There She Blows! Or, The Log of the ArethusaMacy, William Hussey
General
There She Blows! Or, The Log of the Arethusa
Macy, William Hussey
Sea stories; Whaling -- Fiction
The boats were fortunately secured in the cranes, without accident. The
wind was piping on to a gale and a thick, driving mist, bringing an
icy sensation with it from the southward, gave evidence that we were
approaching the Cape Horn latitudes.
"Clew the fore and mizzentopsails right up, Mr, Grafton! Send some
hands out to stow the jib--never mind hauling down the foretack--we
shall have to reef the foresail soon. Make all snug as fast as you can,
and have some small tackles ready for securing the lee-boats to-night."
And the "old man" went below to find some dry clothing, and to indulge
his feelings now that he had leisure to reflect upon the loss of Mr.
Johnson.
The Arethusa was soon careening to the blast under her close-reefed
maintopsail and staysails, the whole heavens shrouded in gloom, and,
as the shades of night drew down upon the wild scene, each one seemed
to realize that we had cause of congratulation in the fact of our
timely arrival on board, and shuddered to think what might have been
our fate, if exposed an hour or two longer in open boats, had the whale
run us some distance from the ship before the thick weather shut down
hiding her from view. It is at such times that the seaman feels his own
nothingness, and realizes his dependence on the mercy of Heaven. The
whaleman, in particular, has frequent cause to feel how narrowly he has
escaped such dangers. Even other mariners have little idea of the risks
encountered by this class of men; for whalemen form the only branch of
the profession who may be truly said to make their home on the ocean;
to "go _down_ to the sea in ships," while others skim across it; and in
a literal sense, to "_do business_ on the great waters."
Little was said among the officers about the dreadful casualty which
had so suddenly removed one of their number, but many a thrilling story
went round the forecastle that night from the old hands, the more
impressive from the circumstance of the speakers lying in their berths,
with the darkness relieved by only one dimly-burning lamp, swaying and
flickering with the motion of the ship in the gale--of men who had met
violent deaths in various ways, and of hairbreadth escapes of others,
in most of which latter cases, the narrator was, of course, himself the
hero of the adventure.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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