The Pacha of Many Tales

“How!” observed I, “have you milk here without pasture?”

“Yes,” replied my host, “drink it, and tell me if you think it palatable.”

I did so, and found it very little different from the asses’ milk of my own country—perhaps with a little more acidity of taste. In the mean time several varieties of shellfish, and a large cheese, were placed upon the table, which, as well as the stools, was composed entirely of bone.

“And cheese, too?” said I.

“Yes, and you will find it not bad. It is the milk of the whale which you have drank—and the cheese is prepared from the same.”

“Friend Huckaback,” observed the pacha, “I think you are telling me lies. Who ever heard of whale’s milk?”

“Allah forbid that I should attempt to deceive a person of your highness’s judgment; it could only end in mortification and defeat to myself.”

“That’s very true,” observed the pacha.

“Your highness has not called to mind, that the whale is what naturalists call a ‘hot-blood animal,’ with arteries and circulation of blood similar to the human species; and that it brings forth its young alive, and nurses it at the breast.”

“Very true,” observed the pacha. “I had forgot that.”

My conductor resumed as follows: “As I told you before, the whale is the staple of this island. You observe that his skin serves us as a house; from his bones we form all our implements—from his sinews, our thickest ropes down to our finest thread. The dress we wear is composed of the belly-part of the skin, dressed with a sort of soap, composed of the alkali obtained from the sea-weed which abounds in the lake, and the oil of the whale. His blubber serves us for fuel and candle; his flesh for meat, and the milk is invaluable to us. It is true, we have other resources; we have our lizards, and a variety of fish and shell fish; and when we are shut up in the winter among the icebergs, we procure the flesh and skins of the seals and the polar bear. But we have no vegetable of any kind; and although the want of bread may at first he unpleasant, a few weeks will reconcile you to the privation. But it is time to repose after your fatigues—I will report your arrival to the great harpooner, after I have shown you to your chamber.” He then conducted me to an inner room, where I found a couch, composed of the skins of the polar bears, on which I threw myself, and in a few minutes was fast asleep.

The next morning I was awakened by my host. “If you wish to see the whales milked, this is the hour that they are called in; a short walk will explain more to you than many hours’ conversation.”

I arose perfectly refreshed from my long nap, and followed my conductor. We passed a large tank. “This is our water; we are obliged not to waste it, although we have a sufficiency; the tank is coated by a cement, formed of lime, obtained by the burning of the shells of fish. We make all our vessels, that are submitted to the fire, of the same substance, mixed with pounded lava; it is burnt in the fire, and glazed with sea-salt.”

We arrived at the edge of the lake, where we came to a large shallow dock, cut out of the lava in the side, in which were about two dozen young whales, who followed my host as he walked round the edge.

“These are my calves; we do not admit the mothers until we have first drawn off what milk we require.”

Several men now came down to the beach: one of them blew a horn, formed out of a part of the horn of a sea unicorn, and immediately a herd of whales collected at the sound, and swam towards the beach. They all answered to their names; and when the men waded in the water up to their knees, quietly grounded on their sides, so as to present one of their udders to them, clear of the water. This was squeezed by four men, and the contents received into a large pail, composed of the bones of a whale, neatly hooped together by the same substance.

As soon as the breast of the animal was empty, with a lash of its tail it recovered the deep water, and swam round and round in small circles, near to the spot.

“We always leave one breast for the calf,” observed my host; “when they are all milked, I shall open the pen and let the mothers in.”

“What are those enormous whales which are playing at a distance?”

“They are our whale oxen,” answered my host; “we find that they grow to an enormous size. Our houses are built of their skins.”

“Is that a dead whale on the beach?”

“It is one of our whale boats,” replied he, “but formed, as you supposed, from the skin of a whale, hardened by frequent applications of oil and lime. We use them to catch the whales when we want them.”

“You do not use the harpoon, then?”

“Only when we kill; in general we noose the tail, and fasten the rope to one of these boats, which are so buoyant, that the whale cannot take it down, and soon tires with his own exertions. I am now speaking of the males reserved for breeding, or strange whales, who sometimes find their way into our lake during the winter: our own are so domesticated from their infancy, that we have little trouble with them; but it is time that we return.”

