- end_line
- 3364
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:18.535Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 3307
- text
- But one could not but be struck by a tragical occurrence, which the
page very briefly recounted; as well, as by a noteworthy pictorial
illustration of the event in the margin of the text. Save the cut,
there was no further allusion to the matter than the following:— “This
day, being calm, Tooboi, one of the Lahina men, went overboard for a
bath, and was eaten up by a shark. Immediately sent forward for his
bag.”
Now, this last sentence was susceptible of two meanings. It is truth,
that immediately upon the decease of a friendless sailor at sea, his
shipmates oftentimes seize upon his effects, and divide them; though
the dead man’s clothes are seldom worn till a subsequent voyage. This
proceeding seems heartless. But sailors reason thus: Better we, than
the captain. For by law, either scribbled or unscribbled, the effects
of a mariner, dying on shipboard, should be held in trust by that
officer. But as sailors are mostly foundlings and castaways, and carry
all their kith and kin in their arms and their legs, there hardly ever
appears any heir-at-law to claim their estate; seldom worth inheriting,
like Esterhazy’s. Wherefore, the withdrawal of a dead man’s “kit” from
the forecastle to the cabin, is often held tantamount to its virtual
appropriation by the captain. At any rate, in small ships on long
voyages, such things have been done.
Thus much being said, then, the sentence above quoted from the Parki’s
log, may be deemed somewhat ambiguous. At the time it struck me as
singular; for the poor diver’s grass bag could not have contained much
of any thing valuable unless, peradventure, he had concealed therein
some Cleopatra pearls, feloniously abstracted from the shells brought
up from the sea.
Aside of the paragraph, copied above, was a pen-and-ink sketch of the
casualty, most cruelly executed; the poor fellow’s legs being
represented half way in the process of deglutition; his arms firmly
grasping the monster’s teeth, as if heroically bent upon making as
tough a morsel of himself as possible.
But no doubt the honest captain sketched this cenotaph to the departed
in all sincerity of heart; perhaps, during the melancholy leisure which
followed the catastrophe. Half obliterated were several stains upon the
page; seemingly, lingering traces of a salt tear or two.
From this unwonted embellishment of the text, I was led to infer, that
the designer, at one time or other, must have been engaged in the
vocation of whaling. For, in India ink, the logs of certain whalemen
are decorated by somewhat similar illustrations.
When whales are seen, but not captured, the fact is denoted by an
outline figure representing the creature’s flukes, the broad, curving
lobes of his tail. But in those cases where the monster is both chased
and killed, this outline is filled up jet black; one for every whale
slain; presenting striking objects in turning over the log; and so
facilitating reference. Hence, it is quite imposing to behold, all in a
row, three or four, sometime five or six, of these drawings; showing
that so many monsters that day jetted their last spout. And the chief
mate, whose duty it is to keep the ship’s record, generally prides
himself upon the beauty, and flushy likeness to life, of his flukes;
though, sooth to say, many of these artists are no Landseers.
- title
- Chunk 2