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Updated: May 3, 2025
We had just finished cutting in and trying out our third whale, and as it was not long since we reached the fishing-ground, we were in high hopes of making a good thing of it that season; so that everyone was in good spirits, from the captain down to the youngest man in the ship. Tom Lokins was smoking his pipe, and Tom's pipe was an uncommonly black one, for he smoked it very often.
Just then Tom Lokins came up, ordered Fred to go and attend to the fires, sat down opposite to me on the windlass, and began to "lay down the law" in regard to storms. "You see, Bob Ledbury," said he, beginning to fill his pipe, "young fellers like you don't know nothin' about the weather 'cause why? you've got no experience. Now, I'll put you up to a dodge consarning this very thing."
The captain laughed, and, looking up at the sky, said, "I don't like the look of the weather, Tom Lokins. You're a sharp fellow, and have been in these seas before, what say you?" "We'll have a breeze," replied Tom, briefly. "More than a breeze," muttered the captain, while a look of grave anxiety overspread his countenance; "I'll go below and take a squint at the glass."
The other boats had got separated, chasing the little whales, so we had this one all to ourselves. "There she blows!" said Tom Lokins, in a low voice, as the fish came up a short distance astern of us. We had overshot our mark, so, turning about, we made for the whale, which kept for a considerable time near the top of the water, spouting now and then, and going slowly to windward.
It was not till the night was far spent, and the silver moon was sailing through the starry sky, that the Yankees left us, and rowed away with a parting cheer. Six months after our "gam" with the Yankees Tom Lokins and I found ourselves seated once more in the little garret beside my dear old mother. "Deary me, Robert, how changed ye are!" "Changed, mother! I should think so!
Well, after a good while, I made bold to ask the young doctor what he had found out. "`I've found, said he, `that the greenness of these seas is in truth caused by uncountable numbers of medusae " "Ha! that's the word," shouted Tom Lokins, "Medoosy, that's wot the captain calls 'em. Heave ahead, Fred."
Now, when this process was going on, a new point of interest arose which I had not thought of before, although my messmate, Tom Lokins, had often spoken of it on the voyage out. This was the arrival of great numbers of sea-birds.
"Tom Lokins," he bellowed, in the hoarse voice of a regular boatswain, "w'ich wos my father's name before me." So saying, he departed, whistling "Rule, Britannia," with all his might. Thus the matter was settled. Six days afterwards, I rigged myself out in a blue jacket, white ducks, and a straw hat, and went to sea.
"It's not a glass o' grog, you may be sure; nor yet a lookin'-glass. It's the weather-glass, boy. Shore-goin' chaps call it a barometer." "And what's the meaning of barometer?" I enquired earnestly. Tom Lokins stared at me in stupid amazement. "Why, boy," said he, "you're too inquisitive.
It was on a fine calm morning, just after breakfast, that we fell in with this ship. We had seen no whales for a day or two, but we did not mind that, for our hold was almost full of oil-barrels. Tom Lokins and I were leaning over the starboard bulwarks, watching the small fish that every now and then darted through the clear-blue water like arrows, and smoking our pipes in silence.
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