“Here,” observed any host, as we passed a whale-house, “is one of our manufactories; we will step in. This is the common stuff of the country, which is used for partitions in houses, etcetera. This is a finer sort, such as I wear at present. Here we have the skin of the whale calf, which is usually worn by the women. This is the most expensive article of our manufactures; it is the belly-part of the calf’s skin, which being white, admits of a dye from the murex—a shell fish, very common on our shores.”

“Have you money?” inquired I.

“None—we exchange; but the chief article of exchange, and which serves as money, is the whale cheese, which keeps for years, and improves in quality. That fine cloth is worth eight new cheeses a square yard, which is very dear.”

We arrived at the house, where we found our repast ready; an excellent stew received my commendation.

“It is one of our favourite dishes,” replied my host; “it is made of lizards’ tails.”

“Lizards’ tails!”

“Yes; I am about to procure some for dinner, and you shall see my preserve.”

In the course of the day I walked with my host a short distance up the hill, when we stopped at a large pit, covered with a net-work, made of whales’ sinews. The man who accompanied us, descended, and soon returned with a pail full of lizards, confined by a similar net over them. He then took them out one by one, and pulled their tails, which were immediately left in his hand. He then notched the stump, and threw the animal into the pit.

“Of what use is it to return the animals?” observed I.

“Because their tails will grow again, by next year.”

“But why, then, were the stumps notched in the middle?”

“That they might have two tails instead of one, which is invariably the case,” replied my host.

But I will not tire your highness with an account of all that I saw, and which occurred during my stay on that island. If I were to enter into the excellence of their government, which consisted of a great harpooner, and two councils of first and second harpoons, or of the manners and customs of the inhabitants, ceremonies at births, and marriages, and deaths—of their amusements, and their ingenious supply of all their wants, it would afford materials for at least two volumes quarto, without margin. I shall therefore confine myself to stating, that after a sojourn of six months, I became so impatient to quit the island, that I determined to encounter any risk, rather than not accomplish it.

My host, and all the principal inhabitants, finding that no persuasions could induce me to stay, consented at last to furnish me with the means, which I had hit upon to make my escape.

I omitted to mention to your highness, the whales had been rendered so docile, that they not only were used for draught on the lake, but even for carrying on their backs. I never could be persuaded to mount one, I had such a horror of being seated on a fish’s back, after my travelling on the shark; but I had often crossed the lake in one of the great whale boats towed by one or two of the animals fastened to it by loops over their tails. This conveyance suggested to me the idea of my escape, which I proposed to make by means of one of these large whale boats, covered completely in, and to be towed out of the mouth of the lake by one of the draught whales.

At my request, a boat was prepared, and covered in with whalebone windows, to admit light; a stock of provisions were supplied me sufficient for a long voyage; and the whale being put to, I departed amidst the tears and lamentations of the friendly islanders, who looked upon me as a man bent upon my own destruction. But I was aware that the fishery would soon commence, and had great hopes of being picked up by one of the vessels. I was soon clear of the lake; and the lad who was on the back of the draught whale, having towed me out in pursuance of his orders, until the island appeared like a cloud on the horizon, cast me loose and hastened back, that he might return home before dark.

For three weeks I remained in the inside of this enormous boat, or rather I may say fish tossed upon the waves, but without injury, from its extreme buoyancy. One morning I was awakened from a sound sleep by a sudden blow on the outside of my vessel. I imagined that I had come in contact with an iceberg, but the sound of voices convinced me, that at last I had fallen in with my fellow creatures. A harpoon was now driven in, which I narrowly escaped, and a volley of execrations followed, by which I knew immediately that the people were English.

After a few minutes, they commenced sawing a hole in the side of my whale boat; and a piece being removed, a head was put in. Fearful of another harpoon, I had raised up my large white bear’s skin as a defence, and the man perceiving it, immediately withdrew his head, swearing that there was a white bear in the belly of the whale. The boat shoved off and they commenced firing musket balls, which pierced my boat through and through, and I was obliged to lie down at the bottom to save my life. After about twenty shots, the boat again came along side, and a man, putting his head in, and perceiving me at the bottom of the boat, covered over with the bear’s skin, imagined that the animal had been killed, and reported to his companions. With some degree of apprehension they climbed in at the hole which they had cut, when I lifted up my bear’s skin, and made my appearance, dressed in the black skin worn by the inhabitants of Whales’ Island. This frightened them still more; one roared out that it was the devil, and they all ran to make their escape at the hole by which they entered, but in their eagerness they prevented each other.

