Nevertheless, Melville must have been bored by the lack of intellectual stimulus and was firm friends with Richard Greene, who shared with Melville a wider interest in the world and was well educated. Greene later recalled how the pair ‘had whiled away many a watch in yarn and song’ doubtless dreaming of adventure. It is therefore not surprising that it would be with Greene that Melville eventually hatched the plan to desert the ship. This desertion would not take place until June 1842, when, after touching briefly in Tumbez, Peru and the Galapagos Islands in search of a turtle, the Acushnet set a course for the Marquesas and the island of Nuku Hiva. After four and a half months at sea, the Acushnet finally raised the towering pinnacles and verdant slopes of this savage land.
‘No description can do justice to its beauty,’ Melville later wrote of Nuku Hiva Bay, which is a bit of a cop out, but suffice to say that it is everything you picture if you try to conjure up a perfect South Sea bay; lush slopes tumbling steeply down to the waters edge fringed with powdery white sand and iridescent blue sea. It was like something out of a dream and the sailors must have rubbed their eyes in disbelief at what they saw. As the Acushnet approached the bay, she was surrounded by native canoes and boarded by a white man who described himself as a pilot; this despite the fact he was clearly drunk. Captain Pease no doubt ignored the entreaties of this washed up old beachcomber as he endeavoured to pilot his vessel into the sheltered bay, where several French warships lay. The Acushnet had arrived just in time to witness the first overtures of the French in a series of greedy expansionist plans that would eventually lay the island to waste. Yet the crew of the Acushnet cared little for this. Fed on tales from some of the more experienced crew of native savagery and debauchery they were rubbing their hands together at the prospect of an exciting stay in this idyllic setting.
They were not to be disappointed. As the Acushnet stole through the glassy waters of Nuku Hiva Bay, Melville perceived what he first thought was a large school of fish in the water, but as they drew closer it was evident that this was actually a mass of Nuku Hivan girls, swimming off to greet the mariners. Melville describes the scene thus:
We were still some distance from the beach, and under slow headway, when we sailed right into the midst of these swimming nymphs, and they boarded us at every quarter; many seizing hold of the chain-plates and springing into the chains; others, at the peril of being run over by the vessel in her course, catching at the bob-stays, and wreathing their slender forms about the ropes, hung suspended in the air. All of them at length succeeded in getting up the ship’s side, where they clung dripping with the brine and glowing from the bath, their jet-black tresses streaming over their shoulders, and half enveloping their otherwise naked forms. There they hung, sparkling with savage vivacity, laughing gaily at one another, and chattering away with infinite glee. Nor were they idle the while, for each one performed the simple offices of the toilette for the other. Their luxuriant locks, wound up and twisted into the smallest possible compass, were freed from the briny element; the whole person carefully dried, and from a little round shell that passed from hand to hand, anointed with a fragrant oil: their adornments were completed by passing a few loose folds of white tappa, in a modest cincture, around the waist. Thus arrayed they no longer hesitated, but flung themselves lightly over the bulwarks, and were quickly frolicking about the decks. Many of them went forward, perching upon the headrails or running out upon the bowsprit, while others seated themselves upon the taffrail, or reclined at full length upon the boats. What a sight for us bachelor sailors! How avoid so dire a temptation? For who could think of tumbling these artless creatures overboard, when they had swum miles to welcome us?
Their appearance perfectly amazed me; their extreme youth, the light clear brown of their complexions, their delicate features, and inexpressibly graceful figures, their softly moulded limbs, and free unstudied action, seemed as strange as beautiful.
The Dolly [Melville substituted the name Acushnet for Dolly in Ty-Pee] was fairly captured; and never I will say was vessel carried before by such a dashing and irresistible party of boarders! The ship taken, we could not do otherwise than yield ourselves prisoners, and for the whole period that she remained in the bay, the Dolly as well as her crew, were completely in the hands of the mermaids. Our ship was now given up to every species of riot and debauchery.
