Jamrach's Menagerie - Carol Birch [32]
“This is the life,” I said.
That was the whole of our conversation, then the captain called us up on the quarterdeck for the choosing of the watches and the whaleboat crews.
We had three whaleboats, not counting the spares. I didn’t want to be on Rainey’s. We had Captain Proctor’s and Rainey’s and Comeragh’s—the second mate that is—who turned out to be the tall, thin one with the big nose who’d clipped me on the back of the head and told me to look sharp. He and Rainey both had a good six inches on Captain Proctor, who, though stout and strong, was not tall. They stood respectfully, two tall, dark vases flanking a pale, round pot, Rainey with his hands clasping some papers behind his back and his feet apart, Comeragh seeming to be smiling all the time. But it was just the way his face was.
“I applaud you, gentlemen, on a magnificent performance,” the captain said, his eyes travelling over all of us, his face revealing nothing. We, who didn’t know, took our cues from those more experienced hands who laughed, instinctively knowing somehow that this was a good-natured jibe and not rank sarcasm. A hint of a smile appeared upon the captain’s face. “We shall get along,” he said, with his eyes never lighting anywhere, “if we all remember one thing.” Long pause, roaming eyes. “A ship is a dangerous place, a whale ship especially so.” Long pause. “You will obey orders from myself and any of the mates instantly. There will be no exceptions. It’s as simple as that.”
He had a clear, ringing voice, well spoken, stronger and far more impressive than his face, which was too boyish for a captain’s. The dog, lolling with a stupid expression against his leg, did nothing to lessen the impression. He talked enthusiastically for ten minutes about duty and obedience and pulling together, and said that those of us who’d not sailed before would be given minders, and were to do what we were told. “Some of you will know that this voyage has a secondary purpose,” he said. “We have on-board Mr. Rymer”—a nod towards Dan—“whose commission is to hunt wildlife. When we reach the Dutch East Indies we will be briefly diverted somewhat from our primary concern, which is, of course, to take as many barrels of oil as we can. But that need not concern any of you now. You are whale catchers and that is a great and dangerous profession. Your job now is to learn everything you possibly can as fast as you can.”
There was a law on ship as tight as any, he said, with clear rules and clear punishments for the breaking of them. It was very simple. These rules could be consulted at any time as a copy of them was permanently on display in both steerage and fo’c’s’le. Anyone who could not read could avail himself of the help of a reader.
“Commit them to memory,” he said. “They are now your Bible. And this!”—as if from nowhere a terrible flail appeared in his hand, produced with the flourish of a conjurer, procuring a gasp from the crowd—“is what the law of the ship demands be used upon any who break those rules. Any. No exceptions.”
He held it aloft, an evil, hairy, leather thing folded back upon itself.
“Take a very good look at it now, because I am going to stow it away and I sincerely hope it will not be seen again for the duration of this voyage.”
The whip passed slowly back and forth before our following eyes.
“Enough of that!” He tossed it to Mr. Comeragh, who looked surprised but caught it deftly. “Mr. Rainey,” the captain said, turning politely towards him, “assign boats.”
Mr. Rainey produced a list and read out names. Now that he was not shouting and screaming, it was possible to see him as something more than a gargoyle. Thick-lipped, overbold of features, he was both handsome and ugly and looked as if life displeased him. Linver, Brown, Rymer,