Evening star., 1901-09-21
A WHALER'S RETURN
Musings Over. the Homecoming Of
the Morning Star.
A GRIMY AND, UGLY old VESSEL
But the Cargo Justifies Her Con-
tinued Span of Usefulness.
LONG AND HARD VOY AGE

| Written for The Evening Star by Frank T. Bullen
| Copyright, 1901
| Another piece of rare good fortune has
| befallen me- confirming me In my op1n-
| ion that in the lives of some men whom
| the world and themselves have set down
| as unlucky there does at times intervene
streak of prosperity in the duration of
which nothing goes wrong, when their
very mistakes turn to profit, their 1gnor-
ance proves wisdom Ito all outward SEEM
| ing) of the deepest kind. Today my SEN
sations have been those of the man, who
| after long absence in all the byways OF
| the world, suddenly by a freak of fortune
revisits the scenes of his youth and is
assailed on every hand, at every avenue
| of sense, by associations recalling those
long vanished days, making up in their
entirety one of the most poignant de-
lights known to the sons of men, but,
alas, one of the most difficult whereto to
| give expression
| In the course of this most delightful
stay of mine in New Bedford L had made
| arrangements to take a sail down the
bay in Ralph Brydon's catboat and had,
with some difficulty, persuaded my wife to
| accompany me. At the last moment
we waited for the Fairhaven trolley car,
a gentleman rushed up and informed me
that a homeward-bound whaler was In
the bay and perchance I might like to
BOARD her 1 felt stirred to the depths,
| returning wanderers, absent for years,
why intrude upon them curious stranger?
NO matter how sympathetic, no matter
| how attuned to their feelings, did it,
would it, not SAVIOR of calious indifference
| to the desires and feelings of others to
lntrude at such time? So felt and so
said But secretly determined that +
would, if possible, sail round the incom-
| ing ship, and note as far might be how
| my impressions Of her tailed with the
memories of quarter of a century ago.
| 1t was a glorious day. A working breeze
OF moderate strength, the face of the bay
all a-glitter with the sunbeams kiss on
the dancing wavelets as our pretty craft
| danced gayly seaward. Brisht-looking
| yachts glided to and fro, and all aspects of
| nature spelt summer holiday. But away
| down the bay there lowered the tapering
| masts OF bark which instinct told me
was the expected Whaler, the Morning
| star AS my eyes lighted upon her in a
| nash the intervening years were obliterated
| and was again friendless, homeless
young man at the close of the long, weary
| voyage of the -Cachalot. My wife, my
| children, sitting near me, faded aWay I
| saw myself once more rejoicing as does
the prisoner when the light CLEANS through
| MS dungeon doors upon the morning Of
| his freedom. AS we drew nearer I saw the
| old-fash1oned windlass brakes going see
| saw and involuntarily astonished my ship
mates by raising the time-honored song of
stormy, he was good old man
TOGO me way, you storm along"
| I couldn't help it; it had to come We
rounded under her bows and Mr.. Wing.
| the owner, recognizing me Il seem to be a
| public character in New Bedford), shouted:
Come aboard, Mr. Bullen." My scruples
vanished. 1 said goodbye to wife and
| children, and leaping from the boat to the
| tug, was greeted with Dye want t'drown
| yerself, hey?" Good man, he meant well;
| but my fortyfve years had fallen from
a
again spry youngster. full of emulation.
Rush of Memories.
I stood on her deck, my hands full of
grease. sperm oil clinging to lanyard and
! shroud. Good heavens, how nice it felt!
Why, OH why is it that these things, when
| we experience them In their first fresh
| ness, are sordid and mean and strike
us in after years as redolent of the true
| romance. the abundant glory Of adventure
in unfamiliar seas. My feet touched her
decks. l heard the polyglot English of my
| boyhood, was intoxicated with the aroma
| of the monarch of all seas, the mighty
| sperm whale. His exudations defiled my
| hands, clung to my tanned Shoes / looked
around as visitor butt was at home.
And then the captain-aWay with all
| false and futile distinctions between cap
| tains of merely trading ships and men-of-
war-was introduced to me- bowed trem-
| blingly in hefpresence of one who he or
| his prototype in time gone by, was the
grim arbiter of my destiny. Introduced by
| the owner to Captain King l felt somewhat
| Of the old shrinking when, coming aft to
| take the wheel, 1 realized what Moses felt
| when commanded to put off his Shoes for
| the place whereon he stood was holy
ground.
| But he, the captain, had read my book
| He looked benignanty upon me. He pro-
duced bottle Of Portuguese wine from
some far-off bright Azore, and-introduced
me in the arcanum of his cabin to his wife
she who had cheered his loneliness during
| the thirty-seven months of their cruising
up and down the vast solitude of the old
Atlantic.
| She Kept Him Company.
| She had been lonely. Oh, yes. And l.
| speaking sympathetically, commiserated
that loneliness; but he, the stalwart man
| Of many seasons, with eyes bleared with
| watching on stormy seas for the giant
| quarry to fill his holds, he said no word
| of loneliness. He had learned the lesson
| of retirement upon his own soul-a sur
vival of the great days Of old when men
| sailed upon unknown seas, nor calculated
| upon their return content If they could but
| earn the right hereafter to talk of their
| doings in the certainty that none could
| them gainSay.
| Truly it was return to medieval times.
Here in the swift and strenuous DAYS of
ocean liners. OF passages made across the
| ocean in such time and with such regular
| ity as to earn for the 3OOO-mile passage
| the title of the ocean ferry, was ship
| that had been cruising north and south At
lantic ocean for three years and over, and
| had returned bearing ocean spoils to the
measure of 1900 barrels of oil won by
| hardest toll.
Nothing was changed except the intro
| duction Of wire rigging for rope and the
| establishment of little steam winch, both
| improvements Of weight. The crew the
officers, looked familiar, the wooden davits,
| the broken-down try works, the pots bot
| tom lashed on deck. Yes one thing struck
| me unfamiliarly-the condition of the decks.
| In my day the decks were scrubbed and
| holystoned until whittier than any other
ship except a, yacht or a man-of-war. But
| these decks might have been macadam-
| lied road fog all the resemblance they bore
| to wood. I knew why, and I remembered
how hated the incessant holystoning, and
| after the first shock of strangeness / felt
| glad in my very Soul.
| After all, white deck makes a ship no
better. 1t only spells to the initiated days
and nights of slavery for all aboard and
really looks out of place there. To those
| who do not know what work Is on board
these vessels 1t seems to deny that the
scenes do take place on board which are
1 41I hxY l.,