Nothing can be more romantic than to be attending a clam-bake on Mishaum Point or Barney’s Joy and to see a whaleship, or “blubber hunter” as she is often termed, round the point and start to sea. It is with quite different feelings that one peers down into her forecastle, which is often referred to as the Black Hole of Calcutta. This room, which is the home of thirty to forty men for three or four years, is reached by a perpendicular ladder through a small hatchway, which is the only means of ventilation. The bunks are in tiers and are about the size of a coffin, so narrow that it has often been said that one has to get out of them in order to turn over. A small table in the centre of this “hole” and the seamen’s chests lashed to the floor comprise all the furnishings, except possibly a few bottles of rum, which were often labelled “camphor.” In fact, one might speak of the dis-accommodations of the forecastle, and it is no wonder that a cruise in a whaler is often spoken of as a “sailor’s horror.” The odor of grease, dirt, oil, and lack of air are unbearable except to one thoroughly accustomed to a whaling trip, and sailors often say that this attractive place should not be approached without a clothespin on one’s nose. The utensils comprised a few tin plates and a bucket of water, with one cup for the use of every one. The food consisted of “longlick” and “scouse,” the former made of tea, coffee, and molasses, and the latter of hardtack, beans, and meat. It is not difficult to see, therefore, why most of the captains anchored their ships well out beyond the harbour, so as to prevent desertions after the novice seaman had glanced at his sleeping quarters. There have been cases of sailors jumping overboard on the chance of reaching land, and it is on record that the greater part of a whaleship’s crew once floated to shore on the cover of the try-works. A captain was very careful where he allowed his men to land, and, in case he was afraid of desertions, took care to allow them shore leave only at places where the natives were troublesome, or where for a ten-dollar bill he knew he could get the whole crew returned to him.

The whaleship looked very clumsy and was built for strength rather than for speed, the bow and stern looking as if they were made by the mile and chopped off in lengths to suit. It is a curious fact that the “Rousseau,” belonging to the Howlands, when caught in a storm off the Cape of Good Hope sailed astern for seven days faster than she had ever sailed ahead, and successfully weathered the point.

There is an amusing anecdote that has gone the whaling rounds, of a greenhorn, called Hezekiah Ellsprett, who arrived on board the night before sailing. One of the men told him that the first ones on board had the right to pick out their berths and suggested that he paint his name on the berth he should select. Hezekiah looked round, found the best-looking cabin, painted his name in big letters on the outside of the door, and made himself comfortable for the night. He had chosen the captain’s room, and in the morning the captain came on board, and in very violent terms informed him that he was in the wrong end of the ship.

The whaleman’s life was indeed a hard one, and his share of the profit, or “lay” as it was called, was so small that at the end of a moderately successful voyage if his share amounted to several hundred dollars he was doing well. His earnings were depleted by the captain’s “slop chest,” where the sailors had to purchase their tobacco and clothes at high prices, and if there were any kicks the answer was that he could “get skinned or go naked.” The most necessary part of the sailor’s equipment was the sheath knife which was used about the ship and to repair his clothes, and it was this same implement that he used to cut his food!

Regular deck watches were kept, and in good weather the officers often winked their eyes if some of the men slept. Among sailors this was called a “caulk,” and often some kind of a joke was played on the sleeper. In one case they tied a live pig to the slumberer’s feet and watched the fun from behind the try-works.

Whalers would rarely cruise past the Azores without stopping at Fayal, where they were most hospitably received by the American Consul, who for centuries was one of the Dabney family. In fact, the island is often referred to among whalemen as the “Isle de Dabney.”

“Gamming” or exchanging visits between two whalers at sea was thoroughly enjoyed and gave a chance to the sailors to swap experiences, and many a weird, sorrowful, or wonderful story must have been related. An incident is recorded of a meeting between two brothers who had lived in Nantucket, and who had not met for twenty-three years. There is an old adage among whalers that when a year from home, on “gamming” with a ship that has sailed subsequent to your own departure, you have the privilege of begging; when two years out, of stealing; and when three years away from home, of both stealing and begging.

A New London ship was once holding a reception on board for some natives, and each of the crew was endeavoring in some way to amuse the guests. One seaman took out his set of false teeth, thinking he would provide entertainment; but instead the natives became so alarmed that they tumbled over the side into their canoes and made their retreat as quickly as possible. The crew was asked on shore for a return visit; but an invitation to the exhibitor of the teeth was not forthcoming, and he was obliged to remain alone on the ship, much to his disappointment. Captain Gardner of Nantucket stated that in thirty-seven years he spent only four years and eight months at home, and Captain North, also of Nantucket, figured that he had sailed one million one hundred and ninety-one thousand miles.

Nothing could have equalled the joy of returning home after a long voyage, and the anxiety to reach port was almost unbearable. Often a vessel ran into bad winds and had to anchor for days a few miles off shore, and there is one case known of a ship being blown to sea and lost after having actually come within sight of New Bedford Harbour.

Many a whaleman has laughed at this story. It was customary for the first mate to keep the log book. One day he was intoxicated, so the captain entered the day’s events, noting that “the mate was drunk all day.” The next day the mate protested, but the captain said that it was true and must remain on the records. The mate resumed his charge of the diary, and got more than even with his superior officer by recording on the following day that “the Captain was sober all day.”