19. CHAPTER XIX.
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; though,
probably, it would not have been sanctioned by the Marine
Courts of Law. At any rate, such was the state of both vessel
and crew, that whatever might be the event, a long stay, and
many holydays 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, 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, last from the Marquesas, and carrying
at the fore, the flag of Rear Admiral Du Petit Thouras. 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-sheets 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 counsel 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 hat
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, 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!” 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.
But to my story. One morning, at daybreak, they brought
him up to a large, lone whale. He darted his harpoon, 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 line 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.
