We reached the Japan grounds in May of 1874, and cruised thereabouts
until August. Then we stood to the southward, loafing past the
Volcano Islands, the Ladrones, Carolines, Solomon and Fiji Islands,
always on the lookout for whales, and taking a number of them. We
were on the New Zealand grounds early in November. We had only
average success on the Japan grounds and our cruise to the southward;
pulled in many a fruitless chase, and most of the whales we did get
made no fight worth mentioning, for which the men were thankful. Two
of the whales, however, did seem to think their lives worth fighting
for, and one of the two fights was successful from the whale’s point
of view.
The first of these fights occurred about the middle of the northern
summer. We were off the coast of Japan a hundred miles or so, and it
was blowing hard from the southwest, when we raised this lone spout
to windward. I was standing by the weather fore rigging, having
escaped work in the cabin—the officers were rather lenient as to my
duties in the cabin in view of my work in the boat, but I tried not
to be conspicuous when I was loafing—I stood by the fore rigging,
with arms folded upon the rail. So far as I can recollect, I was
thinking of nothing at all, but letting the wind blow on my face, and
enjoying myself. Suddenly there came a spout about a mile off, and
just before my eyes, a perfect plume. I had not seen the whale rise,
and even after the spout I saw nothing of his body. The cry came down
from the masthead immediately, and I moved, expecting that my boat
might be called upon.
The call did not come, however. We were to leeward of the whale, and
the ship was manœuvred for half an hour, {306} trying to get to
windward of him, and waiting for him to sound. We did not succeed in
getting a windward berth, for he was moving slowly to windward, and
kept his advantage. He did go down when he got good and ready, his
flukes going into the air until he seemed to be standing on his head,
half submerged, and he disappeared, apparently going straight down.
Mr. Brown and Mr. Tilton then lowered, but they did not hurry about
it, for the whale had gone down less than a mile from the ship, and
it was likely that he would stay down for an hour. We pulled to the
spot we had chosen as the most likely, and waited, occasionally
pulling a few strokes to hold our position. Mr. Tilton was a quarter
of a mile away. While we waited, the ship worked up past us, and got
about a quarter of a mile directly to windward of us. Mr. Tilton
guessed nearer than Mr. Brown. The whale rose beyond Mr. Tilton’s
boat, coming up on a half-breach. We heard the tremendous splash of
it, and saw Mr. Tilton’s men begin to pull; then we began to pull,
and I saw no more of what was going on except the oars and the backs
of the men directly before my eyes, and Mr. Brown’s unexpressive
face, as he stood at the steering oar.
We chased that whale for nearly two hours before Azevedo had a chance
to strike. Then I saw Mr. Brown’s face light up.
“White water!” he said. “He ’s fast.”
I, for one, was glad. It is no play to pull a whaleboat into the
teeth of such a sea and wind as there was then.
“She spouts thin blood,” he added, a moment later. “Sounded.”
We took it easy after that, and soon came up with Mr. Tilton. The
whale had sounded out all his line before we got there, and the ship
was hull down to leeward, but coming as fast as she could.
There was nothing to do but to wait. The whale must have gone down
at a terrific rate, and he had gone straight {307} down, for he
came up in fifteen or twenty minutes, and a short distance ahead of
us. We pulled frantically. Just as I saw the huge body beginning to
show at the corner of my eye, half awash, the Prince darted with
all his strength, both irons, with great rapidity. At the same
moment Mr. Brown hove mightily upon the steering oar, to lay the
boat around, crying out to the Prince to take the lance to him. The
boat responded, and for a brief interval we ran with the whale, the
starboard oars against the gunwale, and I trying my best to get in
the slack of the line before we began to fall astern, while Kane held
my oar for me. The Prince had seized a lance almost before Mr. Brown
had got the words out of his mouth, and had plunged it twice into the
whale. Mr. Brown had given another twist to the steering oar, and we
sheered off just as the flukes struck the water with a noise like
a big gun and the effect of a cataract. I had let go the line and
grabbed my oar again, and we just did get out of the way as the whale
sounded, with a side cut of flukes.
He did not go deep enough to take out all our line, although he came
near it; but we held him there, with the bow of the boat pulled down
within a foot of the water, the stern raised a little, and every
other sea breaking into the boat, which kept Kane and me bailing.
Mr. Tilton came up, and he and Mr. Brown thought the whale done for;
virtually dead. The whale did not rise, and at last Mr. Tilton pulled
for the ship, which was coming up pretty fast, to get a new line.
