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The Whalerer
Aug. 16th, 2005 01:46 pmNow mind me, me lad, and ye'll be larned all there be to ken about whalering.
Now ye be on the _Snoqualmish_, as fine a trey-master as ever plowed the waves. An' the tide rises, we'll be off from Nantucket with six-score hands, the prow turned for prime whalering waters. Time was when a body could whaler just off Cape Cod and return with a hold full of oil, but now ye must travel farther afield.
A whalerer must know his quarry, lad. Yer whaler isn't so very bright, but he has a fiendish cunning, like the very devil hisself, and he is a beast when aroused. When ye bring down a whaler, ye must do it quick, and with a certain hand, else all be lost.
When the lookout spies a whaler, we ship out the longboats all a-quiet, and we prepares the harpoons. If ye be quiet, the whaler may be caught unawares, its lookouts sleeping, its hands busied with the chores of whaling. It is when he is whaling that a whaler is vulnerable, lad -- remember that!
When the longboats are ready, we cast out the harpoons. Yer harpoon-man must aim to splinter the wood of the hold near the forespar, yet above the waterline so it don't sink! A good harpoon-man is worth his weight in gold, for his first blow must set the line truly.
Then ye have a merry chase, lad! The whaler would dive if it could, but it cannot, being a ship like any other. So it runs, boy, tacking this way and that, dragging the longboats sometimes for miles before the wind fails it and it lies to, exhausted, its timbers strained and its crew confused. Then we drag it alongside, and we work with the knives and try it and boil it, and soon all that's left is barrels of fine oil and a floating raft of splinters.
So that's the whalering life, laddie! Stick with this crew and you'll make your fortune. Just mind your P's and Q's, and for the love of Jehovah keep yer eyes peeled for any whalererers that might be about.
Yarr!
Now ye be on the _Snoqualmish_, as fine a trey-master as ever plowed the waves. An' the tide rises, we'll be off from Nantucket with six-score hands, the prow turned for prime whalering waters. Time was when a body could whaler just off Cape Cod and return with a hold full of oil, but now ye must travel farther afield.
A whalerer must know his quarry, lad. Yer whaler isn't so very bright, but he has a fiendish cunning, like the very devil hisself, and he is a beast when aroused. When ye bring down a whaler, ye must do it quick, and with a certain hand, else all be lost.
When the lookout spies a whaler, we ship out the longboats all a-quiet, and we prepares the harpoons. If ye be quiet, the whaler may be caught unawares, its lookouts sleeping, its hands busied with the chores of whaling. It is when he is whaling that a whaler is vulnerable, lad -- remember that!
When the longboats are ready, we cast out the harpoons. Yer harpoon-man must aim to splinter the wood of the hold near the forespar, yet above the waterline so it don't sink! A good harpoon-man is worth his weight in gold, for his first blow must set the line truly.
Then ye have a merry chase, lad! The whaler would dive if it could, but it cannot, being a ship like any other. So it runs, boy, tacking this way and that, dragging the longboats sometimes for miles before the wind fails it and it lies to, exhausted, its timbers strained and its crew confused. Then we drag it alongside, and we work with the knives and try it and boil it, and soon all that's left is barrels of fine oil and a floating raft of splinters.
So that's the whalering life, laddie! Stick with this crew and you'll make your fortune. Just mind your P's and Q's, and for the love of Jehovah keep yer eyes peeled for any whalererers that might be about.
Yarr!
