Night Birds On Nantucket

  ‘Did you ever catch her?’

  ‘Not likely! No one’s ever seed her but Mr Slighcarp and the Old Man. Still, we had good luck, we caught plenty other whales after that first little dummy run. But some o’ the men was a bit ashamed of getting so far off the whaling grounds as we was when we picked you up.’

  Suddenly Dido’s lip quivered.

  ‘I wish you hadn’t! I wish some English ship had picked me up!’

  ‘Well, there’s ingratitude!’ Nate said indignantly. He added in a gentler tone, ‘We couldn’t leave you to drown, now, could we? You’ll get home soon enough.’

  But, for Dido, the dreamlike strangeness of her surroundings, the huge dark frosted ship, the blazing Arctic sky across which mysterious arches and curtains and streamers of red and green now flickered – most of all the fact, only half understood, that she was an immense distance, half a world away, from home – all this was suddenly too much to be borne. She flung herself down on the pile of sheepskins and cried as if her heart would break.

  ‘There, there!’ said Nate uncomfortably. ‘Come now, don’t take on so, don’t! Supposin’ somebody was to see you?’

  ‘I don’t care!’ wept Dido. ‘I wish I was at home. Oh, I wish I was at home now!’

  2

  The captured whale – the mysterious weeper – Captain Casket’s task

  WHEN DIDO WOKE once more dawn had broken, wild and red and dim. The ice-covered ship gleamed like a Christmas tree. What had roused her was the shouts of the men, who had returned towing a large sperm-whale; their three boats spread around it like tugs. Dido was astonished at the sight of this huge, mouse-coloured monster, almost as big as the ship, it seemed, with its steep face, flat and featureless as the side of a house. At first, in alarm, thinking it was still alive, she scrambled out of her straw bed and retreated to the far side of the deck. But then she realized that it was dead and the men were making it fast to the ship.

  ‘What are they going to do with it?’ she asked Nate, who ran along the deck with five mugs of hot coffee in each hand. By day he was revealed as a long, lanky redhead, with friendly grey eyes and a great many freckles.

  ‘Cut-in, o’ course. I can’t stop now, chick. Why don’t you step down to the camboose and get some breakfast? Doctor’ll be astonished to see you.’

  Dido guessed that the camboose must be the kitchen, but she was too interested in what the men were doing to leave the deck for a while. Several men had gone over the side and now stood on stagings like painters’ cradles slung from ropes between the ship and the whale. They were armed with long-handled, sharp-edged spades. Meanwhile a huge hook, lowered from the rigging, had been sunk into the whale’s side. At this point the rest of the crew all combined their strength to turn a massive windlass, while they encouraged each other by singing:

  ‘Oh, whaling is my only failing,

  Sailing whaling’s done for me!

  Life’s all bible-leaves and bailing –

  Never ask me in when there’s decent folk to tea!’

  Now, to Dido’s amazement, while every timber of the ship seemed to strain and strive, the body of the whale slowly began turning over in the water as the men wound the windlass-handle and pulled on the rope attached to the hook. While the whale turned, the cutters on the hanging planks skilfully sliced round its body so that the blubber, or skin, was peeled off in a spiral like orange-peel. When a considerable length of this great blubber-strip had been drawn up on the hook, sections of it as large as blankets were cut clear by the men on deck and lowered through a forward hatchway.

  ‘Hush your weeping and your wailing

  Six-and-thirty months I’ll be at sea,

  Tears and grumbles are unavailing –

  And never ask me in when there’s decent folk to tea!’

  ‘What do they do with it down there?’ Dido asked a passing man. He scowled at her. It was Mr Slighcarp, the first mate.

  ‘Ho! You’ve woken up to plague us, have you? Don’t you go near the try-works or I’ll spank you with a deck spade.’

  ‘They mince it up, ready to be boiled down for oil,’ another more good-natured man told her. ‘There’s a blubber-room down there, I dessay Cap’n Casket’ll let you have a look some time. Mr Pardon, the second mate, will maybe show you; he’s right pleased to know you’ve woken up at last; he’s down below cutting-in now.’

  ‘Keep your sturgeon, salmon, grayling,

  Shark, bonito’s not for me.

  Whales are all I’ll be impaling –

  And never ask me in when there’s decent folk to tea!’

