July 27, Dinner with Whalers

July 27—This morning we came upon a further whaler, the Enterprise from Peterhead captained by Robert Martin. This evening a few of us accepted the kind gentleman’s offer and dined aboard his vessel. It was a most enjoyable occasion much given over to talk of our prospects which were universally spoken of in a sanguine manner. The whalers are fine hearty fellows from the north country and they regaled us with tales of the whaling fleets. It is a most adventurous and interesting profession, but not one which I could take to, the whaling boat carrying such a disagreeable odour with her as I have ever smelled. It comes from the barrels she carries which are full of oil rendered from the whale fat, or blubber, heated over large fires on some suitable beach. Captain Martin laughed at our sensibilities and invited us to visit one of his rendering stations on the Greenland coast where, he assured us, the smell is one hundred times worse. We used the urgency of our passage to excuse ourselves from his hospitality.

The Enterprise has had a good season, the ice being open and allowing her into northern bays which were filled with whales. Reid and some others passed over letters for Captain Martin to take back. Had I been more conscientious with my writing I would have had more than these few pages which I did not think worth the trouble of sending. God willing, you will be reading them soon enough and your mood then, after we have sailed home in triumph, will perhaps be more sympathetic to my rude ramblings.

Many of our men are past whalers from Hull and Whitby, or else from the Orkney Islands and Peterhead. Several have past shipmates aboard the Enterprise. There was much shouting of messages between ships, but no opportunity for the crews to mingle. Just before I went across to dine this evening, I was approached by a little old Orkney man. “Beggin’ pardon, sir,” he said as I was about to disembark, “but Bill Fowler has pit some o’ ma words on paper an’ would ye consider the takin’ o’ the writin’ for they lads tae tak hame fer the missus?”—By which I took to mean that William Fowler, the Paymaster and one of the few of the people to have learned writing, had taken down a message for the old man’s wife which he was asking me to deliver over to someone on the Enterprise. It is a favour I have not been much disposed to undertake for the men, for it can quickly become a burden, but for him I made an exception. I have come across him before. 

When we docked in Stromness in the Orkneys in June, we feared that some of the crew from those parts would repent their decision to accompany us. As was usual at this port, no leave was allowed. But the old man approached me then and begged to be allowed ashore. He had not seen his wife in over four years, so I let him go to Kirkwall, fourteen miles off. I also allowed the Captain of the Foretop, Robert Sinclair, who had not seen his mother for fourteen years, and one man from each mess, to go ashore for provisions. They all came on board after their leave; but finding we were not going to sea till the following morning, four men (who probably had taken a ‘leetle’ too much whiskey, and among them the little old man who had not seen his wife for four years) took a small boat that lay alongside and went on shore without leave. Their absence was soon discovered, and Fairholme, assisted by the Bailie, brought all on board by three o’clock in the morning. 

I firmly believed each man intended coming on board (if he had been sober enough), especially the poor man with the wife—but according to the rules of the service, these men should have been severely punished—one method being to stop their pay and give it to the constables or others who apprehended them. It struck me, however, that the punishment is intended to prevent misconduct in others, and not to take revenge on individuals. Men know very well when they are in the wrong—and there was clearly no chance of a repetition of such offence until we reached Valparaiso, or the Sandwich Islands; so I got up at four o’clock, had everybody on deck, sent Gore and Bryant, the Sergeant of our Royal Marine contingent, below and searched the whole deck for spirits, which were thrown overboard. This took two good hours; soon after which we weighed anchor, and made sail out. I said nothing to any of the men. They evidently expected a rowing, and the old man with the wife looked very sheepish, and would not look me in the face; but nothing more was said, and the men have behaved not a bit the worse ever since. 

I don’t know why I tell you all this. I had meant to say just a little about icebergs and our guests, and say that when we came back on board I found that Le Vesconte had organised an occasion to celebrate your brother reaching the august age of thirty-two. We had many toasts with some splendid champagne and much talk of old times in China and Syria. Not one of us expressed the least iota of regret and none would rather be anywhere than exactly where we are unless it be with a fine following wind heading into Lancaster Sound. I toasted your health dearest Elizabeth and you were, as you ever are, close in my thoughts. I will try to write a letter tomorrow which the Enterprise may take back to England for me. And now I really must say goodnight; it is past one o’clock. God Bless.