#mr ives

“How little is necessary to the upsetting of ones serenity, and peace of mind. Now here we were this morning feeling particularly good. Patting each other on the back, and congratulating ourselves on being the possessors of 820 bbls of Oil. When, “presto changes”, the “Kathleen” hove in sight boiling and cutting all at once, and showing every indication of having taken a large amount of oil. As soon as this fact became generally known we wasn’t on the -congratulate- so much as we were. We didn’t feel quite so good as we did. And our 820 Bbls didn’t appear quite so large, in comparison with the “Kathleen”’s probably One Thousand. It’s all very well to try and appear gracious about it, and as though one didn’t care. You may try the magnanimous dodge and say “well I’m sure I’m glad to hear of her good fortune. She needed it after all, for up to within a month she hadn’t seen the spout of a whale for nine months, and she is out 2 1/2 years you know.” But it is -only trying- after all; you can’t make a go of it and you must acknowledge to yourself that you really wish the Kathleen had kept out of the way, and if she must see whales you wish she might have seen them somewhere else. You feel as though you had a sort of prior claim to all the benefits to be derived from this cruising ground; a sort of primary right and title to all the advantages accruing therefrom, because you -got here first-. Now this is very like selfishness I’ll admit, but it’s human nature as well, and as my Uncle says, “humane nature’s a queer feller.”

[ID: Excerpt from an 1860s whaling journal, transcript follows. /end ID]

“Between you, and I, and the mainmast, I am disgusted and disappointed. What an outrageous country this is, where one must needs wait a year or more for news from home, and then, after waiting patiently for that length of time, it ain’t no two for one that you’ll get a letter. Now I wrote to my friends last Sept. and I’m still waiting a reply and it looks very much as though I might take it out in waiting. Yesterday we went into Kema for our mail, and I am the only one aft who is letterless. Now such a state of things isn’t very pleasant to contemplate, and when one sees all of his shipmates eagerly devouring the contents of a home or sweet hearts letter, such a vision does not tend to make one feel particularly sweet tempered. But I suppose growling won’t mend the matter any, and if I should growl from this until the close of the voyage it wouldn’t hurry up my mail, or add to the number of my letters. So I will take my disappointment as philosophically as I can and hope for a letter fortune next time.”

-March 16th 1870, aboard the bark Sunbeam

[ID: Three excerpts from an 1860s whaling journal, with the transcripts following. /end ID]

“We’ve had -trying- times this last week, but we consider ourselves paid for our labor, for today finds us with 40 bbls of oil for a commencement of the voyage, an earnest it is to be hoped of good fortune.”

“Was awakened last night, somewhere about the center of it I should judge with the information that there was “a ship up to windward a “bileing”. And between that and 5 o clock AM that fact was repeated to me something like four distinct times, all of which set me a -bileing- with displeasure, for my slumber had not been the sweetest or my dreams the pleasantest owing to a right lively -bile- I had on my own hook, or rather on the tip end of my nose. -Biles- never have been a favorite complaint with me and I’m happy to say I never had a great many, but I’ve got one now, and it feels as if it were great enough in size to make up for any lack of quantity from which I have previously been so happily exempted.”

[ID: The top of this journal entry features a simple sperm whale ink stamp—not an engraving. /end ID]

“I never really appreciated the luxury of a good gape before. When a fellow cannot open his mouth to any greater extent than the width of a lead pencil, gaping is not a success to say the least. And then anything in the way of a sneeze is entirely out of the question, unless you are prepared to part company with the top of your head at very short notice. A ship is a hard place to be unwell in. So long as one is in good health you can get along nicely. But if you are sick the only place where you can find sympathy is in the dictionary. And then too the remedies at hand are limited in number and obsolete in use. Your medicine chest is filled with medicines in use a hundred years ago, but which modern pharmacy has dispensed with to a very great extent. Calomel and castor oil and such like delectable doses. There is no question about it. A whale ship ought to have a surgeon, and the law should oblige such vessels to carry them. When I get into Congress I shall introduce a “Bill” to that effect.”

“The captain, it may be because of our non success, has grown very ill tempered and worse mannered of later. Such a condition of things is entirely unaccountable to me. That a man who at home bears the reputation of being an affable, polite, accommodating, well spoken gentleman, should after a certain sojourn upon blue water, completely change his character and become possessed of qualities the very opposite of those which he is credited in private life, is beyond my comprehension. In a reverie over the matter my muse perpetrated the following lines on Captain Fisher:

The captain is ugly and glum HIs face has grown skinny and pale, Oh! What is the matter with Tom? That he carries such lugubrious sail?

Is he thinking of friends and of home? Of wife and of family dear? Lamenting his having to roam, That makes him so yellow and sere? 

Does he worry about his estates? Or fret over government bonds? Or have they raised the tax rates? That has turned him so fearfully wrong?

Is it because we are not in good luck? And because present chances look slim? Or do we eat too much truck? That makes him so terribly thin?

He walks about decks in a huff, He drones an unmeaningless hymn. He cannot relish his duff, And for variety raises rim.

He is off from his regular hash He won’t eat good chicken stew, To please a party so rash, One is at a loss to know what he can do.

So short there is nothing will please, So all things as well as you may, Very best is but poor in his eyes, When he’s in such a miserable way.

What the cause of the trouble can be I really should like to know. For a gale is half weathered, you see, If you know which way the wind blows.

What’s the use of being so sour? Where’s the need of such foolish pets? Wry faces won’t gain our desire, Or make us the happier yet.

Then Captain, give over your sulks, Eat hearty, laugh loud, and grow fat, Don’t fret about the results, The feather is yet for your cap.”

[ID: Excerpt from an 1870s whaling journal, transcript follows. /end ID]

“So you see there isn’t much chance of getting sentiment out of a sailor, as you will readily admit after inspecting a mariner’s logbook.”