Hitty, Her First Hundred Years/Chapter 4

That night Phœbe and I spent on a horsehair sofa of extraordinary slipperiness in the aftercabin of the Diana-Kate. Later, Phœbe was to have a berth fitted for her in the Captain’s quarters, but our coming had been so unexpected there was time for nothing besides getting the vessel in readiness to weigh anchor.

“I aim to put out by four,” I heard Captain Preble telling the man that Andy had called the mate, “and we’ll make the tide serve us out.”

I remember his words distinctly, for I considered it very obliging of the tide to be willing to serve us. It amazes me to think how ignorant I was then of the simplest sea phrases.

All that night as Phœbe and I slid and slipped on the horsehair, I listened to the strange sounds which were to become familiar to me for many months. Such rattlings and squeakings, and such grinding of chains and clumping of boots on the wooden decks overhead. There were cries, as well, that I could not make out. It was all very enlivening.

When Phœbe carried me up the steep steps of the companionway and on deck next morning, we found the Diana-Kate running before the wind. Her square sails were billowing out in fine fashion and her bow dipped and rose to be lifted by great blue-green combers the like of which I had never seen before.

“Huh, this ain’t nothin’,” Andy told us, as Phœbe nearly lost her footing when the deck suddenly seemed to slip from under her, “you just wait till we get ’round by ol’ Hatt’ras an’ then you'll see somethin’.”

“A lot you know ’bout Hatt’ras, young man,” said a deep voice ​nearby, and a big man in faded blue trousers and shirt stopped beside us, “you run along down to the galley and help same’s you're here for. Scud now.”

Andy scudded as he was told. He disappeared down the stairs we had just climbed and presently the smell of coffee began to mingle with the sea air. The big sailor lifted Phoebe to a seat on a carpenter’s wooden bench. This stood amidships near what I later learned were the try-works but which then looked to me only like deep pits of brick built into the deck between the masts. Several men were working nearby at odd jobs. They were all brown and big like the first.

“Well, so we’ve got ladies aboard this trip, eh, Bill?” one greeted us, giving Phœbe a knowing wink as he made the most intricate knottings of rope between his fingers. “S’pose that means we'll have to mind our P’s and Q’s.”

Phœbe was being measured for the new bunk she was to sleep in and I for a little rope hammock which the sailor named Elijah, called ’Lige for short, had promised to make me. They were so jolly and friendly and the strong sea sunshine felt so good, with the wind blowing and the big ballooning sails throwing shadows on each other, that I felt only pleasure as I looked out upon the miles of tossing blue water before us—not a single regret to see the far hump of land that was Boston disappearing from sight.

Phœbe was only a little seasick those first days out, the rest of us not at all. Andy sang and whistled and danced hornpipes the crew taught him. Even Mrs. Preble grew more resigned to the cramped quarters of the ship’s galley and made a batch of molasses cookies big enough for all, a rare treat indeed for a whaling ship, or for any vessel, in those days.

Although there were still one or two who grumbled and made dire predictions about the presence of women aboard a whaler, we were for the most part treated with real consideration. In fact, Phœbe Preble and I were soon on such friendly terms with various members of the crew that her mother complained there would be no living with the child when we got home again. I, too, felt a ​distinct sense of my own importance when ’Lige and his special crony, one Reuben Somes, said that they had no doubt I would bring them good luck on this voyage. They decided this after Phœbe had told them the story of my being made of mountain-ash wood.

“Why, now, she’d ought to be as much good to us as old lady
He made me a sea chest to hold my possessions. Diana down yonder,” Reuben said, pointing toward the carved figurehead just under the bowsprit.

I must confess that I felt a little frightened lest he should suggest that I too be nailed in a like position, to be drenched in salt spray whenever the vessel took any particularly big wave. I did not envy the poor lady. I was far too grateful for all my privileges, especially for the little hammock ’Lige had made me. I had other presents as well, for the men all seemed to be clever at making ​things from odds and ends of rope, chips, or bits of wood. They vied with one another at fitting me out, and before we were many weeks out I possessed not only a hammock to sleep in but also a chip basket, a carved bone footstool, and a sea chest to hold all my possessions. This last was the gift of Bill Buckle, who spared no pains to make it perfect in every respect. It was painted a beautiful bright blue, with proper rope handles at each end and my initials, H. P., picked out in shiny nail heads on the lid. That was a proud day for me, and Phœbe was so pleased she ran all over the ship exhibiting it. She was all for climbing up to the crow’s nest to show the lookout, but her father soon put a stop to that.

And this reminds me, I was greatly upset the first time I heard mention of the crow’s nest. Naturally, my own trying experiences in the old pine were still fresh in my memory and I had no desire to repeat them. However, I soon discovered my mistake and later on it became one of my greatest diversions to watch the men climb up the ratlines to take their turns at watching for whales from that little black perch so high above the rigging. But I am getting a trifle ahead of myself, for it was not until we were well past the Horn and heading into the South Seas that our whaling adventures began in earnest.

