The ship shook with the running of many men. The mate sprang to the
shrouds and shaded his eyes.
"Where away?" called up Cushner.
"Direct to the south'ard! Right over that floe! There she blows again.
There she blows!"
For a second time a bore of white water showed. This was followed by a
plume of soft spray which spurted up into the frosty air and vanished to
leeward. The whale was rising for breath.
"All 'ands to the boats!" This order was given by Whitehouse who stood
at the top of the lee poop steps.
There sounded a rush along the deck, and a snarl of excited men tumbled
over each other in their haste to reach the boats. It was for all the
world like being submarined in war time.
Stirling scowled down on the untrained crew, then glanced toward the
little skipper. He feared that the noise would gally the quarry; a whale
has remarkable hearing in certain circumstances. The Ice Pilot had known
of failure to fasten with a harpoon on account of the striking of a
paddle against the inner skin of a boat.
He called a warning and pointed toward the sea where last a spout had
shown. The crew heeded this call, and stood silent by the falls of each
boat.
"Lower away!" called out Whitehouse.
The boats splashed into the sea, the falls were loosened from their
eyebolts in bow and stern, and long oars were thrust out as the crews
swarmed downward.
Led by the second mate's boat, the tiny fleet swung like a covey of
pigeons and ran before the wind with their single sails billowed out
over the lee rails and their centerboards raised.
Skipping from sea to sea, as light as spindrift, they assumed a fanlike
formation and closed about the position where the whale had been seen.
The leading boat, guided by Cushner, gained slightly and drew away, the
big mate, with his white beard, standing erect in the stern. His hand
was closed over the tiller, his eyes glued on a spot to leeward.
Stirling and Marr, who had remained as ship keepers, with the cook and
engineers, watched the arena like spectators at a battle. The Ice Pilot
had hastened to many bowheads and realized that Cushner had taken the
proper direction and would most likely intercept the whale upon its next
appearance.
A short wait followed, and Stirling fastened a small red flag to a
signal halyard which could be raised from the crow's-nest. This was in
the event that the whale was sighted from the ship. Two jerks would be
the signal that the fleet should go to leeward; one jerk, into the wind.
Across the whale slick the mate's boat darted, then came up and held its
position with sail flapping. Cushner drove farther to the south where
he, too, brought his boat in the wind and waited.
Marr lowered his glass and stared up at the Ice Pilot. "It's time, isn't
it?" the captain asked.
"Almost," replied Stirling. "That old bull's been down eighteen
minutes."
The Ice Pilot replaced his watch and waited like a hunter in a jungle
tree. His were the highest eyes on those waters. He swept them across
the sea and somewhat ahead of Cushner's boat, then he stiffened and
jerked up his flag. He held it at the masthead, then jerked again. The
whale had showed white water not a cable's length from the second mate's
boat.
"He's up!" called Stirling in his excitement. "Sam's right there!"
Cushner caught the signal from above the crow's-nest of the _Pole Star_.
He swung his body and allowed the boat to run before the wind, peering
under the bulging sail with its lifted boom. He pointed and pressed the
tiller handle.
The harpooner of Cushner's boat was a giant Kanaka. He was whale wise,
and had once been known to fasten to a whale over the sail of another
boat. Stirling saw him reach downward, lift a heavy harpoon, with its
bomb-gun attachment, and poise rigidly in the bow of the whaleboat. His
bronzed arm was raised inch by inch. The small boat drove on and into
the smothering plume of vapour which rose out of the sea and slick as
the whale emerged and exhaled its breath.
Cushner's boat drove onward. The Kanaka straightened, drew back his arm,
and then hurled the heavy harpoon down and into the waves as the
whaleboat mounted the first of the bore set up by the passage of the
monster.
The mast of the boat came down on the run, oars were thrust outboard,
Cushner unshipped the tiller and hurried forward. The Kanaka passed him,
stooped, and lifted up a long steering oar which he placed in the
oarlock aft.
Stirling watched the second mate as he poised in the bow with a brass
bomb gun under his arm and his eyes glued upon the coil of hemp which
was floating on the surface of the sea. The whale had been struck, and
it was sulking just below the boat, but had not yet sounded.
