salt breeze now fanned us, so that we were the more hopeful that the
Ezekiel’s sails would fill enough to follow us. We were far too weary to
commence the tedious business of towing back our prize. Also it was
easier for the ship to find us than for us to locate the ship. So we
rigged what is known as a wall-pole. This is a slender mast which is
thrust into the dead whale’s spout hole, and a lighted lantern hoisted
to its head. As the night set in under a clear moon, Shuhshuhgah pointed
towards the horizon, and we saw white canvas moving up into the skyline. At first we took this to be the mother ship searching for its lost
child, but as her rigging mounted higher, our old oarsman contradicted
us.
“That ship, don’t listen for the clacking of an old woman’s needles
in Nantucket,” he said. ‘A New Englander she may be, but not from our
port. No. You can tell by the set of her.’
We all de voutly hoped he was right, for the vessel never showed her
hull above the horizon, and our little flicker from the lantern was
evidently lost to her look-out in the dancing moon-sparks on the sea.
Scratching for the breeze, she changed her course and tacked down below
the line again, and we were once more alone.
All that night we lay beside our dead antagonist. Before dawn, the
breeze has freshened, and as the sun came up so did the sails of the
Ezekiel, and we were safe.
Our carcass lashed safely alo ngside the Ezekiel, I left the cutters
at work to take a glass of grog with the captain. He had a story to
tell. Having seen
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my whale -boat charted so ferociously out of sight, the captain had taken
our direction before attending to the other boats, one of which lost
their whale through the depth of its soundings, so that they had to cut
the line for their life, and the other killing quickly the fine fellow
to ours. He was waiting for the breeze to bring him nearer to us, when
he sighted the very ship which we had seen. A whaler, too, but with
every tun overflowing, and so bound for home rejoicing.
Aye, my good Tony, let me if possible anticipate your guess. She was
the Isaiah from New Bedford. Our Nantucket had been correct. Had he but
known her name, I would have abandoned our carcass and rowed for her, to
get my reckoning. But let me tell you in the captain’s words. ‘She
signaled us for a Gam’ (This, my good Tony, is a word for a high seas
courtesy call between two captains.) ‘They lowered a boat, and, much to
my amazement, when the boat was manned and the captain standing at the
helm an admiral’s cradle was lowered bearing a woman. It was his
captain’s wife. She was very beautiful and still but a girl, though when
she was hauled aboard us, she told me that her little son was asleep in
her cabin. The captain was a pleasant enough fellow in his cups, and
they were plentiful. He owned his ship and had done well for himself and
crew. You may believe that I anxiously questioned him about your whaleboat, and whether he had seen it. He had not. After that, all went
merrily over drinks, but being anxious about your fate, I kept referring
to you as one of the most outstanding harpooners I had shipped with. It
was when I described
you that his wife se ized his arm and whispered. At once a cold fear
seemed to possess both. The reason I cannot explain. Immediately they
insisted upon departure. I tried to dissuade them, for in the morning I
had hoped they would have aided our search for you. However, go they
would. On porting I learned his name was Nicholas Tappitt.’
Tony, had I not chased that whale, I could have harpooned him in the
cabin of the Ezekiel —in front of her eyes, too. But I learned further
things from our captain, without in any way rousing his suspicious.
Things that may prove useful to me. Nicholas upon the voyage has
subjected his body to the stupid torture of the tattoonist. He is a mss
of symbols and designs: tattooed from head to food. It will make him at
least the more noticeable, and many inquiries after him the easier. He
is now for home, or rather, his home port. But, as he said over his
cups, he is no more for the whaling. He thinks to sail his ship into the
Caribbean Seas. He sees a great promise in piracy, I gather. Our captain
considered this but drunken boasting. I have my own opinion. Well, if
his black conscience takes him there through fear of me, it is there
that I shall follow. Who knows, Tony, but that your college friend, so
blinded with hate, which is all-consuming, may not also hoist the Jolly
Roger, and, like a lone shark, prey on pirate ships till I can kill him?
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Chapter 15
Syn Hoists the Black Flag
Four years after the Ezekiel had sailed from Nantucket, she returned
full-laden with the richness of many a great whale. The Coffins were
more than pleased with the results, and treated Captain Clegg
generously. The Nantucket Bank, which they owned, had invested his money
credited from Albany well, so that when Syn and Mipps sailed from the
island for the port of New Bedford they were richer men. Here they
learned that Nicholas had sold the Isaiah for a good sum, and had
departed for the West Indies, where he proposed to buy another vessel
and with letters of marquee go privateering.
“I doubt whether he will trouble about the letters,” said Syn to
Mipps. “Like as not his privateering will be black piracy. Well, we know
something of that game ourselves.”
After so long at sea, Shuhshuhgah felt a hunger for his forests, but
could only be persuaded to visit his people when Syn selected a
rendezvous for a future meeting. Mipps, having been a professional
pirate, was able to supply the very place. There was a thriving tavern
in Santiago which was a popular sorting house for all the pirate news.
The landlord of “The Staunch Brotherhood” was a discreet man, who could
keep a secret so long as he was paid to do so. To this place Shuhshuhgah
was to repair whenever he felt ready to rejoin Syn. Should Syn be at
sea, the Indian, who was well provided with mone y, was to remain at this
tavern till summoned.
On their journey through the islands, Syn discovered that Nicholas
had also gone to Santiago.
“Which shows,” said Mipps, “that he’s turned pirate. It’s the chief
occupation of that there town.”
On their arrival, Syn found “The Staunch Brotherhood” to be a large,
rambling inn, built in the Spanish style with a large courtyard opening
out upon the harbour front. It was openly the resort of pirates from all
nations, where the roughest sailors jostled agai nst rich owners and
gaudily dressed captains. Riotous quarrels and the heaviest drinking
were the order of its days and nights. From his first entrance into this
place, Captain Clegg, with Mipps at his heels, made himself felt, for he
swaggered through the noisy crowd and in a ringing voice demanded the
immediate service of the landlord.
“I am Pedro the landlord,” answered a great, fat, greasy-looking
rascal, who was wise enough to size up a man before dealing with him.
“In what way can I serve you, Senor?”
“I propose staying in this town upon important business,” replied
Syn, speaking rapidly in Spanish. “I have heard this inn of yours spoken
of by my friend here as the best place for keeping one’s sword-hand in
practice. Also that your drinks are of the best. I hope for your sake