Several lines
were repeated to us by Hardy, some of which, in a sort of colloquial
chant he translated nearly thus:
"Where is that sound?
In Hannamanoo.
And wherefore that sound?
The sound of a hundred hammers,
Tapping, tapping, tapping
The shark teeth."
"Where is that light?
Round about the king's house,
And the small laughter?
The small, merry laughter it is
Of the sons and daughters of the tattooed."
CHAPTER IX.
WE STEER TO THE WESTWARD - STATE OF AFFAIRS
THE night we left Hannamanoo was bright and starry, and so warm that,
when the watches were relieved, most of the men, instead of going
below, flung themselves around the foremast.
Toward morning, finding the heat of the forecastle unpleasant, I
ascended to the deck where everything was noiseless. The Trades were
blowing with a mild, steady strain upon the canvas, and the ship
heading right out into the immense blank of the Western Pacific. The
watch were asleep. With one foot resting on the rudder, even the man
at the helm nodded, and the mate himself, with arms folded, was
leaning against the capstan.
On such a night, and all alone, reverie was inevitable. I leaned over
the side, and could not help thinking of the strange objects we might
be sailing over.
But my meditations were soon interrupted by a gray, spectral shadow
cast over the heaving billows. It was the dawn, soon followed by the
first rays of the morning. They flashed into view at one end of the
arched night, like - to compare great things with small - the gleamings
of Guy Fawkes's lantern in the vaults of the Parliament House.
Before long, what seemed a live ember rested for a moment on the rim
of the ocean, and at last the blood-red sun stood full and round in
the level East, and the long sea-day began.
Breakfast over, the first thing attended to was the formal baptism of
Wymontoo, who, after thinking over his affairs during the night,
looked dismal enough.
There were various opinions as to a suitable appellation. Some
maintained that we ought to call him "Sunday," that being the day we
caught him; others, "Eighteen Forty-two," the then year of our Lord;
while Doctor Long Ghost remarked that he ought, by all means, to
retain his original name, - Wymontoo-Hee, meaning (as he maintained),
in the figurative language of the island, something analogous to one
who had got himself into a scrape. The mate put an end to the
discussion by sousing the poor fellow with a bucket of salt water,
and bestowing upon him the nautical appellation of "Luff."
Though a certain mirthfulness succeeded his first pangs at leaving
home, Wymontoo - we will call him thus - gradually relapsed into his
former mood, and became very melancholy. Often I noticed him
crouching apart in the forecastle, his strange eyes gleaming
restlessly, and watching the slightest movement of the men. Many a
time he must have been thinking of his bamboo hut, when they were
talking of Sydney and its dance-houses.
We were now fairly at sea, though to what particular cruising-ground
we were going, no one knew; and, to all appearances, few cared. The
men, after a fashion of their own, began to settle down into the
routine of sea-life, as if everything was going on prosperously.
Blown along over a smooth sea, there was nothing to do but steer the
ship, and relieve the "look-outs" at the mast-heads. As for the sick,
they had two or three more added to their number - the air of the
island having disagreed with the constitutions of several of the
runaways. To crown all, the captain again relapsed, and became quite
ill.
The men fit for duty were divided into two small watches, headed
respectively by the mate and the Mowree; the latter by virtue of his
being a harpooner, succeeding to the place of the second mate, who
had absconded.
In this state of things whaling was out of the question; but in the
face of everything, Jermin maintained that the invalids would soon be
well. However that might be, with the same pale Hue sky overhead, we
kept running steadily to the westward. Forever advancing, we seemed
always in the same place, and every day was the former lived over
again. We saw no ships, expected to see none. No sign of life was
perceptible but the porpoises and other fish sporting under the bows
like pups ashore. But, at intervals, the gray albatross, peculiar to
these seas, came flapping his immense wings over us, and then skimmed
away silently as if from a plague-ship. Or flights of the tropic
bird, known among seamen as the "boatswain," wheeled round and round
us, whistling shrilly as they flew.
The uncertainty hanging over our destination at this time, and the
fact that we were abroad upon waters comparatively little traversed,
lent an interest to this portion of the cruise which I shall never
forget.
From obvious prudential considerations the Pacific has been
principally sailed over in known tracts, and this is the reason why
new islands are still occasionally discovered by exploring ships and
adventurous whalers notwithstanding the great number of vessels of
all kinds of late navigating this vast ocean. Indeed, considerable
portions still remain wholly unexplored; and there is doubt as to the
actual existence of certain shoals, and reefs, and small clusters of
islands vaguely laid down in the charts. The mere circumstance,
therefore, of a ship like ours penetrating into these regions, was
sufficient to cause any reflecting mind to feel at least a little
uneasy.
