The beef was fine—­tough, but with body in it.  They said it was bullbeef; others, that it was dromedary beef; but I do not know, for certain, how that was.  They had dumplings too; small, but substantial, symmetrically globular, and indestructible dumplings.  I fancied that you could feel them, and roll them about in you after they were swallowed.  If you stooped over too far forward, you risked their pitching out of you like billiard-balls.  The bread—­ but that couldn’t be helped; besides, it was an anti-scorbutic, in short, the bread contained the only fresh fare they had.  But the forecastle was not very light, and it was very easy to step over into a dark corner when you ate it.  But all in all, taking her from truck to helm, considering the dimensions of the cook’s boilers, including his own live parchment boilers; fore and aft, I say, the Samuel Enderby was a jolly ship; of good fare and plenty; fine flip and strong; crack fellows all, and capital from boot heels to hat-band.

But why was it, think ye, that the Samuel Enderby, and some other English whalers I know of—­not all though—­were such famous, hospitable ships; that passed round the beef, and the bread, and the can, and the joke; and were not soon weary of eating, and drinking, and laughing?  I will tell you.  The abounding good cheer of these English whalers is matter for historical research.  Nor have I been at all sparing of historical whale research, when it has seemed needed.

The English were preceded in the whale fishery by the Hollanders, Zealanders, and Danes; from whom they derived many terms still extant in the fishery; and what is yet more, their fat old fashions, touching plenty to eat and drink.  For, as a general thing, the English merchant-ship scrimps her crew; but not so the English whaler.  Hence, in the English, this thing of whaling good cheer is not normal and natural, but incidental and particular; and, therefore, must have some special origin, which is here pointed out, and will be still further elucidated.

During my researches in the Leviathanic histories, I stumbled upon an ancient Dutch volume, which, by the musty whaling smell of it, I knew must be about whalers.  The title was, “Dan Coopman,” wherefore I concluded that this must be the invaluable memoirs of some Amsterdam cooper in the fishery, as every whale ship must carry its cooper.  I was reinforced in this opinion by seeing that it was the production of one “Fitz Swackhammer.”  But my friend Dr. Snodhead, a very learned man, professor of Low Dutch and High German in the college of Santa Claus and St. Potts, to whom I handed the work for translation, giving him a box of sperm candles for his trouble—­this same Dr. Snodhead, so soon as he spied the book, assured me that “Dan Coopman” did not mean “The Cooper,” but “The Merchant.”  In short, this ancient and learned Low Dutch book treated of the commerce of Holland; and, among other subjects, contained a very interesting account of its whale fishery.  And in this chapter it was, headed, “Smeer,” or “Fat,” that I found a long detailed list of the outfits for the larders and cellars of 180 sail of Dutch whalemen; from which list, as translated by Dr. Snodhead, I transcribe the following: