The pictures of the whales alluded to were sometimes drawn with a pen, but generally were impressed by means of a stamp, which in early years was carved from wood by the men, and was later made of rubber. The impression was made on the margin of the page, and, if the whale were captured and boiled down, the number of barrels of oil obtained was written on a little white spot purposely left at about the middle of the picture. In running down the margins of the pages, one could easily determine how many whales were taken, how many escaped and the amount of oil each whale yielded. Black ink was not always used. Occasionally the impression was in blue, and the whale’s last agony was shown by a scarlet stream pouring from his blowhole. Open the logbook of an old merchant ship and there is nothing to interest, amuse or instruct, but the logs of the old whalers, now in the possession of the New Bedford Public Library and of the Dartmouth Historical Society, are as interesting as story books, and are, indeed, story books themselves. If the log book of the _Seabird_ was deposited in one of these repositories, one will find this entry made by Lakeum after the capture of the cachalot which yielded the ambergris—“This day we took a golden whale.”
One would think that it was the duty of the first mate to keep the logbook, but on a whaler others were permitted to ventilate on its pages their joys or woes. One of the most amusing entries was the following, made by the steward of the _Mystic_, sent on a cruise for sea-elephant oil in 1843.
How dear to this heart are the scenes of past days, When fond recollection recalls them to mind, The schooner so taut and so trim like a miss in her stays, And her light rigging which swayed to the wind— The old-fashioned galley, the try-works close by it, The old blubber-boat with six oars to pull it. The bunk of my messmate, the wooden chest nigh it, The old monkey jacket, the often-patched jacket, The greasy old jacket which hung up beside it.
There are few logbooks which give accounts of mutinies for the reason that, when the mutineers got possession of a vessel, the logbook went overboard. An exception is that of the _Barclay_, which sailed from New Bedford in 1843. The logbook records that trouble began soon after sailing; that a fight for the third time occurred at supper between one of the crew and the green hands; that the fighter was put in the rigging and given a few stripes; that he acknowledged the blame and was released; that he went forward, making threats; that the blacksmith was very saucy, he being the worse for rum; that for days the weather was so severe and the sea so rough that no entries were made and no observations taken; that after rounding the Horn the weather was much better; that on Monday, April 29, 1845, at eight o’clock, the captain sent the steward forward to call the men, or one of the men, aft, to see their meat weighed; that they wouldn’t come; that the captain called them three times and then took a broom to one of the blacks; that they refused, one of them saying that one of their complaints was that a pound and a quarter of meat was not enough; that they now went forward; that the black was insolent and was told to go aft again, that he replied that he would not and went to the forecastle, that in getting him up one of the men interfered and struck the captain; that the captain dropped his weapon and took hold of him; that the man seized the weapon and attempted to strike the captain; that he was told to go aft but refused, and went down into the forecastle, and, taking a sheath knife, said he would kill the first man who came down there, but that at last he delivered himself up to be put in irons. “Thus ends in Peace.” The mutiny collapsed, otherwise the logbook would have been delivered to the sea.