Rich Man's Coffin by K Martin Gardner Read Free Book Online Page A

away from a whale up to the company of new arrivals.   He turned on his heels in the sand at the end of their line, gingerly stepped back to front-and-center, and began to shout.
      “Right!   This is my beach!   There will be no mucking around!”   He looked each man squarely in the eye one by one as he spoke.   “This is the first successful whaling station on the South Island of New Zealand.   I intend to keep it that way!   Understood?”
              The sailors broke stance and began to hiss and snigger as they cajoled one another with snide remarks and elbows.
    “Right!”   began the man again.   “At attention, eyes front, or you can row right back out to your ship and tell your Captain it's open-ocean whaling for the lot of you!”   This statement hit its mark, and the men straightened up.   “Right!   Now each of you will find plenty to do here on shore between proper whale hunts.   Every one here helps everyone else, regardless of who killed which whale, or which ship the whale’s bones and oil are leaving on.   Whales brought in by a ship’s crew will be marked; and that whale will be tagged and tracked through processing, from flensing to boiling.   Everything is above board here, and no one is to be cheated.   We’re counting on your honesty!”   He said.   The men began to turn their heads and chatter again, mocking the man.
    “Right!   While on shore, normal work hours are from six in the morning until six in the evening; unless we get a late whale, at which point, all hands will assist in securing the whale to the sheers for the following day’s processing. You see those long poles sticking into the water there, look like they were made from huge trees?” The men turned briefly and looked toward the water. “Those are the sheers. You tie the whales to those like your mother’s life depended on it, because there is nothing worse than waking up the next morning and finding that the tide and the sharks have had their way with your fortune!”
    “Whales are hunted in rotation among the teams; unless more than one whale broaches in the bay at the same time, at which point, each ship’s hunting party will be dispatched by me, in order, according to the roster.   If it happens that all hands are at sea chasing whales at the same time, the station will continue processing with the skeleton crew of women and natives.   The first boats back are always the first boats to go back out, and so on.   It’s a case of the rich getting richer, gentlemen.   That should give you some motive to be quickest to the chase!” The man paused, watching the men digest his words.
    He continued, “Right!   For now, I don’t know how much you know about shore whaling, but I am going to assume that it is next to nothing. Each of you spread out and choose your own working party.   Do not get in the way!   Do not ask questions unless asked!   When you feel handy with the work being performed at your station, then join in.   Remember, we all depend on one another here to survive and to succeed.   Any questions?” the man asked as he looked up and down the line.   He finished by saying,   “Good!   Dismissed!”
    The men looked around hesitantly; and then began to meander up the beach leisurely in all directions.
    “Move! Run!”   The big, bushy-bearded man bellowed.
    The men scattered like startled cats.   They each blended into different groups of a few men already working.   One or two stopped at different steaming cast-iron cauldrons; others gathered around several large whale carcasses being stripped of blubber; and the rest crowded around the odd collection of huge bones being dried and picked clean in the sun.
    Arthur felt drawn to the huge, bubbling cauldrons. He had seen humorous bills posted back home depicting primitive natives cooking men alive in such pots.   He chuckled to himself, but remained silent as he had been instructed.   He soon realized that these