  Dido wondered what the angry-looking Mr Slighcarp had meant by the try-works. Then she saw that an iron door had been opened at one side of the square brick structure in the middle of the deck; a fire roared inside it and men ran to and fro feeding the flames with bits of tarred rope and frizzled scraps of whale, poking the blaze with long-handled fire pikes. Two huge metal pots were built in above and into these were being tossed chunks of blubber, sliced most of the way through into paper-thin slices so that they looked like books. The brew in the try-pots began to melt and bubble; thick, black, greasy smoke rolled over the deck.

  ‘Cor, love a lily-white duck!’ gasped Dido, as a murky bank of the smoke surged towards her and almost smothered her. ‘I never in all my born days smelt such a smell, never! It’s enough to make a bad egg burst out crying and go home to mother.’

  Nate, who was passing with the empty mugs, laughed. ‘You’d better get used to it,’ he said. ‘There’s going to be plenty more afore we’re through.’

  At noon a little old bow-legged Negro whom everybody addressed affectionately as Doctor came on deck with a steaming cauldron of something that smelt very appetizing, and the men helped themselves from it when they could snatch a moment from their labours.

  ‘Go and help yourself!’ Nate called to Dido – he was sharpening tools on a grindstone.

  Rather timidly she approached the cook who gave her a flashing white grin and handed her a tin pannikin of hash.

  ‘You like lobscouse, eh? Best lobscouse from here to Christmas Island, eh Mr Pardon? Make a change from whale-oil, I b’lieve?’

  Mr Pardon, the white-haired, kindly-faced second mate, who was also gulping down a bowlful of food, had his mouth full and couldn’t speak. But he smiled at Dido and as soon as he could, said:

  ‘Bless me! Who’da taken you for the poor little shrivelled poke we hauled on board ten months ago? Why you’re as chipper and lively as any lass in Nantucket. I reckon that ten months’ rest did you a sight o’ good. Eat up the lobscouse, dearie, I’ll lay you can do with some solid vittles.’

  ‘What’s it made of?’ Dido asked, looking suspiciously at the mixture in her pan.

  ‘Why, corned beef and hardtack and good salt water, eat it up! You can still do wi’ a bit more flesh on your bones.’

  Mr Pardon hurried back to his post over the side, adjuring her as he went to ‘keep clear of the gurry’.

  Dido could see what he meant; by this time the whole deck was covered with an unbelievable mess of oil and slime and bits of the whale’s thin outer skin. It seemed impossible that the planks should ever be clean and white again. The sails were blackened by smoke and the rigging was all furred up with greasy soot.

  ‘When I’m old and weak and ailing

  Sailing whaling still I’ll be;

  Lash me standing to the lash-railing –

  And never speak my name when there’s decent folk to tea –’

  came the voices from the windlass.

  Dido picked up a cutting-spade and moved cautiously over the littered deck, but she had the ill-fortune to tread on a particularly slippery patch of oil, lost her footing and slid, entangling the cutting-spade between the legs of Mr Slighcarp as he stretched up to pull down a blanket of blubber from the hook. He fell sprawling with the blubber on top of him, and when he rose cursed Dido most evilly. Matters were not helped by the shouts of laughter from the crew.

 
‘I – I’m sorry, mister,’ Dido gulped. ‘I couldn’t help it, honest!’

  ‘Git below!’ snarled Mr Slighcarp. ‘I’ll have no frog-spawn like you littering the deck while I’m in charge. Git!’

  Terrified, Dido picked herself up and scurried away. Guided by a gesture and a wink from Nate, she slipped down a hatchway and found herself suddenly out of the noise and stink and bustle, on a neat little winding stair, white-painted and silent. Where did it lead? On she went, cautiously exploring, and presently entered a good-sized stateroom, also white-painted, and very tidy. A rocking-chair stood by a glowing stove; a swinging bed was made up with a patchwork quilt; over this hung a compass, upside down. Dido studied the compass for a moment but it meant nothing to her; nor did the charts spread on the table. A huge book held them down; she opened it; it was the Bible. While sniffing the petals of a blooming pink geranium on a shelf she was startled by a small sound from somewhere close at hand. It sounded like a sob.

  Arrested, Dido stood motionless, listening. Yes! There again! More sobs, half stifled at first, then breaking into a low, wailing cry, ‘Mamma! Oh, Mamma!’

