The Decanter

Ere the English ship fades from sight, be it set down here, that she hailed from London, and was named after the late Samuel Enderby, merchant of that city, the original of the famous whaling house of Enderby & Sons; a house which in my poor whaleman’s opinion, comes not far behind the united royal houses of the Tudors and Bourbons, in point of real historical interest. How long, prior to the year of our Lord 1775, this great whaling house was in existence, my numerous fish-documents do not make plain; but in that year (1775) it fitted out the first English ships that ever regularly hunted the Sperm Whale; though for some score of years previous (ever since 1726) our valiant Coffins and Maceys of Nantucket and the Vineyard had in large fleets pursued that Leviathan, but only in the North and South Atlantic: not elsewhere. Be it distinctly recorded here, that the Nantucketers were the first among mankind to harpoon with civilized steel the great Sperm Whale; and that for half a century they were the only people of the whole globe who so harpooned him.

Before the English ship fades from sight, let me record that she came from London. She was named after the late Samuel Enderby, a London merchant who founded the famous whaling house of Enderby & Sons. In my humble whaleman’s opinion, the firm is nearly as interesting historically as the royal houses of Tudor and Bourbon combined. My many whaling documents do not make clear how long this great firm had existed before the year of our Lord 1775. But in 1775, it fitted out the first English ships ever to hunt the Sperm Whale regularly. For some twenty years before that, ever since 1726, our valiant Coffins and Maceys of Nantucket and the Vineyard had pursued that Leviathan in large fleets. But they hunted him only in the North and South Atlantic, nowhere else. Let it be clearly recorded that the Nantucketers were the first people to harpoon the great Sperm Whale with civilized steel. For half a century, they were the only people anywhere in the world to harpoon him that way.

In 1778, a fine ship, the Amelia, fitted out for the express purpose, and at the sole charge of the vigorous Enderbys, boldly rounded Cape Horn, and was the first among the nations to lower a whale-boat of any sort in the great South Sea. The voyage was a skilful and lucky one; and returning to her berth with her hold full of the precious sperm, the Amelia’s example was soon followed by other ships, English and American, and thus the vast Sperm Whale grounds of the Pacific were thrown open. But not content with this good deed, the indefatigable house again bestirred itself: Samuel and all his Sons—how many, their mother only knows—and under their immediate auspices, and partly, I think, at their expense, the British government was induced to send the sloop-of-war Rattler on a whaling voyage of discovery into the South Sea. Commanded by a naval Post-Captain, the Rattler made a rattling voyage of it, and did some service; how much does not appear. But this is not all. In 1819, the same house fitted out a discovery whale ship of their own, to go on a tasting cruise to the remote waters of Japan. That ship—well called the “Syren”—made a noble experimental cruise; and it was thus that the great Japanese Whaling Ground first became generally known. The Syren in this famous voyage was commanded by a Captain Coffin, a Nantucketer.

In 1778, the vigorous Enderbys paid to outfit a fine ship, the Amelia, expressly for whaling. The Amelia boldly rounded Cape Horn. It was the first ship from any nation to lower a whale-boat of any kind in the great South Sea. The voyage was skillful and lucky. The Amelia returned to port with its hold full of precious sperm whale oil. English and American ships soon followed its example, opening up the vast Sperm Whale grounds of the Pacific. But the tireless firm was not content with this good deed. Samuel and all his Sons set to work again. How many Sons he had, only their mother knows. Under their direct sponsorship, and partly at their expense, I think, they persuaded the British government to send the sloop-of-war Rattler on a whaling voyage of discovery into the South Sea. Commanded by a naval Post-Captain, the Rattler made a rattling voyage and did some service. How much service it did does not appear. But this is not all. In 1819, the same firm outfitted a discovery whale ship of its own. The ship was to make a trial cruise to the remote waters of Japan. That ship, aptly named the “Syren”, made a splendid experimental cruise. It was through this voyage that the great Japanese Whaling Ground first became generally known. On this famous voyage, the Syren was commanded by a Captain Coffin, a Nantucketer.

All honor to the Enderbies, therefore, whose house, I think, exists to the present day; though doubtless the original Samuel must long ago have slipped his cable for the great South Sea of the other world.

