Abstract
In the century since the final collapse of America’s pelagic whale fishery hundreds of published works have plumbed the economic, political, social and environmental facets of what was by the 1840s, in fact, a truly global industry. One might ask what new light can be shed on this fascinating yet, to many people today, disturbing story?
Michael Dyer has provided an answer in this new addition to the literature. He does so by returning to the human component – the whaleman – and his roles as mariner, hunter, observer and, indeed, artist. In this work the often quoted statistics of American whaling – vessels employed, voyages recorded, barrels of oil and pounds of bone taken – take a back seat to a consideration of individual whalemen through the medium of illustrated sea journals, logbooks and other maritime manuscripts, primarily from the amazingly rich collection of the New Bedford Whaling Museum/Old Dartmouth Historical Society. As the subtitle implies, the artistic footprint of the whaleman takes centre stage.
The artistic handiwork of American scrimshanders who visually documented whaling activity, men such as Edward Burdett, Daniel McKenzie, Jr. and Frederick Myrick, has been fairly well documented over the past several decades by scholars like Stuart Frank. Much less so has been the often astounding artistry found on the pages of whaling manuscripts. Why is this so? Perhaps the fact that, unlike individual three-dimensional objects, manuscript material lends itself less easily to public exhibition; or is more difficult to access?
Whatever the reason, Dyer’s approach is an effective melding of history and art in illustrating the connection between handwritten word and hand drawn image on a given manuscript page. In many cases each enhances the other, to the benefit of the reader. For example, an ink or watercolour sketch of a particular whaling incident included in a journal lends an air of immediacy to what might be a relatively terse accompanying written account, thus providing visual details that tell variously of victory and defeat, corporate gain and occasionally, personal loss. Further, it is important to remember that pelagic whaling by its nature was largely conducted out of sight of land, leaving the whaleman as the primary source to document the tactics and equipment employed in this most specialised of maritime trades.
If O’er the Wide and Tractless Sea was purely a picture book, it would be a welcome addition to the bookshelf of anyone interested in whaling history or folk art. But it is much more than that. Throughout its pages the author has provided the reader with a precise overview of the development of the American whale fishery, from its seventeenth century shore whaling antecedents through the industry’s golden age in the 1830s and 1840s to its ultimate demise in the early twentieth century. In doing so he has afforded even the novice an understanding of the context in which whaling was conducted and, consequently, in which whalemen produced sketches, paintings and scrimshaw.
Among the more fascinating aspects of whaling manuscripts examined by the author is that of the often unintended scientific contributions made by whalemen. Information gleaned from these shipboard logs and journals, for example, helped scientists – and other whalemen for that matter – document whale distribution and migration by species, wind patterns, and ocean currents across the globe. Such data were compiled and published as charts by Lieut. Matthew F. Maury of the U.S. Navy Hydrographic Office beginning in the 1850s. Insights concerning the size, description and behavior of pelagic whale species were also recorded in whaling manuscripts, providing naturalists valuable written and graphic information on these elusive creatures. Whalemens’ sketches of remote landmasses and anchorages likewise enabled the production of more accurate navigational charts. Fast forwarding to today, such precise glimpses of the world’s seas 150 years ago can help provide baseline data for researchers examining effects of climate change; perhaps a form of partial atonement for the environmental excesses characteristic of whaling so many generations ago.
O’er the Wide and Tractless Sea is an undeniable visual treat. The more than 300 high quality illustrations are accompanied by informative captions; though consistently including the actual size of the original sketch or painting depicted in each caption would have been helpful. Crisp, evocative whaling photographs, which largely replaced drawings and watercolours by the early twentieth century, serve as an epitaph of sorts to the whaleman-artist and the industry itself. Extensive, and frequently expansive, footnotes add to the rich body of information in the text. Suffice to say Michael Dyer’s work feels equally at home on a study bookshelf or a living room coffee table.