  Dido thought she had never in her life heard a sound so lonely and desolate.

  The cabin was empty; where, then, did the voice come from? There were two doors, one on each side, in the white panelling. Trying them, she found that both were locked, but the sound seemed to come from behind the right-hand one. When she tried it a frightened voice whispered, ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘It’s me. Dido Twite. Who are you?’

  No reply. Dead silence from beyond the door. Dido tried again.

  ‘Come on! Do say summat! I ain’t a-going to bite you! Why are you shut in?’

  No answer.

  ‘Croopus,’ Dido sighed to herself. ‘This is a rum brig and no mistake. Pink whales and spooky voices. Don’t I jist wish I was at home with Simon!’

  A whisper hit her ear like a small cold draught. She leaned to catch what it said.

  ‘I believe you’re Aunt Tribulation. Go away!’

  ‘I’m Dido Twite, I tell you!’

  ‘Go away!’

  ‘Pooh,’ said Dido, hurt. ‘All right, I just will. And you can holler for me next time.’ She made her way back on deck, greatly puzzled. Whose could the voice be? No one she had seen or heard of yet, that was certain. It had sounded like a child – but nobody had mentioned a child.

  This time, keeping well clear of the try-works and the fierce Mr Slighcarp, she made her way to the quarter-deck. There she found Captain Casket, silent, withdrawn, and stern-looking. He had his back to her and was studying the compass in the binnacle, so she tiptoed to the rail and stood watching two gulls on an ice-floe as they quarrelled over a scrap of blubber.

  Presently she felt a chilly sensation in her shoulder-blades and turned to find that Captain Casket had his strange sad eyes fixed on her.

  He cleared his throat once or twice, as if speaking were not a very common activity with him, and said:

  ‘What is thy name, child?’

  ‘D-Dido, sir. Dido Twite.’

  ‘A heathen name,’ the captain murmured. ‘No matter. There may be godliness within.’ He scrutinized her with an intent, close regard, as if measuring her for some purpose he had in mind. Dido looked back wonderingly.

  At last he said:

  ‘Thee has a firm chin, my child, and a philanthropic brow.’

  ‘Has – have I?’ Dido said, surprised. ‘Coo, I never knew. Maybe I got some o’ the gurry on it when I fell down.’ She rubbed her forehead with her sleeve.

  ‘I need thy help,’ Captain Casket went on. ‘Thee looks like a strong, brave character.’

  Am I? Dido wondered. She realized with surprise that she did feel strong, far stronger than she had been before she fell into her ten-month sleep.

  ‘Does thee think thee can be kind but firm with somebody not so blessed in courage and strength?’

  Suddenly Dido began to guess what he was leading up to. Forgetting her slight awe of him she blurted out, ‘Well, mister, if it’s anything to do with that poor little thing that you got locked up downstairs I can tell you straight I think it’s a wicked shame. How would you like to be locked up?’

  Captain Casket looked at her sadly. ‘Child, thee doesn’t understand,’ he said. ‘I am not her jailer. She did it herself. She bolted herself in when her Mamma died. No words of mine avail to draw her forth.’

  ‘Ohhhh!’ Dido breathed, round-eyed. ‘Mercy gracious, why ever’d she do that? Is she your little girl, then?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, sighing.

  ‘What’s her name? How old is she?’ Dido was all curiosity. What a queer thing, to shut oneself in a cabin!

  ‘She’s nine,’ he said heavily. ‘Her name is Dutiful Penitence Casket.’

  ‘Croopus,’ Dido murmured.

  ‘Her Mamma, my dear wife, though endowed with every Christian virtue, had one foolish failing,’ he went on, half to himself. ‘This was her incurable fear of the sea. I thought that if I took her with me on a voyage it would allay her fear and improve her delicate health. Fool! Fool that I was.’ He paused and added in a lower tone, ‘But the ways of Providence are strange to us.’

  ‘And so the poor lady took and died?’ Dido said compassionately as he seemed to have come to a stop.

  ‘Yes, my child. And Penitence, who had imbibed her mother’s fears, believed the sea had caused her death.’

  ‘So she shut herself up.’

  ‘From that day to this,’ he agreed, sighing. ‘I believe she thinks the sea will kill her too, if she ventures out.’

