For although struggling bay
whaling stations did exist in a few sheltered places far away
from the general run of traffic, the trade itself might
truthfully be said to be practically extinct. The old CHANCE
alone, like some shadow of the past, haunted Foveaux Straits,
and made a better income for her fortunate owners than any of the
showy, swift coasting steamers that rushed contemptuously past
her on their eager way.
In many of the preceding pages I have, though possessing all an
Englishman's pride in the prowess of mine own people, been
compelled to bear witness to the wonderful smartness and courage
shown by the American whalemen, to whom their perilous calling
seems to have become a second nature. And on other occasions I
have lamented that our own whalers, either at home or in the
colonies, never seemed to take so kindly to the sperm whale
fishery as the hardy "down Easters," who first taught them the
business; carried it on with increasing success, in spite of
their competition and the depredations of the ALABAMA; flourished
long after the English fishery was dead; and even now muster a
fleet of ships engaged in the same bold and hazardous calling.
Therefore, it is the more pleasant to me to be able to chronicle
some of the doings of Captain Gilroy, familiarly known as
"Paddy," the master of the CHANCE, who was unsurpassed as a
whale-fisher or a seaman by any Yankee that ever sailed from
Martha's Vineyard.
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