The vessel was an unusually long time working up to us, so slow, in fact, that Mr Count remarked, critically, "Shouldn't wonder if th' ole man ain't hurt; they're taking things so all-fired easy."By the time she had reached us, we had a good few visitors around us from the fishing fleet, who caused us no little anxiety, The Chinese have no prejudices; they would just as soon steal a whale as a herring, if the conveyance could be effected without, more trouble or risk to their own yellow skins.If it involved the killing of a few foreign devils--well, so much to the good.The ship, however, arrived before the fishermen had decided upon any active steps, and we got our catch alongside without any delay.
The truth of Mr.Count's forecast was verified to the hilt, for we found that the captain was so badly bruised about, the body that he was unable to move, while one of the hands, a Portuguese, was injured internally, and seemed very bad indeed.Had any one told us that morning that we should be sorry to see Captain Slocum with sore bones, we should have scoffed at the notion, and some of us would probably have said that we should like to have the opportunity of making him smart.But under the present circumstances, with some hundreds of perfectly ruthless wretches hovering around us, looking with longing eyes at the treasure we had alongside, we could not help remembering the courage and resource so often shown by the skipper, and wished with all our hearts that we could have the benefit of them now.As soon as dinner was over, we all "turned to" with a will to get the whale cut in.None of us required to be told that to lay all night with that whale alongside would be extremely unhealthy for us, great doubt existing as to whether any of us would see morning dawn again.There was, too, just a possibility that when the carcass, stripped of its blubber, was cut adrift, those ravenous crowds would fasten upon it, and let us go in peace.
All hands, therefore, worked like Trojans.There was no need to drive us, nor was a single harsh word spoken.Nothing was heard but the almost incessant clatter of the windlass pawls, abrupt monosyllabic orders, and the occasional melancholy wail of a gannet overhead.No word had been spoken on the subject among us, yet somehow we all realized that we were working for a large stake no less than our lives.What! says somebody, within a few miles of Hong Kong? Oh yes; and even within Hong Kong harbour itself, if opportunity offers.Let any man go down the wharf at Hong Kong after sunset, and hail a sampan from the hundreds there that are waiting to be hired.Hardly will the summons have left his lips before a white policeman will be at his side, note-book in hand, inquiring his name and ship, and taking a note of the sampan's number, with the time of his leaving the wharf.Nothing perfunctory about the job either.Let but these precautions be omitted, and the chances that the passenger (if he have aught of value about him) will ever arrive at his destination are almost nil.
So good was the progress made that by five p.m.we were busy at the head, while the last few turns of the windlass were being taken to complete the skinning of the body.With a long pent-up shout that last piece was severed and swung inboard, as the huge mass of reeking flesh floated slowly astern.As it drifted away we saw the patient watchers who had been waiting converging upon it from all quarters, and our hopes rose high.But there was no slackening of our efforts to get in the head.By the time it was dark we managed to get the junk on board, and by the most extraordinary efforts lifted the whole remainder of the head high enough to make sail and stand off to sea.The wind was off the land, the water smooth, and no swell on, so we took no damage from that tremendous weight surging by our side, though, had the worst come to the worst, we could have cut it adrift.
When morning dawned we hove-to, the land being only dimly visible astern, and finished taking on board our "head matter" without further incident.The danger past, we were all well pleased that the captain was below, for the work proceeded quite pleasantly under the genial rule of the mate.Since leaving port we had not felt so comfortable, the work, with all its disagreeables, seeming as nothing now that we could do it without fear and trembling.Alas for poor Jemmy!--as we always persisted in calling him from inability to pronounce his proper name--his case was evidently hopeless.His fellows did their poor best to comfort his fast-fleeting hours, one after another murmuring to him the prayers of the Church, which, although they did not understand them, they evidently believed most firmly to have some marvellous power to open the gates of paradise and cleanse the sinner.Notwithstanding the grim fact that their worship was almost pure superstition, it was far more in accordance with the fitness of things for a dying man's surroundings than such scenes as I have witnessed in the forecastles of merchant ships when poor sailors lay a-dying.I remember well once, when I was second officer of a large passenger ship, going in the forecastle as she lay at anchor at St.Helena, to see a sick man.Half the crew were drunk, and the beastly kennel in which they lived was in a thick fog of tobacco-smoke and the stale stench of rum.
Ribald songs, quarrelling, and blasphemy made a veritable pandemonium of the place.I passed quietly through it to the sick man's bunk, and found him--dead! He had passed away in the midst of that, but the horror of it did not seem to impress his bemused shipmates much.
