#covington crew

[focsle]

Some underhanded dealings recorded by Albert:

[ID: portion from an 1850s whaling journal. Transcript follows.]

“Early one morning just before sunrise we discovered it [a whale that had been killed by a different ship’s crew] close to us adrift. It not being light enough to be seen from the shore, we lowered away and towed it alongside. We got their irons out as quick as possible and stowed them away out of sight, but had no sooner done so than their boat came alongside claiming it. They were told that they were mistaken, as we had taken it ourselves, but they insisted that it was theirs, and finally the skipper told them that they might wait and see it cut in, and if their irons were found in it they might have the whale, which was a very safe statement on our side, for their irons had been extracted and ours shoved into the places they had occupied. They insisted, notwithstanding, that it was their whale, but in the absence of all positive evidence they were obliged to forego their claim, and left us declaring that they would play us a trick if they ever had a chance, but that chance they never had for the whales that we took were few and far between.”

Harpoons are stamped with their respective ship’s names to prevent this sort of thing, but it’s all moot if one party hastily swaps out one ship’s harpoons with their own and hides the evidence.

[focsle]

[ID: Three images from the same 1850s whaling journal, with a neat light script. The transcript follows below.]

I love Duff (nicknamed as such cos he likes duff) and the poor pranks he’s the butt of and the fruitless interactions with the captain who just has No Time for it.

“But some of the crew having an eye to the luxuries of life began to invent dishes of their own. One day after dinner, Duff the simple fellow before mentioned, took some hard bread and pounding it up soaked it in water, and and then mixing it with molasses and slush (the fat boiled out of the beef) filled his pan with it and carrying it to the galley, got the cook to bake it for him. The cook having baked it while he was on deck, told him of it, upon which Duff carried it below and deposited it in his chest until supper time and went on deck again, thinking no doubt that he would have a grand supper on lobscouce [lobscouse] as he called it. But the old adage “There’s many a slip ‘twixt the cup and the lip” proved as true in this instance as it ever did for Duff on going to his chest found that some one had abstracted his supper, leaving the empty pan. Filled with indignation at his loss, away he goes aft and reports to the captain that some one has been stealing from him. “What did they steal?” asks the Captain. “A lobscouce, sir,” was the reply. “What the devil’s that?” asked the skipper. Whereupon Duff gave him an account of what a lobscouce was composed of. “Don’t you get enough to eat?” asks the Captain. “Yes sir,” says Duff. “Clear out then, and don’t come to me bothering about your lobscouse.” Poor Duff started forward crestfallen enough. But aside from all this his chest had been broken into, which was not exactly fair play, and so as he was going away the captain says to him “You find out who it was that opened your chest and let me know it.” But he never found out.”

———

“Speaking of duff reminds me of another little incident which transpired a little while before. One evening as Duff (not the cook’s duff but our Duff) was lying on the fore hatch enjoying an evening nap, some mischievous chap smeared his hair and face with tar. A short time afterwards, waking up and finding it out, he at first tried to find the author of it and failing in this he posted aft to where the captain and mate was sitting and began to make his complaint to the captain that some one had been tarring him. “What did you let them for?” “I didn’t know it, sir.” “You were asleep, then. They wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t been. Keep awake and you won’t get tarred. Clear out and don’t you come to me with any more of your complaints.” He could get no satisfaction either forward or after, and was forced to swallow it down, vowing that if he ever found out who it was he would serve them the same.”

[focsle]

Awww Albert ended up parting ways with the Covington cos he was discharged at a hospital in Honolulu. But I was having so much fun cross referencing!! ):

[focsle]

More cross referencing! They lightly crash into another ship, and remark on it with slightly different takes.

[ID: excerpt of an 1850s whaling log kept by Captain Allen Newman. /end ID]

“June the 8th light airs from NE with overcast sky saw 4 Ships, two Boiling the Latter part calm [.] at 11 PM the Eliza Adams came within 10 foot of us in A thick fog we got clear of each other By towing with the boats no Whales to Day.

[ID: Portion of an 1850s whaling journal kept by greenhand Albert Peck. /end ID]

“That night, about one o’clock the lookout sang out “light O” and close to us right ahead, we saw a light which kept approaching nearer and nearer until we could see that it was a vessel trying out. We slowly drifted towards one another and there being no wind we were perfectly helpless. We came together with a crash which awakened everybody in the ship. Fenders and spars were got out to keep her from us and finally we drifted apart without serious damage to either of us. As soon as we came together we found it to be the Eliza Adams, and our skipper hurrying on deck half dressed was hailed by her skipper, “I say, Captain, this is a good time to take my oil on board.” It seems that they had been talking of sending home the Eliza Adams’ oil by us at the end of the season. Our skipper made out to answer yes, but was too much alarmed to see much of a joke in it.”

[focsle]

Confirmation that both Albert and Newman are on the same voyage and writing about it at the same time. It was hard to feel 100% comfortable since Newman wrote sporadically, Albert didn’t date anything and said that he slightly altered everyone’s names, and that I can’t find a crew list for this voyage. But now I feel comfortable saying so and analyzing the voyage thus.

[ID: Excerpt from 1850s logbook kept by Captain Allen Newman. /end ID]

“June the 10th fresh breezes from SW with thick fog. Died at 1am Joseph Sylvia, of Flores W.I. [Western Islands, in this context, Azores] aged 21 years.”

[ID: Excerpt from an 1850s whaling journal kept by greenhand Albert Peck. /end ID]

“we buried our third made who had been sick with the dysentery ever since leaving port. We laid him out and sewed him up in canvas. At the appointed hour all hands were called to bury the dead. The gang way plank was taken out and the body laid upon it, and the captain commenced to read the burial service, and read the words “We commit this body to the deep.” two of the crew lifted the end of the plank and allowed the body to slide into the water, when being heavily weighted it immediately sank to rise no more until the resurrection. His name was Stephen Sylvie, and belonged to Flores, Western Islands. [Azores]”

[focsle]

Logbook adventures, it’s so interesting to be reading two separate perspectives from (almost certainly) the same voyage. While Captain Newman is often plunged into despair and largely lamenting his poor luck and missing his home life, greenhand Albert offers more insight on the social dynamics of this ship that were going unnoticed by Newman.

[ID: A portion of Newman’s journal, Jan 1st 1857]

“This day makes 19 New Years days which I have passed at sea in Succession. Oh when shall I be repaid for all the toil and Deprivation that has attended the greater part of my life, 4 months & 3 days out with Nothing, but I hope to get something soon we saw A Whale yesterday but the weather Was very bad & we did not Lower for him.”

[ID: Portion from Albert’s journal, sometime in the autumn of that year]

“We had made a poor season’s work, most of the vessels that were with us in the bays, taking from 1000 to 1500 barrels, while we could only count up 300. Our officers called it hard luck, but we could see wherein the failure lay, and did not credit it quite all to luck, or an unlucky ship. The truth was, our officers were afraid of a whale, and did not exert themselves in trying to capture them.”

Albert later goes on to say,

“We had lowered [for whales] a few times, but it was evident to everyone but the skipper that the officers did not care about troubling them [whales].”

At one point Albert shares one of many instances that finally happens in view of the Captain:

“The whale much to the chagrin of the officers continued to keep close to the ship so that the skipper could observe their management […] The mate, instead of hauling up and lancing him, remained perfectly still waiting for the other boats, and before they could arrive the whale would take another start; and after working this way for an hour or two, the mate’s irons drew and the whale went about his business.”

Newman possibly eludes to situations like this, one day writing:

“hard luck makes me sorrowful but bad management makes me ugly.”