CHAPTER 19

  A SURPRISE • MORE ABOUT BEMBO

  The sight of the island was right welcome. Going into harbor, after a cruise is always joyous enough, and the sailor is apt to indulge in all sorts of pleasant anticipations. But to us, the occasion was heightened by many things peculiar to our situation.

  Since steering for the land, our prospects had been much talked over. By many it was supposed, that should the captain leave the ship, the crew were no longer bound by her articles. This was the opinion of our forecastle Cokes;1 though, probably, it would not have been sanctioned by the Marine Courts of Law.2 At any rate, such was the state of both vessel and crew, that whatever might be the event, a long stay, and many holydays3 in Tahiti, were confidently predicted.

  Every body was in high spirits. The sick, who had been improving day by day since the change in our destination, were on deck, and leaning over the bulwarks; some all animation, and others silently admiring an object unrivaled for its stately beauty—Tahiti from the sea.

  The quarter-deck, however, furnished a marked contrast to what was going on at the other end of the ship. The Mowree was there, as usual, scowling by himself; and Jermin walked to and fro in deep thought, every now and then looking to windward, or darting into the cabin and quickly returning.

  With all our light sails wooingly spread, we held on our way, until, with the doctor’s glass, Papeetee,4 the village metropolis of Tahiti came into view. Several ships were descried lying in the harbor, and among them, one which loomed up black and large; her two rows of teeth proclaiming a frigate. This was the Reine Blanche,5 last from the Marquesas, and carrying at the fore, the flag of Rear Admiral Du Petit Thouars.6 Hardly had we made her out, when the booming of her guns came over the water. She was firing a salute, which afterward turned out to be in honor of a treaty; or rather—as far as the natives were concerned—a forced cession of Tahiti to the French, that morning concluded.

  The cannonading had hardly died away, when Jermin’s voice was heard giving an order so unexpected that every one started. “Stand by to haul back the main-yard!”

  “What’s that mean?” shouted the men, “are we not going into port?”

  “Tumble after here, and no words!” cried the mate; and in a moment the main-yard swung round, when, with her jib-boom pointing out to sea, the Julia lay as quiet as a duck. We all looked blank—what was to come next?

  Presently the steward made his appearance, carrying a matress, which he spread out in the stern-sheets7 of the captain’s boat; two or three chests, and other things belonging to his master, were similarly disposed of.

  This was enough. A slight hint suffices for a sailor.

  Still adhering to his resolution to keep the ship at sea in spite of every thing, the captain, doubtless, intended to set himself ashore, leaving the vessel under the mate, to resume her voyage at once; but after a certain period agreed upon, to touch at the island, and take him off. All this, of course, could easily be done, without approaching any nearer the land with the Julia than we now were. Invalid whaling captains often adopt a plan like this; but, in the present instance, it was wholly unwarranted; and, every thing considered, at war with the commonest principles of prudence and humanity. And, although, on Guy’s part, this resolution showed more hardihood than he had ever been given credit for; it, at the same time, argued an unaccountable simplicity, in supposing that such a crew would, in any way, submit to the outrage.

  It was soon made plain that we were right in our suspicions; and the men became furious. The cooper and carpenter volunteered to head a mutiny forthwith; and, while Jermin was below, four or five rushed aft to fasten down the cabin scuttle; others, throwing down the main-braces, called out to the rest to lend a hand, and fill away for the land. All this was done in an instant; and things were looking critical, when Doctor Long Ghost and myself prevailed upon them to wait a while, and do nothing hastily; there was plenty of time, and the ship was completely in our power.

  While the preparations were still going on in the cabin, we mustered the men together, and went into council upon the forecastle.

  It was with much difficulty that we could bring these rash spirits to a calm consideration of the case. But the doctor’s influence at last began to tell; and, with a few exceptions, they agreed to be guided by him; assured that, if they did so, the ship would eventually be brought to her anchors, without any one getting into trouble. Still they told us, up and down, that if peaceable means failed, they would seize Little Jule, and carry her into Papeetee, if they all swung for it; but, for the present, the captain should have his own way.

