In the Land of the Long White Cloud

Station, when he was still so full of anger and hatred for Gerald that he could hardly think straight. He had set out pell-mell for the West Coast, an Eldorado for “tough guys” who proudly dubbed themselves “Coasters” and earned their living with whaling and seal hunting and, more recently, the search for gold. Lucas had wanted to show everyone—to earn his own money, to prove himself a “real man” so that he might return at some point fabulously wealthy, weighed down with…with what, exactly? Gold? In that case, he probably should have taken up a shovel and gold pan and ridden into the mountains instead of signing on to a whale ship. But Lucas had not thought that far ahead. He just wanted to get away, far away, preferably out at sea—and he wanted to use his father’s own weapons against him. He had reached Greymouth, a poor settlement with little to offer other than a pub and a ship landing, after an adventurous ride through the mountains. Nevertheless, there was a dry corner in the pub where Lucas could make camp. For the first time in days he had a roof over his head. His blankets were still damp and dirty from his nights beneath the open sky. Lucas would have liked to draw himself a bath, but they were not equipped for such a thing in Greymouth. Lucas was not surprised. “Real men” did not seem to bathe very often. Instead of water, plenty of beer and whiskey flowed, and after a few glasses, Lucas had told Copper about his plans. He took heart when the Coaster did not just wave him away.
    “Don’t look much like a whaler,” he remarked, taking a long look at Lucas’s thin face and soft gray eyes. “But not like a weakling neither.” The man reached for Lucas’s upper arm and felt his muscles.“All right, why not. Been plenty o’ men who learned to hold a harpoon.” He laughed. But then his gaze became searching. “But can you handle being on your own for three or four years? Won’t you miss the pretty girls in port?”
    Lucas had already heard that you had to sign on for two to four years when you hired on to a whaling ship these days. The golden era of whaling, when sperm whales were easily found right off the South Island’s coast—the Maori had even hunted the beasts from their canoes—were past. By now the whales just off the coast were all but extinct. One had to sail far out to sea to find them and often spent weeks, if not years, on the hunt. Lucas had few concerns about that. The company of men even seemed attractive to him, as long as he didn’t stand out as he had on Kiward Station as the boss’s son. He would make it through this all right—no, he would go so far as to earn respect and recognition. Lucas was determined, and Copper did not turn him away. On the contrary, he seemed to regard him with interest, slapping him on the shoulder and patting him on the arm with the paws of an experienced ship’s carpenter and whaler. Lucas was somewhat ashamed of his manicured hands, his lack of calluses, and his relatively clean fingernails. On Kiward Station the men had occasionally alluded to the fact that he cleaned them regularly, but Copper didn’t say a word about it.
    Lucas had followed his new friend onto the ship, had himself introduced to the skipper, and signed a contract that bound him to three years on the
Pretty Peg
, a pear-shaped sailing ship that, though small, appeared just as resilient as its owner. The skipper, Robert Milford, was short but built of solid muscle. Copper spoke of him with great respect and praised his skills as the main harpooner. Milford greeted Lucas with a powerful handshake, told him what his pay would be—which struck Lucas as shockingly low—and directed Copper to show him to a berth. The
Pretty Peg
would soon be setting sail. Lucas had only two days to sell his horse, bring his things on board the whaler, and take over the pallet next to Copper’s. That suited him just fine. Even if Gerald had sent out search parties, he would long since have set sail before word reached out-of-the-way Greymouth.
    But life on board sobered him up quickly. On the first night, the fleas belowdecks kept him awake; what’s more, he had to battle against seasickness. Lucas made every effort to pull himself together, but his stomach rebelled whenever the ship rocked in the waves. It was worse in the dark room inside the ship than on deck, which led him to finally try spending the night outside. The cold and the damp soon drove him back to his