The weather was generally so mild and fine, the winds so brisk and steady, that we made excellent runs during our first months out. Different seamen as well as Andy took turns at helping Mrs. Preble in the little galley that served as kitchen, “tending the kettle halyards,” they called it in their own particular sea talk. She was growing used to the ship and when things had been going their best she was heard to declare that except for the lack of a few neighbors to drop in of an evening, and a decent sink for washing dishes, and a cow to give us milk, she could think of a lot worse places to spend one’s days in. There were, of course, other times, such as Sundays, when she sighed remembering how many miles lay between us and Meeting-House Hill. Then she would call Andy and Phœbe to her to make sure that they had not forgotten the Commandments and the Twenty-Third Psalm.

​Bill Buckle was now our constant companion and we were on such intimate terms with him that he even went as far as to loan Andy his jackknife and showed us all his best tattoo marks. Nearly all the men aboard were tattooed, but none could show such elaborate decorations as his, for there were mermaids and sea serpents in green on one arm, an anchor and a whale in blue on the other, while a clipper ship in full rig and three colors was sailing straight across his chest. Andy was very envious of these pictures, but it was rather discouraging to find how much Bill Buckle had paid to have them done. He did agree, however, to tattoo Andy’s initials across his chest the first chance he got. Phœbe felt a trifle left out when she heard this and was all for having mine done, too. This frightened me considerably and I was thankful enough when Bill came to my rescue by declaring that he didn’t hold with tattooing for ladies. Kind Bill Buckle, I can see his great brown fingers now, his bristling black beard, and his eyes that squinted into pale blue slits when he looked far off to sea.

Another great favorite of ours was Jeremy Folger from Nantucket. He had had a fall from a yardarm in his youth, so he told us, and this had given him a hump on his back for life. It made him cut a queer figure but in no way unfitted him for ship’s duties. In fact, Captain Preble counted himself lucky to have Jeremy aboard this trip, for he was known to be one of the best harpooners anywhere about. He had the keenest eyes as well as the steadiest aim. There was a rumor, which Andy and Phœbe firmly believed, that he could sight a whale spouting, or rather blowing, as they called it, fully nine miles away. He had no beard like the rest and his straw-colored hair was bleached almost white by the strong sea sunshine. This gave him the oddest appearance. To this day I do not know whether he was nearer twenty or seventy.

One night I heard Captain Preble tell his wife the only thing that bothered him was that “everything was drawing ’most too well.” Just when that was it is difficult to remember, for there was little to separate one long, blue, salty day from the one that came before or after it. However, soon after we had come around that ​mysterious place they all called the Horn, the Diana-Kate struck a spell of bad weather. The storm came on quite suddenly late one afternoon and there was barely time to get canvas lashed and hatches battened down before we were in the teeth of it. No more sunny hours of leisure and yarn-spinning on deck, but two days and nights of pounding, tossing, and buffetings such as no pen can describe. The rocking and roaring about the nest in the old pine were as nothing to what I now experienced.

“Now don’t you go and get wadgetty, Kate,” Captain Preble told his wife, as he took a final look about the cabin to make sure all was tight before going on deck. “It won’t be exactly smooth sailin’ for a spell, but I’ve put through worse’n this is goin’ to be. I mean to heave to and lay under bare poles till this is over with.”

“Well, put on an extra pair of socks, Dan’l, an’ take your muffler aloft,” was all she said, but I could see that she was worried.

“What did he mean about layin’ under bare poles?” Phœbe asked curiously.

“Means he don’t dast have an inch of sail up,” Andy told her. “Guess I’ll go above an’ have a look around.”

“You won’t do any such thing,” Mrs. Preble spoke up briskly. “It’s all the men can do to keep their footing on deck; you’d be washed overboard in no time. You come right in the galley with me and help get the fire goin’ and some hot soup ready. Dear knows they’ll need it tonight if they never did before.”

Although it was long before the time, Phœbe and I were put to bed in her little bunk and tied in firmly with an old piece of flannel.

“Can’t have you fallin’ down and breakin’ your bones,” her mother said when she protested. “We’ve got trouble enough on our hands as ’tis.”

So in bed we stayed, though it was impossible to sleep in all the racket going on about us. A single oil lamp hung in the main cabin just outside. This was the only light, dim and rather smoky at best, and now, with the ship reeling and plunging with such violence, it swung crazily about, making eerie shadows that frightened Phœbe into tears. But since no one heard her above the ​commotion, and if they had all were too busy to stop and reassure her, she finally ducked her head under the blankets and held me close.

“Oh, Hitty,” she whispered, “I didn’t think going to sea would be like this, did you?”