All honor to the Enderbies, then. I believe their firm still exists today. Though the original Samuel must surely have sailed long ago for the great South Sea of the next world.

The ship named after him was worthy of the honor, being a very fast sailer and a noble craft every way. I boarded her once at midnight somewhere off the Patagonian coast, and drank good flip down in the forecastle. It was a fine gam we had, and they were all trumps—every soul on board. A short life to them, and a jolly death. And that fine gam I had—long, very long after old Ahab touched her planks with his ivory heel—it minds me of the noble, solid, Saxon hospitality of that ship; and may my parson forget me, and the devil remember me, if I ever lose sight of it. Flip? Did I say we had flip? Yes, and we flipped it at the rate of ten gallons the hour; and when the squall came (for it’s squally off there by Patagonia), and all hands—visitors and all—were called to reef topsails, we were so top-heavy that we had to swing each other aloft in bowlines; and we ignorantly furled the skirts of our jackets into the sails, so that we hung there, reefed fast in the howling gale, a warning example to all drunken tars. However, the masts did not go overboard; and by and by we scrambled down, so sober, that we had to pass the flip again, though the savage salt spray bursting down the forecastle scuttle, rather too much diluted and pickled it to my taste.

The ship named after him deserved the honor. She was very fast and a fine vessel in every way. I boarded her once at midnight, somewhere off the Patagonian coast, and drank good flip down in the forecastle. We had a fine gam, and every soul on board was a first-rate fellow. A short life to them, and a jolly death. That fine gam, which I had long, very long after old Ahab touched her planks with his ivory heel, reminds me of that ship’s noble, solid, Saxon hospitality. May my parson forget me, and the devil remember me, if I ever forget it. Flip? Did I say we had flip? Yes, and we drank it at the rate of ten gallons an hour. Then a squall came, as squalls often do off Patagonia. All hands, visitors included, were called to reef the topsails. We were so drunk that we had to swing each other up the masts in bowlines. Without realizing it, we folded the tails of our jackets into the sails. So we hung there, reefed fast in the howling gale, a warning to all drunken sailors. Still, the masts did not go overboard. At last we scrambled down, so sober that we had to pass the flip around again. But the fierce salt spray bursting down the forecastle hatch had watered it down and made it too salty for my taste.

The beef was fine—tough, but with body in it. They said it was bull-beef; others, that it was dromedary beef; but I do not know, for certain, how that was. They had dumplings too; small, but substantial, symmetrically globular, and indestructible dumplings. I fancied that you could feel them, and roll them about in you after they were swallowed. If you stooped over too far forward, you risked their pitching out of you like billiard-balls. The bread—but that couldn’t be helped; besides, it was an anti-scorbutic; in short, the bread contained the only fresh fare they had. But the forecastle was not very light, and it was very easy to step over into a dark corner when you ate it. But all in all, taking her from truck to helm, considering the dimensions of the cook’s boilers, including his own live parchment boilers; fore and aft, I say, the Samuel Enderby was a jolly ship; of good fare and plenty; fine flip and strong; crack fellows all, and capital from boot heels to hat-band.

The beef was good. It was tough, but it had substance. Some said it was bull beef. Others said it was dromedary beef. I don’t know for certain which it was. They had dumplings too. They were small but substantial, perfectly round, and indestructible. I imagined you could feel them and roll them around inside you after swallowing them. If you bent too far forward, you risked having them roll out like billiard balls. The bread couldn’t be helped. Besides, it helped prevent scurvy. In short, the bread contained the only fresh food they had. But the forecastle wasn’t very bright, and you could easily step into a dark corner to eat it. All in all, from masthead to helm, the Samuel Enderby was a jolly ship. I say that after considering the size of the cook’s pots, including his own living, parchment skinned pots. From bow to stern, there was good food and plenty of it, and fine, strong flip. Every man was a first rate fellow, splendid from boot heels to hatband.

But why was it, think ye, that the Samuel Enderby, and some other English whalers I know of—not all though—were such famous, hospitable ships; that passed round the beef, and the bread, and the can, and the joke; and were not soon weary of eating, and drinking, and laughing? I will tell you. The abounding good cheer of these English whalers is matter for historical research. Nor have I been at all sparing of historical whale research, when it has seemed needed.

