I was so amazed at this sight that I could not speak. I could only stare at the place where the huge monster had gone down.
“Stand by to lower,” shouted the captain.
“Ay, ay, sir,” replied the men, leaping to their appointed stations; for every man in a whale-ship has his post of duty appointed to him, and knows what to do when an order is given.
“Lower away,” cried the captain, whose face was now blazing with excitement.
In a moment more three boats were in the water; the tubs, harpoons, etcetera, were thrown in, the men seized the oars, and away they went with a cheer. I was in such a state of flutter that I scarce knew what I did; but I managed somehow or other to get into a boat, and as I was a strong fellow, and a good rower, I was allowed to pull.
“There she blows!” cried the man in the crow’s nest, just as we shot from the side of the ship. There was no need to ask, “where away” this time. Another whale rose and spouted not more than three hundred yards off, and before we could speak a third fish rose in another direction, and we found ourselves in the middle of what is called a “school of whales.”
“Now, lads,” said the captain, who steered the boat in which I rowed, “bend your backs, my hearties; that fish right ahead of us is a hundred-barrel whale for certain. Give way, boys; we must have that fish.”
There was no need to urge the men, for their backs were strained to the utmost, their faces were flushed, and the big veins in their necks swelled almost to bursting, with the tremendous exertion.
“Hold hard,” said the captain, in a low voice, for now that we were getting near our prey, we made as little noise as possible.
The men at once threw their oars “apeak,” as they say; that is, raised them straight up in the air, and waited for further orders. We expected the whale would rise near to where we were, and thought it best to rest and look out.
While we were waiting, Tom Lokins, who was harpooner of the boat, sat just behind me with all his irons ready. He took this opportunity to explain to me that by a “hundred-barrel fish” is meant a fish that will yield a hundred-barrels of oil. He further informed me that such a fish was a big one, though he had seen a few in the North-west Seas that had produced upwards of two hundred-barrels.
I now observed that the other boats had separated, and each had gone after a different whale. In a few minutes the fish we were in chase of rose a short distance off, and sent up two splendid water-spouts high into the air, thus showing that he was what the whalers call a “right” whale. It is different from the sperm whale, which has only one blow-hole, and that a little one.
We rowed towards it with all our might, and as we drew near, the captain ordered Tom Lokins to “stand up,” so he at once laid in his oar, and took up the harpoon. The harpoon is an iron lance with a barbed point. A whale-line is attached to it, and this line is coiled away in a tub. When we were within a few yards of the fish, which was going slowly through the water, all ignorant of the terrible foes who were pursuing him, Tom Lokins raised the harpoon high above his head, and darted it deep into its fat side just behind the left fin, and next moment the boat ran aground on the whale’s back.
“Stern all, for your lives!” roared the captain, who, before his order was obeyed, managed to give the creature two deep wounds with his lance. The lance has no barbs to its point, and is used only for wounding after the harpoon is fixed.
The boat was backed off at once, but it had scarcely got a few yards away when the astonished fish whirled its huge body half out of the water, and, coming down with a tremendous clap, made off like lightning.
The line was passed round a strong piece of wood called the “logger-head,” and, in running out, it began to smoke, and nearly set the wood on fire. Indeed, it would have done so, if a man had not kept constantly pouring water upon it. It was needful to be very cautious in managing the line, for the duty is attended with great danger. If any hitch should take place, the line is apt to catch the boat and drag it down bodily under the waves. Sometimes a coil of it gets round a leg or an arm of the man who attends to it, in which case his destruction is almost certain. Many a poor fellow has lost his life in this way.
The order was now given to “hold on line.” This was done, and in a moment our boat was cleaving the blue water like an arrow, while the white foam curled from her bows. I thought every moment we should be dragged under; but whenever this seemed likely to happen, the line was let run a bit, and the strain eased. At last the fish grew tired of dragging us, the line ceased to run out, and Tom hauled in the slack, which another man coiled away in its tub. Presently the fish rose to the surface, a short distance off our weather-bow.
“Give way, boys! spring your oars,” cried the captain; “another touch or two with the lance, and that fish is ours.”
The boat shot ahead, and we were about to dart a second harpoon into the whale’s side, when it took to “sounding,”—which means, that it went straight down, head foremost, into the depths of the sea. At that moment Tom Lokins uttered a cry of mingled anger and disappointment. We all turned round and saw our shipmate standing with the slack line in his hand, and such an expression on his weather-beaten face, that I could scarce help laughing. The harpoon had not been well fixed; it had lost its hold, and the fish was now free!
“Gone!” exclaimed the captain, with a groan.
I remember even yet the feeling of awful disappointment that came over me when I understood that we had lost the fish after all our trouble! I could almost have wept with bitter vexation. As for my comrades, they sat staring at each other for some moments quite speechless. Before we could recover from the state into which this misfortune had thrown us, one of the men suddenly shouted, “Hallo! there’s the mate’s boat in distress.”
We turned at once, and, truly, there was no doubt of the truth of this, for, about half a mile off, we beheld our first mate’s boat tearing over the sea like a small steamer. It was fast to a fish, and two oars were set up on end to attract our attention.
When a whale is struck, it sometimes happens that the whole of the line in a boat is run out. When this is about to occur, it becomes necessary to hold on as much as can be done without running the boat under the water, and an oar is set up on end to show that assistance is required, either from the ship or from the other boats. As the line grows less and less, another and another oar is hoisted to show that help must be sent quickly. If no assistance can be sent, the only thing that remains to be done is to cut the line and lose the fish; but a whale-line, with its harpoon, is a very heavy loss, in addition to that of the fish, so that whalers are tempted to hold on a little too long sometimes.
When we saw the mate’s boat dashing away in this style, we forgot our grief at the loss of our whale in our anxiety to render assistance to our comrades, and we rowed towards them as fast as we could. Fortunately the whale changed its course and came straight towards us, so that we ceased pulling, and waited till they came up. As the boat came on I saw the foam curling up on her bows as she leaped and flew over the sea. I could scarcely believe it possible that wood and iron could bear such a strain. In a few minutes they were almost abreast of us.
“You’re holding too hard!” shouted the captain.
“Lines all out!” roared the mate.
They were past almost before these short sentences could be spoken. But they had not gone twenty yards ahead of us when the water rushed in over the bow, and before we could utter a word the boat and crew