There is a clear inference, backed up by other contemporary accounts from visiting ships that the crew of the whaler essentially indulged in a very lengthy orgy. In Ty-Pee, Melville stays aloof from this scene of debauchery, but it is very difficult to judge whether he actually did in real life. It is doubtful he would have had religious or moral scruples, but it is possible that Melville, as an educated man, would have considered how many whaling ships touched at this spot throughout the course of a year and stood aloof simply out of fear of sexual transmitted diseases. Indeed, this may have been one of his reasons for choosing to desert the ship, which he and his companion Richard Greene did shortly afterwards when the crew was granted shore leave.
Venereal diseases are one thing, but it is also likely that Melville and Greene were simply utterly seduced by the beauty of this place, and the promise of adventure after all those weeks and months at sea. Whalemen deserting their ship was simply a fact of life during such protracted cruises and was far from surprising given the intimidating lengths of time spent afloat. Yet the decision to quit the ship in Nuku-Hiva was a brave one, for the people of the island definitely still enjoyed the taste of human flesh, although it was far more likely they would eat the flesh of an enemy tribe rather than a white man. Nevertheless, this was not a gamble particularly worth taking, and Greene and Melville must have been pretty hacked off to abandon their ship in search of adventure. True, after a promising start, the Acushnet had hit a dry spell and the crew had been further discouraged by rumours of a crash in the price of sperm oil back home, yet you still have to admire the pluck of the two adventurers as they headed into the unknown.
This is a book about seafaring, so I will not dwell in detail on the adventures of Melville and Greene in the interior of Nuku-Hiva. Nevertheless, I will briefly explain what happened in order to give this tale some continuity. After being granted shore leave by Pease, the pair loaded up their pockets with as much food as they dared and waited for a suitable moment to slip away from their crewmates on the beach. The aim was to head for the valley of the Happar tribe, who were known to be friendly towards white men. By the same token, it was imperative that they avoided the valley of the Ty-Pees, who were famed for their ruthlessness. Inevitably, after much battling with the undergrowth, the pair got hopelessly lost and stumbled into the valley of Ty-Pee. Here, they received a warm welcome, but got the distinct impression that they were prisoners. After a couple of days friendly captivity, Greene was able to escape after word got around that a white man’s boat was down at the beach. Unfortunately, Melville had injured his leg during the gruelling walk to the valley and was unable to follow. Although Greene promised to return with help, none ever came, and Melville was trapped for another three weeks. During this period he recovered somewhat, took a lover by the name of Fayaway and spent time observing the Ty-Pee, generally concluding that they were a pleasant bunch with a comfortable lifestyle. He was able to effect his own escape when another whaler, the Lucy Ann touched at Nuku Hiva. Desperate for crew, her captain, Henry Ventom, got word that a sailor was hiding in the Ty-Pee valley. A boat was landed in the bay of Ty-Pee and Melville, aided by Fayaway, was able to escape.
These are the bare facts, related in far greater detail in Melville’s first ever novel, Ty-Pee. Ever since its publication, people have been arguing about how much of the story is actually true, with many dismissing it as nonsense as soon as it was published. Melville swore blind it was factual, and was backed up by Richard Greene – lost since he departed the valley of Ty-Pee and presumed dead – but re-emerged when Melville’s tall tale found fame. At any rate, whatever the ins and outs of the tale, there is
no doubt that the essential premise is true. The upshot of the adventure was that Melville found himself aboard the British whaler Lucy Ann. It is also fair to say that once he discovered the circumstances of the cruise, he would definitely have felt that it was a case of out of the frying pan into the fire, for all was not well aboard the little ship.
The vessel was a decrepit little barque, 87ft in length and built in 1819. Melville described her as he was rowed toward her following his rescue:
A small, slatternly-looking craft, her hull and spars a dingy black, rigging all slack and bleached nearly white, and everything denoting an ill state of affairs aboard. The four boats hanging from her sides proclaimed her a whaler. Leaning carelessly over the bulwarks were the sailors, wild, haggard-looking fellows in Scotch caps and faded blue frocks; some of them with cheeks of a mottled bronze, to which sickness soon changes the rich berry-brown of a seaman’s complexion in the tropics.