But why, do you think, were the Samuel Enderby and some other English whalers I know so famously hospitable? Not all of them were, though. They passed around beef, bread, drinks, and jokes. They never seemed to tire of eating, drinking, and laughing. I will tell you why. The abundant good cheer on these English whalers deserves historical research. And I have never held back from researching whale history when it seemed necessary.

The English were preceded in the whale fishery by the Hollanders, Zealanders, and Danes; from whom they derived many terms still extant in the fishery; and what is yet more, their fat old fashions, touching plenty to eat and drink. For, as a general thing, the English merchant-ship scrimps her crew; but not so the English whaler. Hence, in the English, this thing of whaling good cheer is not normal and natural, but incidental and particular; and, therefore, must have some special origin, which is here pointed out, and will be still further elucidated.

The Hollanders, Zealanders, and Danes hunted whales before the English did. The English borrowed many terms from them that are still used in whaling. More than that, they borrowed their hearty old custom of eating and drinking plenty. Generally, an English merchant ship skimps on food for its crew, but an English whaler does not. So this good cheer aboard English whalers is not normal or natural for the English. It is a particular exception and must therefore have a special origin. That origin has been pointed out here and will be explained further.

During my researches in the Leviathanic histories, I stumbled upon an ancient Dutch volume, which, by the musty whaling smell of it, I knew must be about whalers. The title was, “Dan Coopman,” wherefore I concluded that this must be the invaluable memoirs of some Amsterdam cooper in the fishery, as every whale ship must carry its cooper. I was reinforced in this opinion by seeing that it was the production of one “Fitz Swackhammer.” But my friend Dr. Snodhead, a very learned man, professor of Low Dutch and High German in the college of Santa Claus and St. Pott’s, to whom I handed the work for translation, giving him a box of sperm candles for his trouble—this same Dr. Snodhead, so soon as he spied the book, assured me that “Dan Coopman” did not mean “The Cooper,” but “The Merchant.” In short, this ancient and learned Low Dutch book treated of the commerce of Holland; and, among other subjects, contained a very interesting account of its whale fishery. And in this chapter it was, headed, “Smeer,” or “Fat,” that I found a long detailed list of the outfits for the larders and cellars of 180 sail of Dutch whalemen; from which list, as translated by Dr. Snodhead, I transcribe the following:

While researching the histories of Leviathans, I came across an old Dutch book. Its musty whaling smell told me it must be about whalers. The title was “Dan Coopman,” so I concluded it must be the invaluable memoirs of an Amsterdam cooper in the fishery. After all, every whale ship must carry a cooper. Seeing that the book was written by one “Fitz Swackhammer” strengthened my opinion. But I gave the book to my friend Dr. Snodhead to translate, along with a box of sperm candles for his trouble. He was a very learned man, a professor of Low Dutch and High German at the college of Santa Claus and St. Pott’s. As soon as Dr. Snodhead saw the book, he assured me that “Dan Coopman” meant “The Merchant,” not “The Cooper.” In short, the old, scholarly Low Dutch book was about the commerce of Holland. Among other subjects, it contained a very interesting account of Holland’s whale fishery. In that chapter, headed “Smeer,” or “Fat,” I found a long, detailed list of the food and drink supplies for 180 Dutch whale ships. From Dr. Snodhead’s translation of the list, I copy the following:

400,000 lbs. of beef. 60,000 lbs. Friesland pork. 150,000 lbs. of stock fish. 550,000 lbs. of biscuit. 72,000 lbs. of soft bread. 2,800 firkins of butter. 20,000 lbs. Texel & Leyden cheese. 144,000 lbs. cheese (probably an inferior article). 550 ankers of Geneva. 10,800 barrels of beer.

400,000 pounds of beef. 60,000 pounds of Friesland pork. 150,000 pounds of dried fish. 550,000 pounds of ship’s biscuits. 72,000 pounds of soft bread. 2,800 firkins of butter. 20,000 pounds of Texel and Leyden cheese. 144,000 pounds of cheese (probably of lower quality). 550 ankers of Geneva gin. 10,800 barrels of beer.

Most statistical tables are parchingly dry in the reading; not so in the present case, however, where the reader is flooded with whole pipes, barrels, quarts, and gills of good gin and good cheer.

Most statistical tables are painfully dry to read. But not this one. Here, the reader is flooded with whole casks, barrels, quarts, and gills of good gin and good cheer.

At the time, I devoted three days to the studious digesting of all this beer, beef, and bread, during which many profound thoughts were incidentally suggested to me, capable of a transcendental and Platonic application; and, furthermore, I compiled supplementary tables of my own, touching the probable quantity of stock-fish, etc., consumed by every Low Dutch harpooneer in that ancient Greenland and Spitzbergen whale fishery. In the first place, the amount of butter, and Texel and Leyden cheese consumed, seems amazing. I impute it, though, to their naturally unctuous natures, being rendered still more unctuous by the nature of their vocation, and especially by their pursuing their game in those frigid Polar Seas, on the very coasts of that Esquimaux country where the convivial natives pledge each other in bumpers of train oil.

At the time, I spent three days carefully digesting all this beer, beef, and bread. Along the way, many profound thoughts occurred to me, suitable for transcendental and Platonic applications. I also compiled my own additional tables. These estimated how much stockfish and other provisions each Low Dutch harpooneer consumed in that old Greenland and Spitzbergen whale fishery. First of all, the amount of butter and Texel and Leyden cheese they consumed seems amazing. I attribute it, though, to their naturally oily natures, made even oilier by their profession. This was especially true because they hunted whales in those freezing Polar Seas. They hunted right along the coasts of Esquimaux country, where the sociable natives toast one another with full glasses of whale oil.

The quantity of beer, too, is very large, 10,800 barrels. Now, as those polar fisheries could only be prosecuted in the short summer of that climate, so that the whole cruise of one of these Dutch whalemen, including the short voyage to and from the Spitzbergen sea, did not much exceed three months, say, and reckoning 30 men to each of their fleet of 180 sail, we have 5,400 Low Dutch seamen in all; therefore, I say, we have precisely two barrels of beer per man, for a twelve weeks’ allowance, exclusive of his fair proportion of that 550 ankers of gin. Now, whether these gin and beer harpooneers, so fuddled as one might fancy them to have been, were the right sort of men to stand up in a boat’s head, and take good aim at flying whales; this would seem somewhat improbable. Yet they did aim at them, and hit them too. But this was very far North, be it remembered, where beer agrees well with the constitution; upon the Equator, in our southern fishery, beer would be apt to make the harpooneer sleepy at the mast-head and boozy in his boat; and grievous loss might ensue to Nantucket and New Bedford.

The amount of beer was also very large: 10,800 barrels. Those polar fisheries could only be worked during the region’s short summer. So a Dutch whaler’s entire cruise, including the short voyage to and from the Spitzbergen sea, lasted little more than three months, say. Reckoning 30 men aboard each ship in their fleet of 180, we have 5,400 Low Dutch seamen in all. That gives us precisely two barrels of beer per man for twelve weeks. And that does not include each man’s fair share of the 550 ankers of gin. Now, one might imagine these gin and beer harpooneers were quite drunk. Were they the right sort of men to stand at the bow of a boat and aim carefully at fleeing whales? That would seem somewhat unlikely. Yet they did aim at the whales, and hit them too. But remember, this was very far North, where beer agrees well with the constitution. At the Equator, in our southern fishery, beer would be likely to make a harpooneer sleepy at the masthead and drunk in his boat. And Nantucket and New Bedford might suffer grievous losses.

But no more; enough has been said to show that the old Dutch whalers of two or three centuries ago were high livers; and that the English whalers have not neglected so excellent an example. For, say they, when cruising in an empty ship, if you can get nothing better out of the world, get a good dinner out of it, at least. And this empties the decanter.

But enough has been said to show that the old Dutch whalers of two or three centuries ago lived well. English whalers have followed their excellent example. For, as they say, when cruising in an empty ship, get a good dinner out of the world if you can get nothing better. And that empties the decanter.