  By this time every thing was ready; the boat was lowered and brought to the gangway; and the captain was helped on deck by the mate and steward. It was the first time we had seen him in more than two weeks, and he was greatly altered. As if anxious to elude every eye, a broad-brimmed Payta hat8 was pulled down over his brow; so that his face was only visible when the brim flapped aside. By a sling, rigged from the main-yard, the cook and Bembo now assisted in lowering him into the boat. As he went moaning over the side, he must have heard the whispered maledictions of his crew.

  While the steward was busy adjusting matters in the boat, the mate, after a private interview with the Mowree, turned round abruptly, and told us that he was going ashore with the captain, to return as soon as possible. In his absence, Bembo, as next in rank, would command; there being nothing to do but keep the ship at a safe distance from the land. He then sprang into the boat, and, with only the cook and steward as oarsmen, steered for the shore.

  Guy’s thus leaving the ship in the men’s hands, contrary to the mate’s advice, was another evidence of his simplicity; for at this particular juncture, had neither the doctor nor myself been aboard, there is no telling what they might have done.

  For the nonce, Bembo was captain; and, so far as mere seamanship was concerned, he was as competent to command as any one. In truth, a better seaman never swore. This accomplishment, by the by, together with a surprising familiarity with most nautical names and phrases, comprised about all the English he knew.

  Being a harponeer, and, as such, having access to the cabin, this man, though not yet civilized, was, according to sea usages, which know no exceptions, held superior to the sailors; and therefore nothing was said against his being left in charge of the ship; nor did it occasion any surprise.

  Some additional account must be given of Bembo. In the first place, he was far from being liked. A dark, moody savage, every body but the mate more or less distrusted or feared him. Nor were these feelings unreciprocated. Unless duty called, he seldom went among the crew. Hard stories too were told about him; something, in particular, concerning an hereditary propensity to kill men and eat them. True, he came from a race of cannibals; but that was all that was known to a certainty.

  Whatever unpleasant ideas were connected with the Mowree, his personal appearance no way lessened them. Unlike most of his countrymen, he was, if any thing, below the ordinary height; but then, he was all compact, and under his swart, tattooed skin, the muscles worked like steel rods. Hair, crisp, and coal-black, curled over shaggy brows, and ambushed small, intense eyes, always on the glare. In short, he was none of your effeminate barbarians.

  Previous to this, he had been two or three voyages in Sydney whalemen; always, however, as in the present instance, shipping at the Bay of Islands,9 and receiving his discharge there on the homeward-bound passage. In this way, his countrymen frequently enter on board the colonial whaling vessels.

  There was a man among us who had sailed with the Mowree on his first voyage, and he told me that he had not changed a particle since then.

  Some queer things this fellow told me. The following is one of his stories. I give it for what it is worth; premising, however, that from what I know of Bembo, and the fool-hardy, dare-devil feats sometimes performed in the sperm-whale fishery, I believe in its substantial truth.

  As may be believed, Bembo was a wild one after a fish; indeed, all New Zealanders engaged in this business are; it seems to harmonize sweetly with their blood-thirsty propensities. At sea, the best English they speak, is the South Seaman’s slogan in lowering away, “A dead whale, or a stove boat!”10 Game to the marrow, these fellows are generally selected for harponeers; a post in which a nervous, timid man would be rather out of his element.

  In darting, the harponeer, of course, stands erect in the head of the boat, one knee braced against a support. But Bembo disdained this; and was always pulled up to his fish, balancing himself right on the gunwale.11

  But to my story. One morning, at daybreak, they brought him up to a large, lone whale. He darted his harpoon,12 and missed; and the fish sounded. After a while, the monster rose again, about a mile off, and they made after him. But he was frightened, or “gallied,” as they call it; and noon came, and the boat was still chasing him. In whaling, as long as the fish is in sight, and no matter what may have been previously undergone, there is no giving up, except when night comes; and nowadays, when whales are so hard to be got, frequently not even then. At last, Bembo’s whale was alongside for the second time. He darted both harpoons; but, as sometimes happens to the best men, by some unaccountable chance, once more missed. Though it is well known that such failures will happen at times, they, nevertheless, occasion the bitterest disappointment to a boat’s crew, generally expressed in curses both loud and deep. And no wonder. Let any man pull with might and main for hours and hours together, under a burning sun; and if it do not make him a little peevish, he is no sailor.