It was with difficulty that I convinced them that I was harmless, which I did at last; and having explained in a few words how I came there, they permitted me to go with them on board of the ship. The captain was very sulky when he heard the story; he had imagined it to be a dead whale, and had ordered it to be towed alongside, to cut off the blubber. Disappointed in his expectations, he swore that I was a Jonas, who had come out of the whale’s belly, and there would be no luck in the ship, if I remained. The sailors, whose profits in the voyage were regulated by the number of fish taken, thought this an excellent reason for throwing me overboard; and had there not been two sail in sight, standing towards them, I certainly should have had some more adventures to narrate. At last they consented to put me on board of one which had hoisted French colours. She was from Havre, and having twelve fish on board, was returning home. The captain consented to give me a passage, and in two months I was once more in my native country.

Such, your highness, were the adventures of my third voyage.

“Well, the story of the island was rather too long,” observed the Pacha, “but, altogether, it was amusing. Mustapha, I think it is worth ten pieces of gold.”

Volume Two–Chapter Three

The next day the renegade commenced his fourth voyage, in the following words:—

Fourth Voyage of Huckaback

Your highness may imagine, that I ought to have been pretty well tired of going to sea, after so many mishaps; but there is a restlessness attending a person who has once been a rover, that drives him from comfort and affluence in possession, to seek variety through danger and difficulty in perspective. Yet I cannot say that it was my case in the present instance, for I was forced to embark against my inclination. I had travelled through France to Marseilles, with a small sum of money presented me by the captain of the ship who gave me a passage home, for I could no longer bear the idea of not again seeing my father, if he was alive; and I felt no apprehensions from the circumstance of the lady abbess, as I knew how soon every thing in this world is forgotten, and that I was so altered from time and hardship, that I was not likely to be recognised.

On my arrival at my native city, I proceeded to the well-known shop, where I had been accustomed to exercise my talents, under my father’s superintendence. The pole was extended from the door, the bason still turned round in obedience to the wind; but when I entered the shop, which was crowded with people (for it was Saturday afternoon), I perceived that all the operators were unknown to me, and that my father was not there. One of the expectants, who waited his turn, politely made room for me beside him on the bench, and I had time to look about me before I made any interrogations.

The shop had been newly painted, a looking-glass of considerable dimensions had been added, and the whole wore the appearance of a more thriving establishment.

“You are a stranger, monsieur,” observed my neighbour.

“I am,” replied I; “but I have been at Marseilles before, and when I was last here I used to frequent this shop. There was a short stout man who was at the head of it, but I do not recollect his name.”

“Oh—Monsieur Maurepas. He is dead; he died about two months since.”

“And what has become of his family?”

“He had but one son, who had an intrigue with the daughter of an old officer in this town, and was obliged to leave it. No one has heard of him since: he is supposed to have been lost at sea, as the vessel in which he embarked never arrived at the port to which she was bound. The old man died worth money, and there is a law-suit for his property now carried on between two distant relations.”

“What became of the lady you were speaking of?”

“She retired to a convent, not three miles off, and is since dead. There was some mystery about the abbess, and she was supposed to be able to explain it. I believe she was pronounced ‘contumacious’ by the inquisition, and put into prison, where she died from the severity of her treatment.”

My heart smote me when I heard this. The poor girl had endured all this severity on my account, and was faithful even to the last. I fell into a reverie of most painful feelings. Cerise, too, whose fate I had before ascertained when I was at Toulouse—dear, dear Cerise!

“I tell you again, Huckaback; I wish to have no more of Cerise,” cried the pacha. “She is dead, and there’s an end of her.”

