being a pirate. When I hornpiped aboard the Sulphur Pit—the devil rot
its timbers—an extra allowance was all we could expect. But a barrel.
This must be that there place in the Psalms we used to sing about in
Dymchurch choir, ‘Land flowin’ with milk and honey’, but better, since I
always had more taste for rum than milk.”
A spacious hut had been placed at their disposal, and just before
dawn Syn and Mipps retired to it for a much-needed rest. For some time
Syn lay on his back upon a comfortable couch of grass and skins and with
his eyes to the thatched roof he thought. At last, seeing that Mipps had
opened one eye from his bed at the other end of the hut in order to pat
his barrel of rum, and to take from it a further night-cap, Syn said:
“I have found my new name, Mipps. When Syn disappears into the death
which I have invented for him, I shall live on as one Clegg. I shall
drive that Nicholas into a panic, just as that fly drove the cattle
before him. I think now we shall have no difficulty in finding that
rascal. These tribesmen of our will scent him out for me. How do you
fancy serving Captain Clegg?”
“It’s a good enough name, sir,” replied Mipps, “so long as Doctor Syn
ain’t really turned his parson’s toes up. I’ll serve him. But don’t go
altering my name. I’d forget all about it in my next drunk.”
“Very well, then Captain Clegg and Mister Mipps let it be,” said Syn.
“Harking back, Mipps, to that morning upon Lympne Hill when we first
met, I don’t think w e imagined that we should be sleeping like this by
the light of Red Indians’ fires.
“If they worries you, sir,” said Mipps, “I’ll blow ‘em out.”
“No, let them bide. I like red fire,” chuckled Syn. “I carry so much
in my heart. Red hate, Mister Mipps. Red hate.”
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“Aye, sir,” replied Mipps. “But when we spits this Nicholas through his
gizzard, when then? Are you for home and pulpits again, or for more of
these jovial adventures?”
“I will tell you that answer when our enemy is dead. Till then we
follow. Our way may be short or long.”
Chapter 14
Clegg’s Harpoon
The next words of Doctor Syn’s Odyssey can be best described in his
own words, which he penned at sea to his friend Antony Cobtree of
Dymchurch. As things befell, however, it took many a long year reaching
its destination, for having taken the pains to write it, the Doctor’s
caution persuaded him to keep it back, and it lay in his sea -chest till
he ultimately returned to Romney Marsh.
My dear Tony (it read),
In the hopes of meeting with some home-bound ship, which may carry
these lines to you, I am writing in my cabin aboard the whale-ship
Ezekiel, which is at the moment lying becalmed in the Southern Pacific.
More moons ago than I care to count, I wrote to you of our adventures
with the Redskins. Should it reach you, you will by this have read how
my blood -brothers of the tribe, got news of our enemy and of how
Shuhshuhgah, whom no arguments of mine could induce to stay behind, your
humble servant, and my faithful Dymchurch carpenter, Mipps, set out upon
his trail.
We got on our enemy’s track easily enough, and followed him,
sometimes hard upon his heels. Even in the larger towns we found that
Nicholas had not kept quiet, and we could always depend upon some gossip
concerning him at the chief inns. It was in one of these that a
garrulous landlord told us that our friend the Captain journeyed with
his wife and son towards the little port of New Bedford in
Massachusetts, where he intended to fit out a trading vessel , which he
would sail himself. This gossip rang true to me, when our Indian told me
that from this port there sailed many a whale-ship for long voyages.
Since
these ships have no destination but whales, Nicholas would think such a
voyage a good means of giving me the slip. Other gossip’s confirming
this, we set out horses’ heads for this same port. On reaching it, we
made our way to the harbour, where we saw one of these whale -ships
casting off. We watched her as she cleared the roads for the open sea. A
sturdy little craft, but pretty too under her full-set canvas. Mingling
with the crowd, who were whale-minded to a man, we learned that her name
was Isaish. We watched this valiant little vessel disappear upon her
hunting quest, and then proceeded to an inn, where we made inquiries
concerning Nicholas. As you know, I am, my dear Tony, something of a
fatalist. Well, I needed all my philosophy then; for would you credit
it? The Isaiah had been purchased by Nicholas, and he had manned her
with experienced whalemen, and we had seen her sail not knowing that he
was aboard. And, Tony, he had taken her with him and the boy. At first I
could have wept for rage, but my philosophy told me that I, too, must
buy a share in some other ship and follow. My companions agreed that
there was nothing else to do. I knew, of course, that I could count on
Mipps to accompany me, but when I thought to take a fond farewell of our
Indian I was mistaken. He had
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married a girl from amongst the Gay-head Indians who inhabit the
beautiful island named ‘Martha’s Vineyard’, a tribe who from time
immemorial have fought the great leviathan. He proposed that we should
journey there, and then cross to the next island of Nantucket, from
which port he had been told the fastest and the largest whale-ships
sailed. A thriving town, too, much reliable wealth. Indeed, so
prosperous was this whaling trade that we could find no owner willing to
see us a vessel outright.
At last, however, I struck a bargain with a famour family of the
trade named Coffin, by insuring the safe return of a vessel called
Ezekiel, which was to be handed back with half profits upon the
conclusion of the voyage. In this way the Coffins stood to gain, but not
to lose. However, their experience was invaluable, for they found us a
full complement of tried men with a captain of their own whose integrity
they vouched for. I sailed on the ship’s papers as half owner of the
voyage, who wished to study the art of the harpoon. Mipps was shipped as
carpenter, and Shuhshuhgah, who had never been to sea, as a Greenhorn.
On this good ship we have now been to sea for two whole years. We have
rounded the dreadful Horn in storms as mighty as the ever-growing hate
in my heart. We have beat about Good Hope and killed fine whales there,
and now we are back again after sperm whale in the Pacific, which has so
far proved to be our best successful hunting -ground. But I hunt other
than a whale. As I sharpen my blade I think only of plunging it into his
black heart.
Two days later, Tony; for we have been hard driven cutting up two
mighty animals. Both of them forty-barreled Jonahs, and in one pleasant
lump of ambergris. I will not weary you with whaler’s jargon, though
some day I will write you a treatise on the subject. I love a good
harpoon! It is a godlike weapon. Mine is a marvel, and I trust no whale
will robe me of it, for I hope one day to send it crashing into human
ribs. Aye, into Nicholas.
Exhausted, we looked around upon an empty sea, for we had been towed
far out of sight fro m the lofty masthead of the ship, and there was
nothing for it but to lie alongside our valuable corpse till morning. A