Not infrequently the artisans engaged in fitting out a ship were paid by being given “lays,” like the sailor.  In such a case the boatmaker who built the whale-boats, the ropemaker who twisted the stout, flexible manila cord to hold the whale, the sailmaker and the cooper were all interested with the crew and the owners in the success of the voyage.  It was the most practical communism that industry has ever seen, and it worked to the satisfaction of all concerned as long as the whaling trade continued profitable.

The wars in which the American people engaged during the active days of the whale fishery—­the Revolution, the War of 1812, and the Civil War—­were disastrous to that industry, and from the depredations committed by the Confederate cruisers in the last conflict it never fully recovered.  The nature of their calling made the whalemen peculiarly vulnerable to the evils of war.  Cruising in distant seas, always away from home for many months, often for years, a war might be declared and fought to a finish before they knew of it.  In the disordered Napoleonic days they never could tell whether the flag floating at the peak of some armed vessel encountered at the antipodes was that of friend or foe.  During both the wars with England they were the special objects of the enemy’s malignant attention.  From the earliest days American progress in maritime enterprise was viewed by the British with apprehension and dislike.  Particularly did the growth of the cod fisheries and the chase of the whale arouse transatlantic jealousy, the value of these callings as nurseries for seamen being only too plainly apparent.  Accordingly the most was made of the opportunities afforded by war for crushing the whaling industry.  Whalers were chased to their favorite fishing-grounds, captured, and burned.  With cynical disregard of all the rules of civilized warfare—­supposing war ever to be civilized—­the British gave to the captured whalers only the choice of serving in British men-of-war against their own countrymen, or re-entering the whaling trade on British ships, thus building up the British whale fishery at the expense of the American.  The American response to these tactics was to abandon the business during war time.  In 1775 Nantucket alone had had 150 vessels, aggregating 15,000 tons, afloat in pursuit of the whale.  The trade was pushed with such daring and enterprise that Edmund Burke was moved to eulogize its followers in an eloquent speech in the British House of Commons.  “Neither the perseverance of Holland,” he said, “nor the activity of France, nor the dexterous and firm sagacity of English enterprise, ever carried this most perilous mode of hardy industry to the extent to which it has been pushed by this most recent people.”  But the eloquence of Burke could not halt the British ministry in its purpose to tax the colonies despite their protests.  The Revolution followed, and the whalemen of Nantucket and New Bedford stripped their vessels, sent down yards and all running rigging, stowed the sails, tied their barks and brigs to the deserted wharves and went out of business.  The trade thus rudely checked had for the year preceding the outbreak of the war handled 45,000 barrels of sperm oil, 8500 barrels of right-whale oil, and 75,000 pounds of bone.