The Two Whalers | Page 8

but a momentary glimpse. I could scarcely
have told whether or not it was a human being I had seen till I looked
towards where the three persons had been standing. One was gone. The
mate instantly hove the ship up into the wind, a grating and some spars
were thrown overboard, and the captain, rushing on deck, ordered a
boat to be lowered. Notwithstanding the dangerously heavy sea running,
a willing crew, with the second mate, jumped into her. Not seeing
Medley I ran to the side, fearing that he was the victim. I saw the
grating and spars, but could nowhere perceive a man's head amid the
foaming billows. I expected every moment as I watched the boat
tumbling and tossing about that she would be swamped. The captain
and first mate were looking anxiously towards the place where the poor
fellow must have fallen, but their countenances showed that they did
not see him.
"He's lost, I fear," said a voice near me. I turned and saw Medley by my
side. I was greatly relieved.
"Who has gone?" I asked.
"John Major," he answered. "He was speaking to me at the moment."
"Very awful," I remarked, "so suddenly to be called out of the world."
"Remember, Jack, that either you or I may be as suddenly summoned to
meet our God. We must so live as to be prepared," he answered
solemnly.
The boat, the search in vain, now coming alongside was hoisted up, and

the ship kept on her course. Scarcely, however, had the yards been
braced round than down came the gale upon us with far greater force
than before. There was no use longer contending against it. The helm
was put up and we ran--tearing through the water--back again into the
Downs. Here we lay day after day waiting for a fair wind. It was much
the same to me, but a severe trial of temper to the captain and most of
the ship's company, who wanted to be in the Pacific catching whales.
I have not yet described the crew of the "Eagle." There was the captain,
three mates, the carpenter and his mate, the cooper and his mate, the
armourer, steward and cook, four boat-steerers, four able seamen, eight
ordinary seamen, the doctor, and two apprentices--namely, Medley and
I. The ship was thus strongly manned for her size, but in the whaling
service, when sometimes four boats are away at a time, a large number
of hands are required.
By the time we had been a week in the Downs a fleet of some hundred
merchantmen were collected there, driven in by the long continuing
south-westerly gales. We had very little communication with the shore,
though I managed to send a letter home, and Medley wrote to his
friends.
"Never miss an opportunity of writing home, Jack," he said to me; "I
know the pleasure it gives to those who love us to receive a letter, and
the anxiety they suffer when they have to go long without hearing from
us."
I followed his advice, and wrote by every homeward bound ship we fell
in with, though many of my letters did not reach their destination. We
also got a man, Eben Dredge, in place of poor John Major lost
overboard. Still the south-wester blustered and roared. Some of the men
declared that it had set in for good, and that there never would be any
other wind as long as the world lasted.
At length one morning when Medley and I were below, we heard the
first mate shouting, "All hands up anchor! Fair wind, boys! Be smart
there, all of you." We sprang on deck. The watch below came tumbling
up with eager looks. The wind had suddenly veered round to the

east-north-east. Every man, including the cook and steward, set to work
with a will; while some with a cheery song hove round the windlass,
others flew aloft to loose sails. Hundreds of ships were setting sail at
the same time, their white canvas rapidly expanding to the breeze.
We were among the first to get under weigh, and running past
numerous ships we took the lead and kept it, closely pressed, however,
by another whaler, the "Fair Rosamond," but we lost sight of her off the
Isle of Wight. As if the "Eagle" was eager to make up for lost time she
ran under every stitch of canvas she could carry at the rate of nearly
twelve knots an hour to the Lizard, when the wind fell; but it breezed
up again when we were in the Bay of Biscay, and blew great guns and
small arms, as sailors say, or in other words, very nearly a hurricane. I
own that I did not like it. Our stout ship looked