  ‘Coo,’ said Dido. ‘What a jobberknoll. But what does she do for prog – for vittles?’

  ‘The little cabin where she slept next to my wife is also the store where my dear Sarah kept preserves and spices and medicines. I believe Penitence has been living on beach-plum jelly and sassafras all this time.’

  ‘What a do, eh? Don’t she never wash?’ said Dido with the liveliest interest.

  ‘There is a little hatch through which I can sometimes get a glimpse of her and through which a basin of water may be passed.’

  ‘Well, my Ma would soon clobber me if I went on in such a way,’ said Dido frankly. ‘And if you was to ask me, I think she sounds touched in the upper works. But I can see what you wants. You wants me to put the wheedle on her and make her come out, ain’t that so?’

  ‘Yes, my child. Thee has guessed right. I have a hatred of violence or trickery; I would not force her to come out. But if thee can somehow persuade her . . .’

  He looked at Dido hopefully, and added: ‘After all, we did pull thee out of the sea. We saved thy life.’

  ‘Yes,’ muttered Dido ungratefully, ‘and if you hadn’t I might a bin picked up by an English ship and safe home now, instead o’ freezing at the fishy back end o’ nowhere. Anyways, why didn’t you ask Nate or Mr Pardon to have a go with the little girl?’

  Captain Casket appeared slightly embarrassed. At last he said, ‘My child, I tell thee this in confidence. The crew are not aware that Penitence has locked herself up in this way. They – they believe that she is ailing. To have it known that she defies me would be bad for discipline. Thee –’ he gazed at her anxiously – ‘thee will not divulge what I have told thee, my dear?’

  ‘Oh, now I twig your lay,’ Dido said. He looked bewildered. ‘I see why you been so havey-cavey about her. All right, I’ll keep mum. And I don’t mind having a try.’

  ‘Thee is a good child. I am truly grateful,’ Captain Casket said almost humbly. ‘I feel thee may succeed where I have failed.’

  Dido gave him a sharp look. ‘Ain’t trying to butter me up, are you? If I manage to wheedle her out in the fresh air, so you ain’t shamed when we gets to port and she won’t come out, will you see I gets a passage on the fust ship that’ll take me back to England?’

  ‘Anything in my power I shall do,’ he assured her quickly. ‘As soon as we return to New Bedford I shall inquire about sailings.
’

  ‘What’ll happen to Dutiful Penitence – glad I wasn’t saddled with such a handle – then?’

  ‘Oh, my sister Tribulation will look after her,’ Captain Casket said, avoiding her eyes. ‘Now I must leave thee to oversee the cutting-in. Goodbye, my child. Thee may have the use of my stateroom. I will move into Mr Slighcarp’s cabin.’

  As he walked aft, rather fast, Dido stared after him thoughtfully. Why had he been so anxious to get away? Somehow she felt that, although he seemed a good man, she could not entirely trust Captain Casket. He had more in his mind than he had told her. And she thought poorly of him for allowing his daughter to get the upper hand in so decided a way. Weak, she thought. He means well but he’s weak. That’s the sort that allus lets you down in the end.

  Still, she thought, I can look after meself. I’m a big girl now, near as big as Simon. And she surveyed her extra six inches with pride before squatting down, chin on fists, to consider the problem of how Dutiful Penitence Casket was to be persuaded out of her shell.

  3

  Talking to Penitence – the veiled lady – hopscotch – Dido makes a promise

  LONG AFTER DARK had fallen Dido was still squatting on the quarter-deck, her brow wrinkled in thought. Twice since her talk with Captain Casket she had gone below, tapped on the panel in the captain’s stateroom and tried to persuade the hidden occupant of the little room beyond to come out. Her first attempt had met with no response; next time the only reaction had been a fierce, miserable whisper from behind the panel:

  ‘Go away. Go away! Whoever you are I shan’t come out. I know you’re only trying to trick me to go up on deck and be drowned!’

  Dido saw that she would have to be clever.

  ‘What do you do all day long in there?’ she asked, the beginnings of a plan sprouting in her mind. There was no answer. She had not really expected one. She went on, half to herself: ‘Well, I don’t wonder you gets blue-devilled if you does nothing but sit and think o’ drowning all the time. Cheesy, I calls it!’