The information that I received made me doubtful how to proceed; I could easily prove my identity, but I had a degree of apprehension that I might be catechised in such a manner as to raise suspicions. At the same time without a sou in the world, I did not much like the idea of abandoning all claim to my father’s property. I had formerly dressed the peruke of an elderly gentleman who practised in the law, and with whom I was a great favourite. Although five years had elapsed since I first ran away from my father, I thought it very likely that he might be still alive. I resolved to call at his house. When I knocked and asked if he was at home, the girl who opened the door replied in the affirmative; and I was shown into the same little study, littered with papers, into which I formerly used to bring him his peruke.

“Your pleasure, sir?” inquired the old man, peering at me through his spectacles.

“I wish,” replied I, “to ask your opinion relative to a disputed succession.”

“What is the property?”

“That of Monsieur Maurepas, who died some short time since.”

“What, have we another claimant? If so, as I am employed by one party already, you must go elsewhere. I wish François would make his appearance and claim his own, poor fellow.”

Delighted to find that the old gentleman had still a regard for me, I made no scruple of making myself known.

“I am François, sir,” replied I.

The old gentlemen rose from his seat, and coming close to me, looked at me earnestly in the face. After a minute’s scrutiny—

“Well—I do believe you are; and pray, sir, where have you been all this while?”

“That’s what I cannot very well tell; but I have seen, and suffered much.”

“But that’s what you must tell, if you wish to obtain your property—that is to say, you must tell me. Don’t be afraid, François: it is a part of our profession to be confidants to strange secrets; and I think there are many locked up in this breast of more importance than any which you can disclose.”

“But, sir, if my life is concerned.”

“What then—your life will be safe. If I told all I knew, I could hang half Marseilles. But laying my professional duty aside, I wish you well; so now sit down, and let me hear your narrative.”

I felt that I could confide in my old acquaintance, and I therefore commenced a detail of my adventures. When I stated my being wrecked near Marseilles, he interrupted me, laughing—

“And you were the holy abbess?”

“I was.”

“Well, I thought I recollected your face, when I came with the rest of the tom fools to pay my respects to you: and when it was whispered that a man had personified the holy abbess, I said to myself, ‘that it was either François or the devil,’ but I never mentioned my suspicions.”

When I had finished my narrative, he observed, “Now, François, there will be some risk of proving your identity in a court of justice, which the other parties will insist upon. What I should advise you to do, is, to compromise with the party that employs me. Make over to him a conveyance of all the property, on condition of your receiving one half, or more if we can get it. I will represent you as a careless young man, anxious to obtain money and spend it. If he agrees, you will obtain a good round sum without risk, and I shall oblige both my clients, which is always my endeavour.”

I agreed to the good sense of the proposal, and my old friend advanced me some louis to enable me to improve my appearance. Advising me not to show myself too much, he offered me a bed at his house. I left him to procure a more decent wardrobe; and for better disguise, fitted myself with an officer’s undress suit, and having purchased a few other necessaries returned to his house.

“Well, upon my honour, you do justice to your dress. I don’t wonder at Mademoiselle de Fonseca falling in love with you. That is a sad story though—I don’t know whether I ought to trust you with my housekeeper, for she is very young and very pretty. Promise me, on your honour, that you will not make love to the poor girl, for I have an affection for her, and will not have her added to your list of broken hearts.”

“Mention it not, I beg, sir,” replied I, mournfully; “my heart is dead and buried with her whose name I have just mentioned.”

“Well, then, go up stairs and introduce yourself. I have people waiting in the next room.”

I obeyed his directions, and when I entered the parlour above, perceived a youthful figure working at her needle, with her back towards me. She turned her head at my approach what was my amazement, what was my delight, when I beheld Cerise!

“Holy Prophet,” exclaimed the pacha, “is that woman come to life again?”

“She was never dead, your highness, and will occupy your attention more than once, if I am to proceed with my voyages.”

“But I hope there will be no more love scenes.”

“Only the present one, your highness: for after that we were married.”

Cerise looked at me for one moment, screamed, and fell lifeless on the floor. I caught her in my arms, and, as she lay senseless, called her by her name, and imprinted a hundred kisses on her lips.