She was owned in Australia and although she was rather shabby Melville spoke very highly of her sailing qualities. Her main problem was that there appeared to be a lamentable lack of discipline aboard her, for the crew had clearly lost all faith in Captain Ventom. The result was that the entire duration of Melville’s cruise aboard this ill-starred vessel seemed to consist of a never-ending battle between crew and afterguard, while many aboard were ailing with sickness.
Melville was not to know this when he signed up for a place aboard the Lucy Ann. Initially, Captain Ventom had doubts about shipping Melville, who was still struggling with his leg injury, but the vessel was so short handed, that he had little choice in the matter and Melville committed to a single cruise and would therefore be able to leave as soon as the Lucy Ann touched at her next port.
All of this seemed highly favourable to Melville, and things looked even rosier once it became clear that he would be entitled to a 1/120 ‘lay’ of any sperm oil secured during the voyage. This was far more favourable than the 1/175 he had been due to receive aboard the Acushnet, but Melville was not aboard the troubled vessel long before he was sorely disillusioned. The story of the voyage prior to his arrival had been a weary tale of rebellion, dissatisfaction and mutiny ever since the vessel had departed Sydney in 1842. Five months into her whaling cruise she had pulled into Nuku-Hiva and eight of her complement, including the second mate, promptly deserted, stealing one of her whaleboats as a means of escape. Although two men and the whaleboat were recaptured, the rest of the crew appeared far from happy and Ventom had to enlist the help of a French naval vessel, which was lying in Nuku-Hiva, in order to subdue his men. The upshot was that a further eight men were arrested and imprisoned. Ultimately, six were returned to resume the cruise while the most troublesome pair remained in Nuku-Hiva awaiting transport to Valparaiso to be tried.
The following day the Lucy Ann headed out to sea, but Captain Ventom soon found that the men were still in an ugly frame of mind, and many refused duty – a real problem on a vessel already desperately shorthanded. Ventom managed to subdue his men sufficiently to set them back to work, but still needed extra crew and a month later he was back in Nuku-Hiva searching for someone – anyone – to man his ship. The stopover almost had the reverse effect, for three sailors jumped ship but were later recovered. At this point, Ventom’s luck took a turn for the better, and he managed to enlist three more hands, including one lame seaman by the name of Melville. It was into this atmosphere of seething resentment that Melville signed up and, given this history of trouble, it is hardly surprising that more was just around the corner.
The events of this ill-starred voyage are narrated in Melville’s Omoo, but it is never clear why the crew harboured such a vehement dislike for the skipper and mate. In Omoo, Melville characterises the mate, James German, as a hail and hearty West Country man, very competent, but rather too fond of the bottle. Captain Ventom gets more withering treatment:
The captain was a young cockney, who, a few years before, had emigrated to Australia, and, by some favouritism or other, had procured the command of the vessel, though in no wise competent. He was essentially a landsman, and though a man of education, no more meant for the sea than a hairdresser. Hence everybody made fun of him. They called him ‘The Cabin Boy,’ ‘Paper Jack,’ and half a dozen other undignified names. In truth, the men made no secret of the derision in which they held him; and as for the slender gentleman himself, he knew it all very well, and bore himself with becoming meekness. Holding as little intercourse with them as possible, he left everything to the chief mate, who, as the story went, had been given his captain in charge.
This, at least to some extent, explains the general bad conduct of the crew, for a captain without respect is a captain only in name. Nevertheless, there is no reference to ill treatment or even bad food aboard the vessel. So perhaps the part of the explanation was simply that Ventom had shipped a thoroughly awful crew, and topping it up with deserters from other ships and the type of drifters who washed up on the beaches of the South Seas was never likely to improve the situation – particularly as many of these men (like Melville) were unwell or incapacitated before they even arrived on board.