  The taunts of the seamen may have maddened the Mowree; however it was, no sooner was he brought up again, than, harpoon in hand, he bounded upon the whale’s back, and for one dizzy second was seen there. The next, all was foam and fury, and both were out of sight. The men sheered off, flinging overboard the line13 as fast as they could; while ahead, nothing was seen but a red whirlpool of blood and brine.

  Presently, a dark object swam out; the line began to straighten; then smoked round the loggerhead, and, quick as thought, the boat sped like an arrow through the water. They were “fast,” and the whale was running.

  Where was the Mowree? His brown hand was on the boat’s gunwale; and he was hauled aboard in the very midst of the mad bubbles that burst under the bows.

  Such a man, or devil, if you will, was Bembo.

  CHAPTER 20

  THE ROUND ROBIN • VISITORS FROM SHORE

  After the captain left, the land-breeze died away; and, as is usual about these islands, toward noon it fell a dead calm. There was nothing to do but haul up the courses,1 run down the jib,2 and lay and roll upon the swells. The repose of the elements seemed to communicate itself to the men; and for a time, there was a lull.

  Early in the afternoon, the mate, having left the captain at Papeetee, returned to the ship. According to the steward, they were to go ashore again right after dinner with the remainder of Guy’s effects.

  On gaining the deck, Jermin purposely avoided us, and went below without saying a word. Meanwhile, Long Ghost and I labored hard to diffuse the right spirit among the crew; impressing upon them that a little patience and management would, in the end, accomplish all that their violence could; and that, too, without making a serious matter of it.

  For my own part, I felt that I was under a foreign flag; that an English consul was close at hand, and that sailors seldom obtain justice. It was best to be prudent. Still, so much did I sympathize with the men, so far, at least, as their real grievances were concerned; and so convinced was I of the cruelty and injustice of what Captain Guy seemed bent upon, that if need were, I stood ready to raise a hand.

  In spite of all we could do, some of them again became most refractory, breathing nothing but downright mutiny. When we went below to dinner, these fellows stirred up such a prodigious tumult that the old hull fairly echoed. Many, and fierce too, were the speeches delivered, and uproarious the comments of the sailors. Among others, Long Jim, or—as the doctor afterward called him—Lacedæmonian3 Jim, rose in his place, and addressed the forecastle parliament in the following strain:

  “Look ye, Britons! if, after what’s happened, this here craft goes to sea with us, we are no men; and that’s the way to say it. Speak the word, my livelies, and I’ll pilot her in. I’ve been to Tahiti before, and I can do it.” Whereupon, he sat down amid a universal pounding of chest-lids, and cymbaling of tin pans; the few invalids, who, as yet, had not been actively engaged with the rest, now taking part in the applause, creaking their bunk-boards and swinging their hammocks. Cries also were heard, of “Handspikes4 and a shindy!”5 “Out stun-sails!”6 “Hurrah!”

  Several now ran on deck, and, for the moment, I thought it was all over with us; but we finally succeeded in restoring some degree of quiet.

  At last, by way of diverting their thoughts, I proposed that a “Round Robin”7 should be prepared and sent ashore to the consul, by Baltimore, the cook. The idea took mightily, and I was told to set about it at once. On turning to the doctor for the requisite materials, he told me he had none; there was not a flyleaf, even, in any of his books. So, after great search, a damp, musty volume, entitled “A History of the most Atrocious and Bloody Piracies,” was produced, and its two remaining blank leaves being torn out, were, by help of a little pitch, lengthened into one sheet. For ink, some of the soot over the lamp was then mixed with water, by a fellow of a literary turn; and an immense quill, plucked from a distended albatros’ wing, which, nailed against the bowsprit bitts, had long formed an ornament of the forecastle, supplied a pen.

