I can never forget the eighteen or twenty days during which the light
trade-winds were silently sweeping us towards the islands. In pursuit
of the sperm whale, we had been cruising on the line some twenty
degrees to the westward of the Gallipagos; and all that we had to do,
when our course was determined on, was to square in the yards and keep
the vessel before the breeze, and then the good ship and the steady
gale did the rest between them. The man at the wheel never vexed the
old lady with any superfluous steering, but comfortably adjusting his
limbs at the tiller, would doze away by the hour. True to her work, the
_Dolly_ headed to her course, and like one of those characters who
always do best when let alone, she jogged on her way like a veteran old
sea-pacer as she was.
What a delightful, lazy, languid time we had whilst we were thus
gliding along! There was nothing to be done; a circumstance that
happily suited our disinclination to do anything. We abandoned the
fore-peak altogether, and spreading an awning over the forecastle,
slept, ate, and lounged under it the live-long day. Every one seemed to
be under the influence of some narcotic. Even the officers aft, whose
duty required them never to be seated while keeping a deck watch,
vainly endeavoured to keep on their pins; and were obliged invariably
to compromise the matter by leaning up against the bulwarks, and gazing
abstractedly over the side. Reading was out of the question; take a
book in your hand, and you were asleep in an instant.
Although I could not avoid yielding in a great measure to the general
languor, still at times I contrived to shake off the spell, and to
appreciate the beauty of the scene around me. The sky presented a clear
expanse of the most delicate blue, except along the skirts of the
horizon, where you might see a thin drapery of pale clouds which never
varied their form or colour. The long, measured, dirge-like swell of
the Pacific came rolling along, with its surface broken by little tiny
waves, sparkling in the sunshine. Every now and then a shoal of flying
fish, scared from the water under the bows, would leap into the air,
and fall the next moment like a shower of silver into the sea. Then you
would see the superb albicore with his glittering sides, sailing aloft,
and after describing an arc in his descent, disappear on the surface of
the water. Far off, the lofty jet of the whale might be seen, and
nearer at hand the prowling shark, that villanous footpad of the seas,
would come skulking along, and, at a wary distance, regard us with an
evil eye. At times, some shapeless monster of the deep, floating on the
surface, would, as we approach, sink slowly into the blue waters, and
fade away from the sight. But the most impressive feature of the scene
was the almost unbroken silence that reigned over sky and water.
Scarcely a sound could be heard but the occasional breathing of the
grampus, and the rippling at the cut-water.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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