Life, 1927-04-21 · page 30 of 39
Life — April 21, 1927 — page 30: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page presents a humorous tall tale from New Bedford folklore about a whaling voyage. The narrative satirizes workplace hierarchy and stubbornness through repetitive dialogue between a first mate (Mister Sims) and Captain Simmons. The joke: Despite increasingly dramatic reports of whale activity ("spouts," "breaches," "belches," and finally "sperm"), Captain Simmons repeatedly refuses to lower the boats, claiming conditions are "too pearl" (too rough). Only after the eighth report does he relent—then Sims successfully harnesses the whale. The satire targets rigid authority figures who ignore mounting evidence and subordinates' expertise. The punchline's final exchange—where Sims rejects offered luxuries for mere "civility"—mocks how workers value respect over material compensation. The accompanying cartoons illustrate the whaling action with period-appropriate maritime humor. This reflects Life magazine's early focus on American folk humor and class-based social commentary.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Li Our Foolish. Le ontemporaries “Aut Scissors aut Nullus” “Thar She Blows!’’ A fragment of New Bedford folklore popular in varied form for many years among seafaring men of the Atlantic Coast. The so-called Down East version differs in many particulars and is perhaps more lurid in style than this restrained prose poem. Enenr and forty weeks at sea and never a drop of oil in the tanks. "Twas in the early ‘fifties when I was first mate on the whaler Mozambique, out o° New Bedford, Cap'n Simmons commandin’, And the man on the lookout says, “Thar she spaouts! and I comes aft, and I says, “Cap'n Simmons,” says I, “thar she spaouts!" “Mister Sims,” says he, “it is blowin’ quite too peart. I don't see fittin’ for to lower.” Axxo I goes for'ard, and the man on the lookout says, “Thar she spaouts and blow-ow-ore!” And I comes aft, and I says, “Cap'n Simmons,” says I, “thar she spaouts and blow-ow-ows! Shall I lower?” “Mister Sims,” says he, “as I have told you once before it is blowin’ quite too peart. I don't see fittin’ for to lower.” Asso I goes for'ard, and the man on the lookout says, “Thar she spaouts and blows and breacher!” And I comes aft, and I says, “Cap'n Simmons,” says J, “thar she spaouts and blows — and breaches! Shall lowe “Mister Sims,” says he, “as I have told you twice before it is blowin’ quite too peart. I don't see fittin’ for to lower.” 1, and the man on har she spaouts and blows and breaches and belches!” And I comes aft, and I says, “Cap'n Sim- mons,” says I, “thar she spaouts and blows and breaches and belches! Shall I lower?” “Mister Si ys he, “as I have told you four times before it is blowin’ quite too peart. I don’t see fittin’ for to lower.” Asso I goes for'ard, and the man on the lookout says, “Thar she spaouts and blows and breaches and belches and Sparm at that!” And I comes aft, and I says, “Cap'n Simmons,” says I, “thar she spaouts and blows and breaches and belches and Sparm at that! May I lower?” “Mister Sims,” says he, “as I have told you eight times before, it is blowin’ quite too peart. I don’t see fittin’ for to lower. But you may lower and be good and God-damned to you!” Axp I did lower, and I chased that critter the main part o' the fore watch. And I hove alongside of her about eight bells. “Boys,” says I, “I am the best man with the long dart that ever sailed out o' New Bedford. Shall I sock it to 2” “Sock it to her! says they. And her? I socked it to her. And it tuk! Aso that night, as I come alongside the lee gangway, thar stood Cap'n Sim- mons, the tears in his eyes as big as fishballs. “Mister Sims,” ‘says he, “you are the best fust mate as ever sailed with me in the Mozambique. In the starboard till of my locker you will find whiskey, gin, tobacca, and the best New England rum. Them is yourn, for the remainder of the voyage.” “ Car's Sinstoxs,” says 1, “I do not want your whiskey, git, tobacea, nor the best New England rum. All I want is seevility, and that of the God-damned cheapest sort.” Asso I goes for'ard— —The Sportsman (Boston). comicbooks.com si te i