And now for Honolulu! Every one was good-natured and happy. Few vessels in the history of whaling could beat our record of fifteen months. It was the opinion that if our good fortune continued, the voyage would not exceed three years. There were no orders to shorten sail nights. We were to make port in the shortest possible time in order to ship all our oil for New Bedford, and prepare for our cruise on the Coast of Japan. Lakeum said to me one day:

“You remember that when we stopped at Honolulu we had rather a picked crew when we went ashore. That was more a happen-so than anything else. I suppose you thought that men who were thought not likely to desert were selected, and I remember that I said something to you about Ohoo’s faithfulness. You see at that time we had four hundred sperm and the ambergris. That was enough to keep the men loyal. Now we have ten hundred and fifty whale and twelve thousand pounds of bone more. Do you suppose men with a lot of money in view are going to desert? I think not. We shall be at Honolulu some time, but you may be sure that every man will turn up when we sail.”

We reached Honolulu in due season and discharged all our cargo, except the ambergris. The foremast hands saw every nook and corner of the beautiful town, which was peculiar in having both a tropical and an American air. The bathing was delightful, and its charm was only surpassed by watching from the shore the natives as they glided on the surface of the sea like tiny seaboats or dove with the ease and grace of the seafowl. Ohoo took me to his home, a rude little cottage with few of the modern conveniences, but the home of kind and pleasant people. His father was dead, but his mother, two sisters and a brother were my entertainers. I ate their simple and to me rather curious food, but was particularly pleased with the fish which was cooked between heated stones. They danced and sang their quaint songs, and I truly felt that I was in another world. Ohoo acted as interpreter, and the funny work he made of it promoted mirth and hilarity. I bade my new-made friends good-by, feeling that this brief experience was one of the most delightful episodes of the voyage.

Our cargo discharged, and recruits taken aboard, we started for the coast of Japan on November 24, 1860. Whales were, and still are, plentiful in those waters, the first vessels to visit which were the Syren and Maro of Nantucket in 1820. Our cruise was to be a long one, and then we were to go north again.

Of all the adventures of whalemen, none exceeds in daring and danger that of Ronald MacDonald, all the more remarkable because the daring was unnecessary and the danger voluntarily incurred. In 1826 the ship Lady Adams disappeared near the coast of Japan, and it was surmised that she had struck a reef and that her crew, after reaching shore, had been murdered. Another vessel, named the Lawrence, was wrecked, and it was afterward learned that the second mate and seven of the crew, after landing, had been cruelly treated, one of the number having been tortured to death. It also appeared that the crew of another vessel, which stranded on the coast, received similar treatment, one of the men killing himself to escape further torment.

While whalemen regarded the Japanese coast with terror, yet one day, when a whaler was cruising near that coast, MacDonald, a seaman, obtained his discharge, taking in lieu of his “lay” a boat equipped for landing and supplied with sundry books and certain utensils, and boldly made for shore. On his arrival he was stripped of everything, but, as it appeared to his captors that his outfit indicated good intentions, they did not torture him; so he began to teach them English.

Some time afterward Commodore Biddle visited Yeddo for the purpose of establishing trade relations with the Japanese. MacDonald and the survivors of the two wrecked whale ships were committed to the Commodore’s charge with the warning never to return. The stories told by these whalemen, and the information gained by Biddle, determined our government to send another expedition under Commodore Perry, with results so well known to the world.

In the dogwatch the Lady Adams, the Lawrence and Ronald MacDonald were much talked about. A couple of our men had sailed in vessels that had cruised within a few years off the coast of Japan, but they said they had never known a boat to land on the coast, and so far as they knew a few whalers only had recruited at Hakodate, a port to which vessels might go. There was something mysterious about the quarter of the world we were approaching, and the uncertainty colored our conversation in the dogwatch. Shipwrecks and other disasters at sea were also brought up, and the more terrible the tales, the greater the interest.

“Suppose anything happened to us off the coast of Japan. What should we do?” said one of the men.

“It might be another case like the Essex,” replied Kreelman.

There was a demand for the tale of the Essex. While I had read all about that ill-fated vessel, I was anxious to hear Kreelman’s version.

“In the year 1820,” he began, “the ship Essex of Nantucket, Captain Pollard, was cruisin’ in this very Pacific Ocean when whales was sighted. The first whale they struck stove the boat. Two other boats was soon fast to another whale, and the ship headed towards them. All of a sudden a big sperm bull breached nearby and bore down on the ship at full speed and struck her with tremendous force and she begun to sink. The whale moved off, and then he come back, openin’ and closin’ his big jaws and poundin’ the sea with his flukes and dashed into her again; and pretty soon she was on her beam ends. Owen Chase, the mate of the Essex, writ a book in which he said that there wasn’t no such thing as chance about it, that the whale was mad because they had struck his companions and that he meant revenge. In three boats captain, officers and crew made for Peru, which was nearly three thousand miles away. They at first reached an island where nobody lived, and three of them preferred to die there rather than go through what the men would have to go through who were to go on in the open boats. One boat was never heard from. When one of them gave up and died the others ate his raw flesh like wolves. At last they were rescued. Three in one boat was picked up by one ship, and two in the other boat by another ship. Captain Pollard was one of the men that was saved. Word got round to Nantucket, before his return, of the awful time he and his shipmates had had, and when he come back the streets was lined with people, and not a word was said as he walked with bowed head to his home.”

