Baleen.  There are about eight at play, swimming and breaching.

     One Baleen is so large; never have I seen a larger whale.  This Baleen is like a land mass and maybe the largest whale to ever swim the seas.

     The captain orders T. Dugan’s boat to help him take the large whale and for Brown and Paul’s boats to take the next largest Baleen.

     When we are no more than twenty feet and can clearly see the Baleen’s eye, almost simultaneously, all four whale iron guns fire and not a one misses.

     The call goes out from all four boats, “They dive, they dive!”

     As the Baleen dives, the lines run fast and hot and William pours water over the line so it will not foul or burn. 

     After almost an hour, we know this whale is breaching and both boats row with a frenzy as not to be hit by this massive Baleen.  With both boats securely tied to this Baleen, it dives once more and, when it breaches again, it is decided that Mick will shoot the whale iron gun once more. 

     The captain’s whale breaches and T. fires his whale iron gun again hitting the Baleen for the third time and their Baleen dives.

     Thirty minutes later, our Baleen breaches and, as we row, Mick fires his whale iron again, hitting it near the lung.  Our whale does not dive but because of its injury runs, pulling both boats like a child would pull a toy. 

     After a good run of about an hour, the Baleen, now spouting blood and the weight of the two boats that it tows, tires and slows until it has given up, its large eye looking at us that it makes me feel sorry for the whale and with one more fatal hit from a hand thrown whale iron, this Baleen breathes its last breath.

     Now the task is at hand; we row and strain, strain and row, towing this large Baleen back toward the ship and, as we do, we are passed by the captain and T.’s boats, which have struck four whale irons into that massive beast that now runs.