第107章 ON THE SOLANDER GROUNDS(3)

Overflowing with kindliness and good temper, his ship was a veritable ark of refuge for any unfortunate who needed help, which accounted for the numerous deserters from Yankee whalers who were to be found among his crew.Such whaling skippers as our late commander hated him with ferocious intensity; and but for his Maori and half-breed bodyguard, I have little doubt he would have long before been killed.Living as he had for many years on that storm-beaten coast, he had become, like his Maories, familiar with every rock and tree in fog or clear, by night or day; he knew them, one might almost say, as the seal knows them, and feared them as little.His men adored him.They believed him capable of anything in the way of whaling, and would as soon have thought of questioning the reality of daylight as the wisdom of his decisions.

I went on board the evening of, our arrival, hearing some rumours of the doings of the old CHANCE and her crew, also with the idea that perhaps I might find some countrymen among his very mixed crowd.The first man I spoke to was Whitechapel to the backbone, plainly to be spotted as such as if it had been tattooed on his forehead.Making myself at home with him, I desired to know what brought him so far from the "big smoke," and on board a whaler of all places in the world.He told me he had been a Pickford's van-driver, but had emigrated to New Zealand, finding that he did not at all like himself in the new country.Trying to pick and choose instead of manfully choosing a pick and shovel for a beginning, he got hard up.During one of Captain Gilroy's visits to the Bluff, he came across my ex-drayman, looking hungry and woebegone.Invited on board to have a feed, he begged to be allowed to remain; nor, although his assistance was not needed, was he refused."An nar," he said, his face glowing with conscious pride, "y'ort ter see me in a bloomin' bowt.I ain't a-goain' ter say as I kin fling wun o' them 'ere bloomin'

'arpoones like ar bowt-steerers kin; but I kin do my bit o'

grawft wiv enny on 'em--don'tchu make no bloomin' herror." The glorious incongruity of the thing tickled me immensely; but Ilaughed more heartily still when on going below I was hailed as "Wot cher, chummy; 'ow yer hoppin' up?" by another barbarian from the wilds of Spitalfields, who, from the secure shelter of his cats'-meat round in 'Oxton, had got adrift, and, after being severely buffeted by tempestuous ill-fortune, had finally found himself in the comfortable old CHANCE, a haven of rest in the midst of storms.There were sixteen white men on board the CHANCE, including the skipper, drawn as usual from various European and American sources, the rest of her large crew of over forty all told being made up of Maories and half-breeds.One common interest united them, making them the jolliest crowd Iever saw--their devotion to their commander.There was here to be found no jealousy of the Maories being officers and harpooners, no black looks or discontented murmuring; all hands seemed particularly well satisfied with their lot in all its bearings; so that, although the old tub was malodorous enough to turn even a pretty strong stomach, it was a pleasure to visit her cheerful crowd for the sake of their enlivening society.

Of course, under our present circumstances, with the debris of our late enormous catch filling every available space and loudly demanding attention, we had little time to spare for ship visiting.Some boat or other from the two ships was continually alongside of us, though, for until the gale abated they could not get out to the grounds again, and time hung heavy on their hands.

The TAMERLANE's captain avoided Paddy as if he were a leper--hated the sight of him, in fact, as did most of his CONFRERES;but our genial skipper, whose crew were every whit as well treated and contented as the CHANCE's, and who therefore needed not to dread losing them, met the little philanthropist on the most friendly terms.

The first fine weather, which came four days after our arrival, both our harbour mates cleared out.Characteristically, the CHANCE was away first, before daylight had quite asserted itself, and while the bases of the cliffs and tops of the rocks were as yet hidden in dense wreaths of white haze.Paddy lolled on the taff-rail near the wheel, which was held by an immense half-breed, who leant back and carried on a desultory, familiar conversation with his skipper; the rest of the crew were scattered about the decks, apparently doing what they liked in any manner they chose.The anchor was being catted, sails going up, and yards being trimmed; but, to observers like us, no guiding spirit was noticeable.It seemed to work all right, and the old ark herself looked as if she was as intelligent as any of them; but the sight was not an agreeable one to men accustomed to discipline.The contrast when the TAMERLANE came along an hour or so after was emphatic.Every man at his post; every order carried out with the precision of clockwork; the captain pacing the quarter-deck as if she were a line-of-battle ship--here the airs put on were almost ludicrous in the other direction.

Although she was only "a good jump" long, as we say, whenever an order was given, it was thundered out as if the men were a mile away each officer appearing to vie with the others as to who could bellow the loudest.That was carrying things to the opposite extreme, and almost equally objectionable to merchant seamen.