Four years aboard the whaleship: Embracing cruises in the Pacific, Atlantic, Indian, and Antarctic oceans, in the years 1855, '6, '7, '8, '9Whitecar, William B.
History
Four years aboard the whaleship: Embracing cruises in the Pacific, Atlantic, Indian, and Antarctic oceans, in the years 1855, '6, '7, '8, '9
Whitecar, William B.
Sailors; Voyages and travels; Whaling
melodies of the sea are sung, if not with artistic correctness, with
spirit--all hands joining in the chorus, till the old ship rings again.
Meantime, the officers in the cabin are rehearsing old memories of
whaling, telling of the largest, wickedest and quietest whales which
they have borne a hand at taking; dire and wonderful are the _fish_
stories that in this manner receive birth. These relations, assisted
by the genial influence of the bottle and the pipe, soon while away
the time, and ere one would have thought it, the signal is up for
returning. The boatsteerers are killing time in much the same manner,
lacking only the ardent; whilst the crew, if a merry set of fellows,
have, ere this, got the fiddle or accordeon player, if one is aboard,
on deck (providing that it is good weather, and the ship on an even
keel), and are breaking down in the waist at a rate that would set
a French dancing-master crazy; but it is all the same to them--they
enjoy, and are bound to make sport of it. The signal for returning
being set, books are exchanged, tobacco, pipes, and in cases of need,
articles of clothing are freely presented, and the visitors go over the
rail into their boats, with “God bless you. _Greasy_ luck to you. Take
care of yourself, my hearties,” or some other equally expressive and
kindly wish following them; and the two ships resume their courses in
different directions to different quarters of the globe.
CHAPTER II.
The next day after leaving Flores we passed within sight of Fayal.
This island presented a gorgeous appearance; the many vineyards on
the sloping side of the mountains, looking to us like so many squares
in a quilt of the most luxurious green, forming a patchwork of Dame
Nature’s handiwork, in inimitable colors. An hour after, we saw the
Peak of Pico, rearing its cone-shaped pinnacle high in the clouds. At
its extreme summit, I noticed an appearance resembling a chimney, into
which, I was informed, steps were hewn for the convenience of those
whom curiosity led to ascend or descend the acclivity.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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