Kreelman’s tale was correct. Some one said, “Fancy Chest, you are a scholard and have read about such things. You can’t tell no tale that can beat that.”

“I don’t want to,” I declared. “The story of the Essex is all true and I trust it may never be repeated; but I can tell a story of a whale as savage as the one which sank the Essex. He too attacked a whaler, but no lives were lost.”

“Go on,” they shouted.

“In 1850 the Parker Cook of Provincetown, while cruising in the Atlantic, lowered two boats for a bull sperm. The boat-steerer of one of the boats made fast with two irons, and the whale capsized her. The line fouled and nearly severed the boat-steerer’s leg from the body. He fortunately was able to cut the line, and the other boat picked up the men in the water and returned to the ship. But the whale wasn’t satisfied. Like the destroyer of the Essex, he made for the Parker Cook and struck her with great force, throwing the men to the deck and burying the cutwater and stem up to the planking in his head. Then he repeated the performance but with abated force. The captain lowered another boat, and, when they were in close quarters, fired three bomb lances into the creature and so wounded him that he spouted blood. Every time the whale made for the boat, great skill was required in avoiding his charges. The whale was at last killed, and when tried out yielded a little over a hundred barrels. The vessel put into Fayal for medical treatment for the boat-steerer and for repairs. Lucky it was that the attack was directly on the stem. Had it been on any other part of the vessel she would probably have shared the fate of the Essex.”

The men called for another, and I responded:

“Of course, what I have just told I read out of a book, and, as you ask for another, I’ll give you this which I also read out of a book, but it’s true nevertheless. While near the Azores in 1832, the mate’s boat of the Barclay of Nantucket struck a whale with both irons, and, when the mate went forward to use the lance, the whale turned and killed him and then escaped. A few days after, the Hector of New Bedford fell in with the same whale, and several boats were lowered. The whale made for the mate’s boat. This officer, by a quick move, avoided the encounter, and the boat-steerer threw his harpoon successfully, but the whale turned and smashed the bow of the boat. He then demolished the captain’s boat. While the crew were picked up, the whale proceeded to bite up the pieces of the broken craft, and succeeded with a single exception. This was a keg. As the keg bobbed up and down on the waves, the whale tried to capture it with his teeth, but unsuccessfully, and he seemed very angry. After the men had reached the ship, the whale and the keg were still in evidence. The mate now picked a crew and lowered again. The whale then lost interest in the keg and made for the boat. Its occupants, terror-stricken, pulled for the ship. Several times they barely escaped from the whale’s jaws, and they were becoming exhausted when the whale, which had been fighting of course with his belly up, turned over to lift his head out of water and take in some fresh air. The boat was so near that the mate was able to drive his lance into the creature’s vitals, killing him almost instantly. The harpoons of the Barclay were found in his body.”

The men were very attentive and thoughtful. One of them said, “If a boat’s crew should lose the ship in these waters we’re goin’ to, it wouldn’t do to land, and I don’t know what would become of ’em.”

Kreelman turned to me and said, “Fancy Chest, that reminds me of the bark Janet. I’ve heard the story, but you’ve read about it, I suppose. So go on and tell it.”

“Yes, I have read about it. In 1849 a boat’s crew succeeded in killing a whale, and soon after the boat was capsized. All the contents except the oars were lost. The men were able to right the craft, but she was water-filled, and the sea was so rough that to prevent the boat from foundering the oars were lashed across her. Night was coming on and, unfortunately, they were not seen from the vessel. Working their way to the dead whale, they made fast to him and endeavored to empty the water from the boat, but the sea was so rough that they were forced to cut loose. After a night of great suffering they looked in vain for the bark. They could make little headway, and they were all exhausted, so they put the boat before the wind. On the second day the sea subsided, and they were encouraged to throw over the boat and empty the water. One man was lost in the unsuccessful endeavor, and two of the men soon went mad. The nearest land was an island off the coast of Peru, a thousand miles away. The weak and discouraged crew summoned all their strength and tore the ceiling from the boat, with which to rig a wooden sail. They steered their course at night by the stars, and by day suffered great agony from the heat. There was neither food nor water for seven days, and then they drew lots, and one of their number was killed and eaten. A shower fell, but too late. On the eighth day another man died and on the ninth another shower furnished water. Then a dolphin leaped into the boat. For several days birds came so near that the men were able to kill them. Twenty days after the boat capsized they reached the island off Peru. There they killed a wild pig and two days later were taken off by the Leonidas of New Bedford.”

“Well,” observed one of the men, repeating the previous remark, “if a boat gets lost from a ship on the ground we are goin’ to, they’d have a hard time of it. It wouldn’t do to land there, and where could they land?”