The noise had alarmed the old gentleman, who, unobserved by me came in, and witnessed the scene. “Upon my honour, sir, considering your promise to me just now, you are making rather free.”

“’Tis Cerise, my dear sir—Cerise!”

“Cerise de Fonseca?”

“Yes, the same; the dear girl whom I have ever lamented.”

“Upon my soul, Mr François, you’ve a talent for adventures,” said the old gentleman, leaving the room, and returning with a tumbler of water. Cerise was soon restored, and lay trembling in my arms. Our old friend, who considered that he was ‘de trop,’ quitted the room, and left us together.

I will not dwell upon a scene which can have no charms to those, who, like your highness, buy love ready made; I shall therefore narrate the history of Cerise, which at my request was imparted, previous to her receiving a similar confidence on my part.

“Allow me to observe, Felix, or what is your name, you impostor?” said Cerise, half reproachfully and half in jest.

“My name is François.”

“Well, then, François; but I never shall like that name so well as Felix, for it was to Felix that—but there’s nothing in a name after all—except that the first is engraven on my heart, and cannot be effaced. But let me tell my story, and allow me to commence with an observation, which my acquaintance with you, and subsequent reflections have deeply impressed upon my mind. It unfortunately happens, that those who are highest in rank in this world pay dearly for it in a point upon which almost all the real happiness of life consists. I mean in the choice of the partner with whom they are destined to walk the pilgrimage of life hand in hand; and the higher their rank, the more strictly are they debarred from making a selection which the meanest peasant can enjoy without control.

“A king has no choice, he must submit to the wishes of his subjects, and the interests of his country. The aristocracy in our country are little better off, at least the female part of it, for they are dragged from convents to the altar, and offered up as a sacrifice to family connection. At the time that we were, or were supposed to be (for as yet it is a mystery to me), assisted by you on the road—”

“In one point not a supposition certainly, my Cerise, for I took off my only garment to cover you.”

“You did—you did—I think I see you now, leaving the side of the chariot; I loved you from that moment. But to continue: I was then going down to the château, to be introduced to my future husband, whom I had never seen, although the affair had been long arranged.

“My father had no idea that any harm could result from a few days’ acquaintance; and he felt too grateful to forbid you the house; but he little knew how situation and opportunity will overcome time; and I knew more of you in a few days than I thought I could have known of any man in so many years. That I loved you—loved you dearly—you know well.

“But to proceed: (nay, don’t kiss me so, or I shall never tell my story.) The next morning I heard that you had gone, as you had told me it was your intention; but my father’s horse did not come back—my father was grave, and the bishop more gloomy than usual. Two days afterwards I was informed by my father that you were an impostor, that all had been discovered, and that if taken you would probably be seized by the inquisition; but you had fled the country, and were supposed to have embarked at Toulon. He added, that my intended husband would arrive in a few days.

“I considered all that he had told me, and I formed the following conclusions:– First, that you were not the person you described yourself to be; and, Secondly, that he had discovered our attachment, and had insisted upon your not re-appearing—but that you had deserted me, and left the country, I knew, after what had passed, to be impossible. But whether you were Monsieur de Rouillé or not, you were all I coveted, and all that I adored; and I vowed that for you I would live or die. I felt assured that one day or another, you would come back; and that conviction supported me. My future husband appeared—he was odious. The time fixed for our wedding drew nigh—I had but one resource, which was flight. A young girl who attended me (you recollect her, she came and told us the bishop was coming, when we were in the garden), I knew to be attached to me. I took her in confidence, and through her means I obtained a peasant’s dress, with the promise of shelter in her father’s cottage, some leagues distant. The night before the marriage was to take place, I ran down to the river that flows past the château, threw my bonnet and shawl on the bank, and then made my escape to where her father was waiting to receive me, in a cart which he had provided as a conveyance. The girl, who was left, managed admirably: it was supposed that I had drowned myself; and as they had no further occasion for her services, she was dismissed, and joined me at her father’s cottage. I remained there for more than a year, when I thought it advisable to move, and come to Marseilles I where I obtained the situation of housekeeper to this old gentleman, who has treated me more like a daughter than a domestic. Now, Mr François, can you give so good an account of yourself?”