Seconds passed, while the watchers on the ship remained mute with
expectancy. Then, and suddenly, the white boat swung, almost upsetting
Cushner, and started into the wind with the speed of a swift launch. The
whale had come to life, had recovered from the stunning blow of the
harpoon and the bomb, and was "carrying the mail" for the great North
pack, with the boat dragging after it.
Cushner motioned aft with the flat of his right hand, dashed the spray
from his eyes, stooped, and felt of the whale line where it disappeared
over the bow. He then straightened and motioned aft for a second time.
Stirling interpreted the signal. It was for the sheet tender to throw
water into the tubs. Already smoke was rising from the round wooden butt
in the bow about which the line was coiled.
The sheet tender, a Frisco dock rat, scooped a dipper overside, stumbled
forward, and dashed sea water into the rapidly uncoiling hemp. He
slipped as the boat swung over a wave, and the dipper flew from his
hand, dropping into the larger of the two tubs.
There followed a leaping snarl of inch rope. A slender python seemed to
reach and coil about Cushner in the bow, who flung up his arms and
dropped the bomb gun. A noose fastened about his waist, and he was drawn
forward and downward as the whale surged onward. Fighting with all his
giant strength, he went over and then into the depth of the sea.
"Heavens!" shouted Marr. "Did you see that, Stirling?"
The Ice Pilot was over the edge of the crow's-nest and down the rigging
within the space of five seconds. He struck the deck and dashed aft.
"He's done for!" he shouted. "Get up steam and hurry. There's only one
chance."
Marr stared at the Ice Pilot. "Who's giving orders here?" he asked,
cuttingly. "Let the fool take care of himself. He picked out that sheet
tender."
Stirling gulped, then clenched his fists and held them out under the
skipper's chin. He drew them back inch by inch. His emotion was a
compelling thing. He could crush the little skipper with one blow, but
held himself in hand and turned, his eyes filled with the fire of
battle.
"Follow me!" he shouted to two of the engineers who stood in the waist.
"Help lower the dinghy. The whale's coming to windward. I can get it!"
The tiny boat was lowered in clumsy fashion. Stirling shoved off and sat
down to the oars. Over his shoulder he saw the sneering figure of the
little skipper standing by the taffrail, but only bent his back and dug
the oars deeper into the sea. He brought the boat directly into the
pathway of the onrushing whale which had risen and was showing a bent
harpoon in its foam-coiled hump.
Dropping the oars, Stirling sprang to the bow of the boat and lifted a
bomb gun from its position on the starboard side. He cocked this, and
waited, peering into the sea. He straightened, took aim, and fired a
tonite bomb full into the mass which was rushing in his direction.
The acrid smoke from the gun drifted to leeward, and the low report of
the bomb's explosion shook the sea. Particles of flesh flew upward, the
whale milled and rose, then splashed down, with its giant flukes beating
the surface of the water in a death flurry. The small boat was drawn
into the vortex and as both engineers called a warning, Stirling opened
a pouch under a seat, drew out another bomb and cartridge, fitted them
to the breech of the gun, then waited grimly, tensely. He no longer
resembled the placid pilot who had come aboard the whaler at Frisco.
The other boats of the fleet drove into the wind with their centerboards
lowered and their sheets close drawn, waiting until the whale's efforts
died, stroke by stroke. They took Stirling's signal to haul in on the
line which was still fastened to Cushner's boat. Foot by foot it was
drawn upward and coiled in the tubs. The whale was dead upon the bottom
of the sea.
Stirling waited until the ship bore down upon the fleet and thrust her
sharp prow over the spot where the quarry had sunk. He gave the order to
rig the line over a yardarm and to attach it to a foreward winch. Steam
was turned on and the stout hemp held, although it was drawn to pencil
thinness. The carcass of the whale was sucked from the mud and silt and
lifted surfaceward. Foot by foot--fathom by fathom--the line was
scanned. There sounded a low cry, and a boat steerer pointed downward.
Stirling and the engineers leaned over the rail of the dinghy.
They saw why the boat steerer had called their attention, and they
blanched--strong men that they were. Then they stood erect and removed
their caps.
Cushner's body, looped in a bight of the whale line, dangled before
their eyes, all life throttled out by the whale's mad strength.
One thing showed the manner of man the second mate had been. He had
drawn a long knife from a sheath on his belt and held this gripped
firmly in his left hand. But it had not been used. The rope was
unhacked. Cushner had preferred to go to his death, rather than sever
the hemp and allow the whale to escape.