On departing Nuku-Hiva, the Lucy Ann added to her motley crew with more deserters from another island and then headed out on another cruise in search of whales. The trip was short lived, for Ventom himself was now taken ill and John German found himself fully in charge of the seemingly doomed little vessel. German wisely shaped a course for Tahiti and after a couple of weeks at sea, with not one whale caught or even chased, the vessel arrived off Papeete. However, to the utter consternation of the crew, the Lucy Ann did not enter the harbour. Instead, the headsails were backed and the barque was left hove to outside while German himself rowed in to get medical assistance. Doubtless this was a measure taken to prevent further desertion, but with five members of the crew plus the captain ailing, this served to infuriate all hands. It cannot have pleased Melville greatly either, for the terms of his signing on would have allowed him to quit the luckless boat as soon as she touched land. In the circumstances, it is entirely understandable that he would have been desperate to do so. What happened next whipped the already restive crew into a fury. The doctor who was brought aboard ordered the seriously ill Ventom ashore, while the British Consul was brought with him to explain to the men that the ship was now temporarily in command of German while their skipper recuperated. This news promptly led to a stand off, with several men refusing duty on the grounds of signing on to serve Ventom, not German, while others, Melville included, argued that they were too sick to continue with the cruise. In the end, a compromise was reached, and two men were taken ashore for treatment. The rest – and this included Melville – were declared by a doctor as fit for the cruise and the vessel departed. She did not get far.
Shortly after departing Tahiti, trouble once again broke out. This time Benbow Byrne, a boatsteerer who had been promoted to officer ordered one of the crew to help him shorten sail. The response was simple but offensive: ‘Ask my arse’. The upshot of this was fisticuffs, and pretty soon the whole vessel was once again in uproar. This was the last straw for German and in despair he determined to head back to Papeete, anchoring there the following morning to the relief of all except the horrified citizens of that port, none more so than the British consul, who must have been beside himself with frustration.
The result of the Lucy Anne’s return was that ten of the leading troublemakers were once again arrested and confined aboard a French frigate anchored in the bay. By now though, the British consul’s façade of authority was starting to crack, and was further undermined when the French frigate departed, after unceremoniously ejecting the mutineers. Prior to this, the fear had been transportation to Valparaiso, where the troublemakers could have been tried and potentially executed. The departure of the French warship and the ejection of the prisoners showed that this was all a bluff. The mutiny was rapidly descending into a farce, all the more so when the men were placed in a local prison or ‘calaboose Brereton�
�� (British prison) as it was known locally, which consisted of an open building with very limited security and extremely friendly local warders, led by the Tahitian ‘Captain Bob’ who hated the British consul and consequently gave the prisoners almost unlimited liberty. It was at this point that Melville opted to join the troublemakers, no doubt reasoning that the well-fed men in the calaboose were better off than those aboard the Lucy Ann. He probably also sensed that freedom was at hand.
Meanwhile, Captain Ventom was convalescing and was soon prepared to head to sea once more. It was abundantly clear that the 11 men in the calaboose would not serve him, so more drifters and deserters were recruited and, to the relief of everyone, the Lucy Ann departed. It was not long after this that Melville himself also left Tahiti. The prisoners from the Lucy Ann were such only in name, and were allowed to roam far and wide during the day, only reporting back as night fell. It was therefore with no great difficulty that Melville and three other sailors slipped away from the calaboose and made their way to the neighbouring island of Eimeo. Their disappearance barely raised a murmur and it is highly likely that the humiliated British consul was mighty glad to see his embarrassing problem simply disappear.
Melville was once more adrift; a beachcomber wandering through these enchanted islands at his leisure. He was accompanied by an Englishman, John Troy, who had initially served as steward aboard the Lucy Ann but had been demoted after being suspected of theft. In Omoo he is given the name of Dr Long Ghost and cuts the figure of a kind of lanky, languorous, droll lothario. The text of the book is generously laced with sexual innuendo relating to Long Ghost and you get the strong impression that he was the kind of fellow your parents would always tell you to steer clear of because he was a bad influence. Again, their land-based adventures do not belong in this nautical tome, but the pair occupied themselves by working briefly for a pair of farmers, one British, one American. Clearly the lazy sailors were almost worse than useless farmhands and utterly unwilling to work, as the manner of their departure illustrates:
Sea Fever Page 27
