immediately crosses themselves and others is astonished, not knowing what to make of the strange noise so foreign to the human voice.
Then Billy turns slowly to Captain O'Hara and gives him a most gentlemanly bow, pointing to the master's white Quaker bibby which, with the rest of his blouse, is stained with Billy's blood and flecks o' skin. The black man gives a smile of tender sweetness and says, 'God bless thee, Cap'n, you be washed in the Blood of the Lamb and forgiven.' He says this in perfect English, which I ain't never heard from him.
O'Hara gasps and takes a step backwards. 'Blasphemy! Thou hast blasphemed!' he yells, shaking his finger at Billy. 'A heathen savage hath taken the name of the Lord God in vain!' He orders Billy tied back to the mast and hands the blood-soaked lash to Mr Nestbyte, who gives him another fifty lashes.
When they cuts Billy down this time he don't howl like the tiger dog but stands at the ship's rails and looks out to sea, his hands fluttering as though he's trying to calm the waves. Then he turns to Nestbyte and points at him. 'Plurry big fish come get you, Boss!' He draws his finger slowly across his throat. 'Aarrrrk!' he says, like a man choking.
The crew moves back at this. Whalemen be superstitious by nature, but they knows this to be beyond mere fancy. Billy Lanney has put a curse on Nestbyte, right enough. Nestbyte turns away with a sick sort o' smile on his gob. 'Pagan nonsense!' he spits. 'God will punish you.'
Mary be right about religion. Them what's given themselves over to it, and what pronounce upon the rest of us in Christ's name, is more cruel than any other.
This is the first time since the age of eight years, when I were first made to tend Sam Slit's whisky still in the wilderness, that I've been without me daily drink. It's only today, fourteen weeks after I were took by Hawk from Brodie's sly grog shop, that I be feelin' the least bit better. The terrible sweats what come down upon me a day or two after I stopped drinking went away in two weeks and at about the same time, me gut settled down and me shit stiffened to normal. But the craving for strong spirits never stops. And yet, as I stands here on the cross-stays looking out for the whale, I be aware for the first time in many a year of the wind in me face, and the dancing of the white caps, like toy sailing boats stretched to the horizon.
The sky has clouded over since this morning when I climbed up the mainmast. What Hawk tells me in our lessons is cumulus cloud, now brooding against a grey horizon, has nudged aside the mare's tails what stretched across the horizon when me watch began. The sun, up above the gathering cloud, beats down warm on me back and it's excellent weather for a spotting of the whale.
Hawk and me ain't yet witnessed a hunt, though we've been among the blue whales twice. We did not give chase as they's too fast and strong to be harpooned. It is the sperm whale, the next largest in the sea, that we hopes to find.
I'm eating a bit more these days, though a whaler's daily ration ain't much good: hard biscuit what's a weevil's feast, a pound of salt beef or greasy pork or even horse, and two pound of plum duff on Tuesdays and Thursdays. This dreary lot is washed down with longlick, a mixture of tea, coffee and molasses, and three times each week a portion of lime juice for the scurvy. By decent folks' standards, the food is pig's swill, no man ashore 'cept a starving beggar would touch it. Hunger got me in the end, and I suppose the dead cockroaches in the molasses adds to its taste well enough!
Fancy dreamin' about eating possum stew again! It would be fair delicious right now, and the thought of a plump mutton bird split and flattened, then roasted on a fire of live coals, is enough to make me drool. I'd eat me own Sunday dinner as well as Hawk's at Mary's table, 'cept she don't want us there no more. But I can't think about that, and anyway I'd give up every morsel of food on
Then Billy turns slowly to Captain O'Hara and gives him a most gentlemanly bow, pointing to the master's white Quaker bibby which, with the rest of his blouse, is stained with Billy's blood and flecks o' skin. The black man gives a smile of tender sweetness and says, 'God bless thee, Cap'n, you be washed in the Blood of the Lamb and forgiven.' He says this in perfect English, which I ain't never heard from him.
O'Hara gasps and takes a step backwards. 'Blasphemy! Thou hast blasphemed!' he yells, shaking his finger at Billy. 'A heathen savage hath taken the name of the Lord God in vain!' He orders Billy tied back to the mast and hands the blood-soaked lash to Mr Nestbyte, who gives him another fifty lashes.
When they cuts Billy down this time he don't howl like the tiger dog but stands at the ship's rails and looks out to sea, his hands fluttering as though he's trying to calm the waves. Then he turns to Nestbyte and points at him. 'Plurry big fish come get you, Boss!' He draws his finger slowly across his throat. 'Aarrrrk!' he says, like a man choking.
The crew moves back at this. Whalemen be superstitious by nature, but they knows this to be beyond mere fancy. Billy Lanney has put a curse on Nestbyte, right enough. Nestbyte turns away with a sick sort o' smile on his gob. 'Pagan nonsense!' he spits. 'God will punish you.'
Mary be right about religion. Them what's given themselves over to it, and what pronounce upon the rest of us in Christ's name, is more cruel than any other.
This is the first time since the age of eight years, when I were first made to tend Sam Slit's whisky still in the wilderness, that I've been without me daily drink. It's only today, fourteen weeks after I were took by Hawk from Brodie's sly grog shop, that I be feelin' the least bit better. The terrible sweats what come down upon me a day or two after I stopped drinking went away in two weeks and at about the same time, me gut settled down and me shit stiffened to normal. But the craving for strong spirits never stops. And yet, as I stands here on the cross-stays looking out for the whale, I be aware for the first time in many a year of the wind in me face, and the dancing of the white caps, like toy sailing boats stretched to the horizon.
The sky has clouded over since this morning when I climbed up the mainmast. What Hawk tells me in our lessons is cumulus cloud, now brooding against a grey horizon, has nudged aside the mare's tails what stretched across the horizon when me watch began. The sun, up above the gathering cloud, beats down warm on me back and it's excellent weather for a spotting of the whale.
Hawk and me ain't yet witnessed a hunt, though we've been among the blue whales twice. We did not give chase as they's too fast and strong to be harpooned. It is the sperm whale, the next largest in the sea, that we hopes to find.
I'm eating a bit more these days, though a whaler's daily ration ain't much good: hard biscuit what's a weevil's feast, a pound of salt beef or greasy pork or even horse, and two pound of plum duff on Tuesdays and Thursdays. This dreary lot is washed down with longlick, a mixture of tea, coffee and molasses, and three times each week a portion of lime juice for the scurvy. By decent folks' standards, the food is pig's swill, no man ashore 'cept a starving beggar would touch it. Hunger got me in the end, and I suppose the dead cockroaches in the molasses adds to its taste well enough!
Fancy dreamin' about eating possum stew again! It would be fair delicious right now, and the thought of a plump mutton bird split and flattened, then roasted on a fire of live coals, is enough to make me drool. I'd eat me own Sunday dinner as well as Hawk's at Mary's table, 'cept she don't want us there no more. But I can't think about that, and anyway I'd give up every morsel of food on
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