Deep sea

Author: Nathaniel Philbrick
Translator: Chu Yongqiao
Country: United States
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2002-07-01
Features: The months of togetherness between voyages at sea were so condensed that it might make one doubt whether the Nantucket husbands and wives had intimate relationships—both physically and emotionally. For a long time, rumors had circulated on the island that Nantucket women relied on a sexual tool called "He's at Home" to alleviate the grievances of their husbands' long absences. Although these rumors, like opium consumption, were extinguished in the face of the island's unshakeable Quaker reputation, in 1979, a six-inch plastic penis (along with a batch of 19th-century letters and a bottle of opium) was found in the chimney of a house located in the island's historic area. They were "excellent wives," but it did not mean that the women of Nantucket had no ordinary physiological desires. Like their husbands, the women of Nantucket were ordinary people, struggling to adapt to an unusual way of life.
When Thomas Nickerson first boarded the Essex and explored the pitch-black, stifling hold, he might have been happy, but his excitement quickly faded. Over the next three weeks, Nickerson and the steadily growing crew of the Essex toiled under the scorching sun, repairing the ship. Even in winter, the Nantucket wharf, covered in a layer of oil-soaked sand, smelled unpleasant, and it was said that you could smell it even after just rounding Brant Point Lighthouse. During the months of July and August, the stench on the wharf must have been overpowering, enough to make even an experienced whaling veteran choke. At that time in Nantucket, it was customary to let the newly hired crew of the whaling ship prepare for the upcoming voyage. Nowhere else in New England had the need for sailors to help equip the ship or supply provisions like food, which was the job of riggers, laborers, and grocers. However, in Nantucket, the Quaker merchants were known for their ability to reduce costs and increase profits, and a different set of rules prevailed.
Even one whaling boat was better than none, but the Essex still lacked whaling boats. With the newly added one (which was broken and leaking), the Essex now had a total of four whaling boats, with only one spare. In the dangerous industry of whaling, boats were often damaged by whales, and many whaling ships were equipped with three or more spare whaling boats. With only four small boats, the Essex had very little room for maneuver. This caused anxiety, even the inexperienced knew that their lives might one day depend on these flimsy boats.
After buying the whaling boat, Bernard sailed it into a bay that served as May Island's makeshift harbor. There were bone-white salt mountains, dug out of salt ponds within the island, adding to the desolate scene. The Essex anchored alongside another Nantucket whaling ship, the Atlanta, which was unloading over three hundred barrels of whale oil and heading back to Nantucket Island. Captain Bazley Cuff and his crew set sail on July 4th, hunting about seven whales, and as they gloated in their success, the crew of the Essex was still repairing the damage done by the Gulf Stream and had yet to see a whale.
White soybeans were the medium of exchange on May Island. Bernard took a barrel of beans and sailed the whaling boat to exchange for some pigs, with Nickerson rowing the stern oar. There were no docks or piers in the harbor, and landing the whaling boat on the high surf was very difficult. Although they managed to reach the shore near the landing point, Bernard and his crew encountered trouble. "Our boat overturned in the surf all at once," Nickerson recalled, "flipped over upside down and landed on the beach. None of the boys were injured, and they were quite amused to see the captain completely soaked." With half a barrel of beans, Bernard exchanged thirty pigs, and the pigs' squeals, snorts, and excrement turned the Essex deck into a livestock pen. The sensitive Nickerson was appalled by the animals. He said the pigs were "almost like skeletons," and when they roamed the deck, their bones nearly tore their skin.
By the time the Essex crossed the equator and reached 30 degrees south latitude, midway between Rio de Janeiro and Buenos Aires, the lookout spotted the first whale encountered on this voyage. Spotting a whale spouting required good eyesight: a faint streak of white water far out at sea, lasting only a few seconds. But that was enough for the lookout to cry out: "She's spouting!" or simply: "Spout—ah—lo!" After three months at sea without seeing a whale, the senior officers on the deck excitedly asked, "In which direction?" The lookout not only pointed the helmsman toward the whale but also filled the crew with increasing joy. If the lookout saw the whale leap out of the water, it would be: "She's leaping!" If he saw its horizontal tail, it would be: "She's tailing!" Seeing any spray flying would be: "White spume, spume!" And if he saw it spout again, it would return to: "Spout—ah—lo!" Under the command of the captain and the first and second mates, the crew began preparing the whaling boats.
Tons of harpoon lines were put into the boats, the shafts of the harpoons or spears were sheathed, and they were hastily polished. "The whole ship was filled with energy and noise," a whaler once remembered. Bernard's boat was placed alone on the starboard side, Chase's on the port side, and Joe's in the midship position in front of Chase's. Once within a mile of the whale pod, the whaling ship turned its main sail into reverse and almost stopped. The second mate climbed onto the stern of his small boat, the helmsman stood at the bow, and the four oarsmen stayed on the deck, using a pair of block and tackle to lower the boat into the water. After the boat was lowered alongside the water, the oarsmen either slid down from the blocks or climbed down from the rail and joined the second mate and helmsman. An experienced sailor could lower a fully equipped whaling boat from the derrick in less than a minute.
