Furthermore, The Marquesas Lay Some Fourteen Degrees To The
West Of Our Longitude.
A pretty pickle for a handful of creatures
sweltering on the ocean in the heat of tropic calms.
We rigged lines on either side between the main and mizzen riggings.
To these we laced the big deck awning, hoisting it up aft with a
sailing pennant so that any rain it might collect would run forward
where it could be caught. Here and there squalls passed across the
circle of the sea. All day we watched them, now to port or
starboard, and again ahead or astern. But never one came near
enough to wet us. In the afternoon a big one bore down upon us. It
spread out across the ocean as it approached, and we could see it
emptying countless thousands of gallons into the salt sea. Extra
attention was paid to the awning and then we waited. Warren,
Martin, and Hermann made a vivid picture. Grouped together, holding
on to the rigging, swaying to the roll, they were gazing intently at
the squall. Strain, anxiety, and yearning were in every posture of
their bodies. Beside them was the dry and empty awning. But they
seemed to grow limp and to droop as the squall broke in half, one
part passing on ahead, the other drawing astern and going to
leeward.
But that night came rain. Martin, whose psychological thirst had
compelled him to drink his quart of water early, got his mouth down
to the lip of the awning and drank the deepest draught I ever have
seen drunk. The precious water came down in bucketfuls and tubfuls,
and in two hours we caught and stored away in the tanks one hundred
and twenty gallons. Strange to say, in all the rest of our voyage
to the Marquesas not another drop of rain fell on board. If that
squall had missed us, the handcuffs would have remained on the pump,
and we would have busied ourselves with utilizing our surplus
gasolene for distillation purposes.
Then there was the fishing. One did not have to go in search of it,
for it was there at the rail. A three-inch steel hook, on the end
of a stout line, with a piece of white rag for bait, was all that
was necessary to catch bonitas weighing from ten to twenty-five
pounds. Bonitas feed on flying-fish, wherefore they are
unaccustomed to nibbling at the hook. They strike as gamely as the
gamest fish in the sea, and their first run is something that no man
who has ever caught them will forget. Also, bonitas are the veriest
cannibals. The instant one is hooked he is attacked by his fellows.
Often and often we hauled them on board with fresh, clean-bitten
holes in them the size of teacups.
One school of bonitas, numbering many thousands, stayed with us day
and night for more than three weeks. Aided by the Snark, it was
great hunting; for they cut a swath of destruction through the ocean
half a mile wide and fifteen hundred miles in length.
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