This observation gave rise to discussion, and the expression of views showed a woful ignorance of geography. Kreelman seemed to have the best grasp of the situation.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “this coast of Japan ground, as they call it, stretches over an awful distance. It runs clear down pretty near to the Caroline Islands. That’s south, and I shouldn’t be surprised if we touched there for supplies before we go north again. A man who cruised in this ocean and was once on this ground told me all about it.”

“There ain’t no danger from savages round here, is there?” asked one of the men.

“No danger in these days,” replied Kreelman. “In old days occasionally a whaler in this ocean was never heard from. Some thought shipwreck, some thought cuttlefish and some thought savages. I don’t know. I don’t believe there will ever be again such a case as the Sharon’s. That was twenty years ago. One of the men who was on board told me about it years ago.”

The sea was quite tranquil, we were sailing freely and there was silence. I knew that all Kreelman wanted was encouragement.

“I have heard of that case,” I observed. “It was in 1842.”

“How do you know?”

“Oh, I’ve read about it.”

“Well, readin’ ain’t always knowin’. When you hear a thing from a man who’s been there it’s first hand, and, when you get it out of a book, it’s second hand.”

“Well,” I observed, “you had no objection, not long ago, to listen to stories I took from books.”

Kreelman made no reply and on his own invitation told the story in his quaint way.

“Well, you see, this Sharon touched at an island where a number of the crew deserted, and she put to sea with only seventeen men all told. One day two boats were lowered for whales, and the captain, a Portuguese boy and three natives of the Kingsmill group of islands was left on board. They took a whale and the ship bore down and took him alongside, and then they trimmed the sails to prevent her forgin’ ahead. The boats were now after other whales.

“Soon the signal flag of the ship at half-mast informed those in the boats that there was trouble on board and they put for the ship. When within hailin’ distance the boy, who was in the riggin’, called out that the natives had killed the captain and had control of the ship. One of the natives shook a cuttin’-spade at the men in the boats. Then he said somethin’ in his own language to the fourth native who was in one of the boats. They thought that he asked him to jump overboard and swim to the ship, but the man in the boat shook his head. Then the fellow on deck threw the cook’s axe and he aimed so good that the man in the boat only saved himself by dodgin’ it.

“The mate was afraid that the savages would swing the yards and that the sails would catch the wind, so he called to the boy in the riggin’, ‘Cut the halyards of the upper sails on the mainmast and then go forward on a stay and cut ’em on the foremast.’ The boy done it, and then the boats got close together and the mates talked over what they’d better do. One said one thing, and another another.

“Benjamin Clough, only nineteen years old, was third mate of the ship. Clough stood up in the bow of the first mate’s boat, picked up a lance and hurled it at a savage standin’ on the ship’s rail, but the warp was too short and the savage laughed at him. Then Clough said that, if the boy would cut loose the foreroyal stay and let it drop into the water from the end of the jib boom, he would swim to the ship with the warp of the lance in his mouth and fight the savages single-handed. The mate said, ‘All right,’ and they called to the boy, but he was weak from bein’ afraid and tired out, and couldn’t do it. The ship didn’t drift much, and they stayed in the boats till night come on.

“Now this Clough was an awful smart fellow and he said once more that he would swim to the ship, and the first mate told him to go ahead. He took off every rag he had on, then he took a boat knife in his teeth, and he didn’t care if the sea was full of sharks; he swam straight to the stern of the vessel, climbed up the rudder and got into the cabin through a window. He found, in the dark, two cutlasses and two muskets, which he loaded. A native come down the steps and Clough attacked him with a cutlass and cut out one of his eyes, but in the struggle Clough’s right hand was badly cut. The native was as good as killed.

“One of the other two savages come to the head of the stairs with a cuttin’ spade in his hand. Clough pointed a musket with his left hand and right forearm and fired it and killed the fellow. As his body come down stairs, bringin’ the spade with him, it struck Clough’s left arm and cut it badly. And now see what a smart fellow the first mate was. Through the cabin window Clough told him what he had done, and how badly he was hurt, and called for help and said that only one savage was alive. But the brave mate replied that, as he had only heard one shot, he believed that only one savage was dead, so he wouldn’t help Clough. The poor fellow stretched out on the cabin floor helpless. In half an hour the boat come under the stern, and the men climbed in through the windows. The native who hadn’t been hurt jumped overboard but come on board again during the night and was put in irons. Clough’s wounds healed and, when he got back, his owners made him captain of the Sharon and then built a new ship for him.”

The men were greatly pleased with Kreelman’s story; they were loud in their praises of Clough; and, as foremast hands have generally a pretty low estimate of the upper officers, they expressed their opinion of the first mate in uncomplimentary language. This conference during the dogwatch was the most interesting of any in the whole voyage. Most of my companions had looked forward to this long cruise with some forebodings, and the stories narrated pertained to experiences and incidents which some of them probably felt they might themselves encounter before the season was over. But Kreelman’s tale had thrilled them. What gloom there had been was dissipated, and the men went to the watch below that night all ready for their labors in the months before them.