Once all three whaling boats were in the water, the duty of attending to the Essex fell to three keepers. Despite Atacames (called Tacames by whalers) being poor, it was a beautiful town, and some sailors thought it somewhat resembled Eden. "I couldn't help but admire all the lush vegetation," Francis Omstead, who arrived with the ship in Atacames in the 1830s, recalled, "exquisite pineapples stretched out before me, while cocoa trees, laurel trees, and banana trees waved their broad leaves gracefully in the wind. There were oranges, lemons, and other fruits scattered everywhere, unharvested. Fig trees had begun to sprout leaves, and jacarandas rose and fell with the seasons, just like ordinary trees." However, in the jungle surrounding the town, wild animals lurked, including jaguars. To protect themselves from these carnivores and also from mosquitoes and sand fleas, the villagers lived in thatched bamboo huts built on wooden stakes twenty feet above the ground.
In Atacames, people were allowed to hunt birds. Shortly after, the Nantucket whaling ship Adam Lucky also anchored there, and Bernard and her captain, the thirty-seven-year-old Squire Hussey, set off together to begin the turkey hunt that Nickerson described. To prepare for this activity, the cooks on both ships baked pancakes and other fine foods for them to take into the wilderness. The two hunters didn't know how to hunt, "since I was the youngest on the ship," Nickerson recalled, "I was chosen to be the dog and go with them." They set off, "walking across the grass, through the woods, toward the hunting ground." The next morning, the crew was relieved to find that after one night of strong winds, the three boats were still closely following each other. That day, the wind blew even harder, and they had to reef the sails. The of the small boats could be easily manipulated according to changing conditions. Chase said that after reefing the sails, the crew "did not feel the fierce wind was very dangerous." However, the rough sea continued to torment them. They were constantly soaked with seawater, their skin burned, and the violent shaking of the small boat only intensified the pain.
Chase found something useful in his sea chest: a folding knife, a whetstone, three small hooks, a bar of soap, a set of clothes, a pencil, and ten pieces of paper. As the second mate, Chase was responsible for keeping the log of the Essex's voyage, and with this pencil and paper, he now began to try writing "a maritime diary"—despite the harsh conditions. "It was very difficult to keep any records," Chase wrote, "because the small boat was always rocking, moving constantly, and the waves kept hitting us." Chase kept a diary, not just as a duty but also as a source of satisfaction, as a human need. Self-expression—in the form of writing a diary or letters—often helped survivors escape their inner fears. After Chase began keeping an informal log of the voyage, he no longer suffered from sleepless nights tormented by memories of the whale.
There were other daily activities as well. Every morning, they used the knife Chase used to sharpen pencils to shave. Benjamin Lawrence spent some of his time rubbing together scraps of rope to make a longer rope. This helmsman swore that if he could survive the whaling boat, he would keep this rope as a of his hardships. The next day, Joe made a request. The twenty-seven-year-old second mate asked if he could move to the captain's boat. His request was granted, Chase wrote, "because it would make him more comfortable and receive more care and attention, which would console him." But everyone knew the real reason the second mate wanted to switch boats: he was on a boat with five outsiders, and now that he was at the end of his life, he hoped to die among his own people. Joe came from an old Quaker family. His grandfather owned a large house near the meetinghouse in Nantucket Town, which was always called the Ruben Joel House. When Matthew was only seven years old, his parents moved to Hudson, New York, after the Revolutionary War, where the Nantucketers quickly established a whaling port. Matthew remained a member of the Congregationalist Church until 1817, when he returned to his island home and married Nancy Slider, a nineteen-year-old Congregationalist.
According to custom, at the monthly meeting in Nantucket that year, he was expelled for "marriage withdrawal." Joe was no longer a Quaker, but on January 10th, on a hot, windless day in the Pacific, he demonstrated the Quaker sense of responsibility and dedication. His small boat had been without leadership for the past two days, and now he asked to return to his crew. His loyalty to his crew ultimately overcame his need for the comfort of his Nantucket compatriots. After returning to his boat, he left the world at four o'clock that afternoon.
The Quaker cemetery in Nantucket had no secular gravestones; many people compared its smooth, rolling hills to the featureless surface of the Pacific. That morning, the sea was calm and smooth, with not a single breeze ruffling the gentle, rhythmic waves, just like the thousands of miles away in the Nantucket cemetery. The three small boats came together, sewed Joe into his clothes, tied a stone to his feet, and then "solemnly entrusted him to the sea."