Still we waited. The whale did not move. Mr. Tilton had boarded the
ship, got his line, and shoved off again. We began to wonder if it
was a dead whale that we had at the end of that line, and we all
relaxed. The whale had been down an hour, and Mr. Tilton was not
halfway to us, when the bow was suddenly released, and the stern fell
back gently, with a little splash. The strain on the line had eased,
and he was coming up. How fast he was coming, and {308} where he
would rise were questions of some interest, but no more than that. He
was a dead whale, or as good as dead.
I was aroused to something more than interest by the rasp of the
whale’s teeth against the boat, and his jaw shot into the air, it
seemed to me for fifty feet. As it passed me, I saw the tip of the
jaw was curled around into a tight spiral. That spiral jaw fascinated
me. I could not keep my eyes off it, and I did not think of the boat
spade. There was no time to use it, anyway, even if I had thought of
it. The whale had the boat fairly in his mouth, between the tub and
the after oar, and he lost no time in closing, biting it cleanly in
two. The water rushed in upon me, still sitting at my oar. I saw the
stern sheets fall square with the whale’s snout, and Mr. Brown step
off upon it and dive. Then the water closed over me for an instant;
but I had not let go my oar, and I came to the surface, sputtering,
and hugging the oar close. I do not remember that I was frightened,
but my whole attention was occupied, and I did not know what was
happening to the others, nor to myself, until I found myself on the
bottom of the forward half of the boat. I have often wondered just
how I got there.
As soon as I was in a condition to observe anything, I saw the whale
feebly butting the stern of the boat from side to side, about fifteen
feet away, while Black Man’el and Mr. Brown were swimming, Man’el as
if he were hurt. I saw Mr. Brown help Man’el to the steering oar,
which still swung there, and then the whale turned to our half of the
boat. His butts were so feeble—no more than gentle pushes—that we had
no difficulty in holding on; and, after pushing us about for two or
three minutes, he very simply rolled over upon his side, fin out.
Mr. Tilton’s crew had seen our predicament, and had been pulling
hard for us, and Mr. Macy had lowered from the ship. Mr. Tilton took
us off. Black Man’el was the only {309} one hurt. He had an ugly
wound in his arm, which the whale’s teeth had caught and ripped from
shoulder to elbow, but no bones were broken. I thought the boat
was hopelessly stove, and of no further use to anybody, except for
firewood; but Captain Nelson had Mr. Macy pick up the pieces, and
Peter afterward made another boat of them.
The whale made seventy-three barrels. His deformed jaw was saved
and cleaned, and when the Clearchus got home, it was added to the
collection of such curiosities. It is now in the Whaling Museum.
The outcome of the other fight was different. The officers were at
breakfast when we heard the cry from the masthead, and we all ran on
deck at once. There were many spouts, quite a large school, four or
five miles to leeward. We ran down for them, getting the boats and
their gear ready as we went; and at a distance of about a mile we
lowered four boats, all but Captain Coffin’s. His ankle was still
giving him some trouble, although he used it. I have no doubt that
that was just the reason it troubled him, for he had used it too soon
and too much, and he was a great heavy man.
The whales in the school were, most of them, rather small cows; but
there were two bulls of good size, about eighty or ninety barrels,
Mr. Brown guessed. The boats devoted their attention to them. There
was sea enough to make it easy to approach the whales, and they were
to leeward, which made it easier still. Mr. Baker and Mr. Macy took
one, while Mr. Tilton and Mr. Brown took the other. Mr. Baker struck
his whale first, and Mr. Macy did not get fast to him at all, for he
immediately ran to windward, not very fast, towing Mr. Baker, with
Mr. Macy in pursuit. I did not see much of it, naturally; but Mr.
Macy failed to catch him, and when he had taken Mr. Baker five miles
to windward of the ship, the whale increased his speed, and the line
parted. Starbuck had not been able to {310} get both irons into him,
and the second harpoon, skittering along on the top of the water, had
cut and frayed the line. I could imagine Mr. Baker’s flow of language
at that accident, which is one of the regular risks of the business.
There was nothing for the two boats to do but to get back and try to
find the rest of the school, but the school had gone. So had we.
Meanwhile we had struck our whale. We approached him from behind.
I heard the hoarse bellow of his spout getting nearer—he was the
loudest spouter I ever heard; we passed his flukes, which worked
slowly and lazily, for he had not seen us, and the sea made too much
noise for him to hear us; then we passed his small and his hump. Then
Mr. Brown nodded to the Prince, and he stood up, I suppose, although
I saw nothing of him. Then Mr. Brown laid the boat around, and we
ran spang into the whale’s body just aft of his fin, and the Prince
darted both of his irons as Mr. Brown yelled to us, “Stern all!” The
whale gave one convulsive leap ahead, his flukes went into the air,
and came down again, drenching everybody in the boat, and he sounded
instantly and rapidly. He took out line very fast, one tub and half
of the other; then he turned, and came up again as fast as he went
down. The line went out very nearly as fast when he was coming up as
when he went down, but it was held on the loggerhead, so that it did
not all go out. He breached a short distance from the boat, almost
his whole length out, falling back with a great noise and a splash
which filled us half full of water.
[Illustration: A NANTUCKET SLEIGH-RIDE]
Mr. Tilton, meanwhile, had been coming up as fast as he could, but
he was not yet up with us. The whale obligingly lay still, looking
about him with a malevolent eye, while we heaved in the slack of our
line. We had it almost in when he caught sight of Mr. Tilton’s boat,
and made for it instantly. Mr. Tilton withdrew a little, and the
whale changed his mind and sounded again, but not deep. {311} The
cows of the school had come up, and were hovering near, but not near
enough for Mr. Tilton to get any of them easily, and he had his eye
on our bull. The cows seemed to have lost their wits. They reminded
me of a flock of hens crossing the road, and they were as hard to
get. Our bull came up, and we managed to give Mr. Brown one chance
with the lance. The thrust had not reached any vital spot, and that
was all we could do, for the whale made up his mind to run.
He ran to leeward, but he ran under water, and we went off on our
sleigh-ride, accompanied by the whole school of cows. Now and then
he came up to spout, but we were slowly distancing Mr. Tilton. We
made several unavailing attempts, to pull up and lance, but the
only effect was to increase the speed of the whale. The ship was
hull down, and Mr. Tilton soon out of sight. That was early in the
forenoon. That whale ran until late in the afternoon before we were
able to pull up. As soon as he felt Mr. Brown’s lance, the whale
sounded, head first, his flukes grazing the bottom of the boat as he
went, and setting her to rolling, but not rolling her over. When he
felt her, he turned like a flash, and came up again, obliquely at us,
mouth open and belly up, thrusting and striking with his jaw. Most
fortunately he did not stove the boat, but rolled it over, merely
chipping the gunwale with his teeth.
Then he seemed to think that he had done damage enough—in which
matter I agreed with him—probably settled us; and he lay about fifty
feet away, snapping his spout hole and snapping his jaws, giving
every evidence of extreme irritation, but not attacking. We should
have been helpless if he had, and should have had to take to the
water, and scatter. He was spouting thin blood, and probably in no
great distress. I remember that several of the men, clinging to the
bottom of the overturned boat, coolly discussed the color of the
spout, and concluded that the whale was not seriously hurt, even with
two harpoons in him, and two thrusts of the lance. {312}
We slowly drifted nearer, until we rose and fell side by side, the
boat occasionally rubbing against him, but he gave us no attention.
The cows had disappeared. He lay there for over an hour, until we saw
Mr. Tilton coming up under sail. When the whale caught sight of Mr.
Tilton’s boat, he made for it at once, snapping his jaws. Mr. Tilton
then had his sail down, and he backed away, evading the rush of the
whale, and putting an iron into him. Upon feeling the iron, the whale
ran again. He had not gone far, however,—not above a quarter of a
mile,—when the line went slack, showing that the iron had drawn. We
did not see that whale again, nor our two harpoons and tub of line.
It was long after dark when we got aboard the ship, pretty well worn
out.
The experience with that whale rankled in my mind for a long time. To
think that any whale could do about as he pleased with two boats and
twelve men, keep the men working hard for about ten hours, and then
get away with harpoons and line, was almost too much. It exasperated
me. Even when we were off the Solomon Islands, well on our way to New
Zealand, I was thinking of it, and complained of it to Peter, for
about the hundredth time.
He laughed comfortably. “Still thinking o’ that, lad?” he asked.
“You ’d best forget it. It ’s all in the day’s work. The others
have forgot it long ago. Whales ’d be poor sort o’ critters if they
did n’t get the better of us some o’ the time. When you come to think
of it, it ’s a wonder we ever get a whale. Why, they ought to kill us
all, and they would if they had any brains in that monstrous head of
theirs.”
{313}