It seemed as if that night would never turn into morning, and when it did we were no better off, for it was almost as dark and noisy below as at midnight. To add to our discomfort, water poured down whenever the hatchway was opened, and even when it was not, it managed to seep in as often as a particularly huge wave broke over the Diana-Kate’s bow and made her decks awash with tons of salt water. Already there were several inches on the cabin floor, and Mrs. Preble was in despair, trying to keep the fire alive.

“You'd best stay in your bunk same’s Phœbe,” the Captain told her on one of his few trips below. “I’d send one of the crew down to help you, but truth is I can’t spare a one of ’em. She’s sprung a leak for’ard and it takes four to keep her bailed out.”

“Mercy, Dan’l!” I heard Mrs. Preble cry out. “Ain’t that pretty bad?”

“Well, I can’t say it’s exactly good,” he answered as he stood by the cabin door gulping down some hot tea she had brought him in a tin cup. “Trouble is we can’t commence patchin’ till this lets up. But it’s bound to ’fore long, if we can just ride it out.”

How that day passed I do not know. All I remember of it is the absolute certainty that the Diana-Kate’s next downward plunge would surely send us to the bottom. Whenever she rose, shuddering and straining in every beam, I felt it must be for the last time, and then once more we would begin to sink down, down, till it seemed impossible we could ever again climb out of such a watery hollow.

The noise grew to be so great that even the men’s shrillest shouts to one another could scarcely be heard above the sloshings and poundings, the thud and crash of waves breaking over and about us, and the wind that howled and tore at masts till it seemed they must crack in two. Indeed, during that second night of storm it in​creased with such violence that the accident occurred which was so nearly our finish.

By this time, what with the leak we had sprung and the force of the waves breaking over our bows, the foc’s’le was partly under water. Those of the crew who ordinarily slept there must snatch the few winks of sleep allowed them in the cabin. Not that any part of the ship was dry now, but they were too wet from their struggles overhead to notice a few inches of water underfoot. Once or twice we caught sight of Jeremy or Bill Buckle or other special cronies, who were too spent and dripping to give us more than a nod or grin. It was no time for pleasantry, I can tell you.

Several of the men were gathered there trying to wring some of the wet from their soaked jackets when there came a particularly strong gust of wind. We could feel the Diana-Kate shiver under the force of it; and then came a sound of such horrid ripping and splintering that it makes me terrified to think of it even now in the quiet of the antique shop. There followed a noise of hurrying feet on deck, more cracking, and Captain Preble bellowing out commands in a voice that sounded no bigger than a cricket chirping above the tumult.

“Cut her away, boys!” he was shouting. “Let her go—topsail an’ all!”

I saw the three men who had been lounging in the cabin leap to their feet and go staggering up the companionway. Even in the wavering light of the oil lamp I could make out how pale Phœbe’s mother had grown as she started up from her place in the bunk below us. She clung to the child with one hand, while with the other she kept herself from falling.

“What’s happened, Mother? Are we going to sink?” Phœbe cried, seeing the fright in her face.

“Not if your father can help it,” her mother answered, but her eyes were enormous and she never even noticed that she was standing in water to her ankles.

“I don’t believe we will—not with Hitty aboard,” Phœbe re​minded her. “She’s made of mountain-ash wood and you know that’s sure to bring us good luck.”

But Mrs. Preble was too anxious to hear or reprove her.

After what seemed a long time things quieted down somewhat above us. The men returned to the cabin and the Captain came down for a moment to reassure his wife. From him we learned that the main topmast had snapped in two and it had been necessary for several of the crew to climb up and cut it away, topsail, yardarm, and dear knows how much besides.

“Yes,” he said, shaking the wet from his beard and eyebrows, “it's gone over the side and lucky we didn’t follow it.”

“Oh, Dan'l,” his wife cried out, “can’t you let me get you a dry shirt?”

But he was gone before she could make her way over to the chest.

Later on, Andy visited us. He had been with the men in the cabin and so had gathered much news about our situation. He crawled into our bunk and sat cross-legged at the foot while he regaled Phoebe with all he had learned.

“They thought we were gone for good that time,” he told us. “Bill Buckle said it looked as if we were going to join the fishes in another five minutes, only for Jeremy and ’Lige cutting off the topmast and sail in sucha hurry. Cap’n knew it was the only way, but old Patch is terrible mad. He was all for tryin’ to save it.”

Patch was the first mate, a stoop-shouldered, sandy man, who had never muttered more than a curt good morning to us since we set sail. I had never liked him and now I felt sure that he meant no good to any of us.

“He was all agin havin’ women folks along,” Andy went on. “They say he done everything he could, only the Cap’n went over his head. Now he’s goin’ round sayin’ we’re gettin’ our bad luck same’s he said we would for havin’ you aboard. Bill Buckle don’t pay no heed to him, but he says there’s some that does, though he ain’t mentionin’ names.”