Omoo: Adventures in the South SeasMelville, Herman
General
Omoo: Adventures in the South Seas
Melville, Herman
Adventure stories; Polynesia -- Description and travel -- Fiction
Though a certain mirthfulness succeeded his first pangs at leaving
home, Wymontoo—we will call him thus—gradually relapsed into his former
mood, and became very melancholy. Often I noticed him crouching apart
in the forecastle, his strange eyes gleaming restlessly, and watching
the slightest movement of the men. Many a time he must have been
thinking of his bamboo hut, when they were talking of Sydney and its
dance-houses.
We were now fairly at sea, though to what particular cruising-ground we
were going, no one knew; and, to all appearances, few cared. The men,
after a fashion of their own, began to settle down into the routine of
sea-life, as if everything was going on prosperously. Blown along over
a smooth sea, there was nothing to do but steer the ship, and relieve
the “look-outs” at the mast-heads. As for the sick, they had two or
three more added to their number—the air of the island having disagreed
with the constitutions of several of the runaways. To crown all, the
captain again relapsed, and became quite ill.
The men fit for duty were divided into two small watches, headed
respectively by the mate and the Mowree; the latter by virtue of his
being a harpooner, succeeding to the place of the second mate, who had
absconded.
In this state of things whaling was out of the question; but in the
face of everything, Jermin maintained that the invalids would soon be
well. However that might be, with the same pale Hue sky overhead, we
kept running steadily to the westward. Forever advancing, we seemed
always in the same place, and every day was the former lived over
again. We saw no ships, expected to see none. No sign of life was
perceptible but the porpoises and other fish sporting under the bows
like pups ashore. But, at intervals, the gray albatross, peculiar to
these seas, came flapping his immense wings over us, and then skimmed
away silently as if from a plague-ship. Or flights of the tropic bird,
known among seamen as the “boatswain,” wheeled round and round us,
whistling shrilly as they flew.
The uncertainty hanging over our destination at this time, and the fact
that we were abroad upon waters comparatively little traversed, lent an
interest to this portion of the cruise which I shall never forget.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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