  Making use of the stationery thus provided, I indited upon a chest-lid, a concise statement of our grievances; concluding with the earnest hope, that the consul would at once come off, and see how matters stood, for himself. Right beneath the note was described the circle about which the names were to be written; the great object of a Round Robin being to arrange the signatures in such a way, that, although they are all found in a ring, no man can be picked out as the leader of it.

  Few among them had any regular names; many answering to some familiar title, expressive of a personal trait; or oftener still, to the name of the place from which they hailed; and in one or two cases were known by a handy syllable or two, significant of nothing in particular but the men who bore them. Some, to be sure, had, for the sake of formality, shipped under a feigned cognomen, or “Purser’s name;”8 these, however, were almost forgotten by themselves; and so, to give the document an air of genuineness, it was decided that every man’s name should be put down as it went among the crew. The annexed, therefore, as nearly as I can recall it, is something like a correct representation of the signatures. It is due the doctor, to say, that the circumscribed device was his.

  Folded, and sealed with a drop of tar, the Round Robin was directed to “The English Consul, Tahiti;” and, handed to the cook, was by him delivered into that gentleman’s hands as soon as the mate went ashore.

  On the return of the boat, some time after dark, we learned a good deal from old Baltimore, who, having been allowed to run about as much as he pleased, had spent his time gossiping.

  Owing to the proceedings of the French, every thing in Tahiti was in an uproar. Pritchard,9 the missionary consul, was absent in England; but his place was temporarily filled by one Wilson,10 an educated white man, born on the island, and the son of an old missionary of that name, still living.

  With natives and foreigners alike, Wilson the younger was exceedingly unpopular, being held an unprincipled and dissipated man, a character verified by his subsequent conduct. Pritchard’s selecting a man like this to attend to the duties of his office, had occasioned general dissatisfaction ashore.

  Though never in Europe or America, the acting consul had been several voyages to Sydney in a schooner belonging to the mission; and therefore our surprise was lessened, when Baltimore told us, that he and Captain Guy were as sociable as could be—old acquaintances, in fact; and that the latter had taken up his quarters at Wilson’s house. For us, this boded ill.

  The mate was now assailed by a hundred questions as to what was going to be done with us. His only reply was, that in the morning the consul would pay us a visit, and settle every thing.

  After holding our ground off the harbor during the night, in the morning a shore boat, manned by natives, was seen coming off. In it were Wilson and another white man, who proved to be a Doctor Johnson,11 an Englishman, and a resident physician of Papeetee.

  Stopping our headway as they approached, Jermin advanced to the gangway to receive them. No sooner did the consul touch the deck, than he gave us a specimen of what he was.

  “Mr. Jermin,” he cried loftily, and not deigning to notice the respectful salutation of the person addressed, “Mr. Jermin, tack ship, and stand off from the land.”

  Upon this, the men looked hard at him, anxious to see what sort of a looking “cove” he was. Upon inspection, he turned out to be an exceedingly minute “cove,” with a viciously pugged nose, and a decidedly thin pair of legs. There was nothing else noticeable about him. Jermin, with ill assumed suavity, at once obeyed the order, and the ship’s head soon pointed out to sea.

  Now, contempt is as frequently produced at first sight as love; and thus was it with respect to Wilson. No one could look at him without conceiving a strong dislike, or a cordial desire to entertain such a feeling the first favorable opportunity. There was such an intolerable air of conceit about this man, that it was almost as much as one could do to refrain from running up and affronting him.

  “So the counselor is come,” exclaimed Navy Bob, who, like all the rest, invariably styled him thus, much to mine and the doctor’s diversion. “Ay,” said another, “and for no good, I’ll be bound.”