misfortune to visit the Auckland Islands in search of sea-elephants,
owing to the unaccountable absence of whales from the vicinity for
an extraordinarily long time. No one of the ship’s company had ever
seen one of the creatures before, although most were well acquainted
with ordinary seal-hunting. When, therefore, it was decided to visit
the lonely, storm-tormented isles usually frequented by them there
was an utter absence of enthusiasm. Indeed, many openly expressed a
strong desire to be well out of the business. But when once a course
has been decided upon at sea it needs stronger measures and greater
unanimity among the crew than is often possessed to alter it, and
consequently, after a truly miserable time of contention with the
inhospitality of the Southern Ocean, we found ourselves anchored in a
fairly well-sheltered bay at the Aucklands. The time of our visit was
the antipodean spring, a season which, in those latitudes, is rigorous
beyond belief. Gales of wind, accompanied by hard snowflakes and hail,
raged almost incessantly, enwrapping the entire land surface in a bleak
haze of spray from the sea, mingled with the congealed moisture from
above. Notwithstanding these drawbacks, the object of the expedition
had to be pursued without delay, parties were landed, armed with
clubs of iron-wood, short but massive, and long, keen knives. General
instructions were given as to procedure, based upon insufficient
data, as the recipients well knew, and therefore not at all reliable.
Everybody understood in a hazy sort of way that a seal’s vulnerable
point was his nose: a tap on that was as paralysing as a bullet through
the heart. Of course. And the subsequent proceedings were merely a
matter of practice and stamina. _Very_ good--oh, very good indeed!
Thus equipped the explorers went blundering over boulders, wading
through morasses, over fallen tree-trunks and glassy ice-slopes, until
suddenly through the mist loomed up a massy shape. Possibly it was
exaggerated by the haze, but it looked truly terrific when it was seen
to be alive. It was surprising how little any one coveted the honour
of being first to attack the big seal in front of them. But for very
shame’s sake there could be no halting on the sealers’ part.
An appalling roar, quite in keeping with his appearance, burst from the
monster, at which a most sympathetic thrill ran through the attacking
party, accompanied by an earnest desire to be somewhere else. Again
that indefinite desire to stand well in each other’s opinion came to
their rescue, impelling the foremost man to fling his fears to the
winds and rush in upon the formidable beast crouching before him. A
badly-aimed blow at the animal’s snout made no more impression than a
snow-flake, but the unwieldy creature, thoroughly alarmed, dropped from
his semi-rampant altitude, almost burying his daring assailant beneath
him as he did so. Then, like some legless hippopotamus, he waddled
seawards, rolling from side to side in a manner so utterly ludicrous
that fear was totally quenched in an uproarious burst of laughter.
Recovering from that revulsionary paroxysm, all hands rushed upon the
retreating mass, each eager to be the first to attack what we now saw
to be a thoroughly demoralised foe.
Out of the many harmless blows aimed at the great seal’s head one
struck the root of his proboscis, and like some vast bladder
suddenly deflated he sank to the ground. Into the subsequent details
it is not edifying to enter, their crude brutality being only
excusable on the ground of nervous ignorance. But as foolhardiness
succeeded timorousness, so did tragedy wait upon comedy. Out of the
mist-enwrapped morass to shoreward of us came in elephantine haste a
perfect host of the huge creatures we were seeking. And, as if they
could not see us or were so terror-stricken that nothing could hinder
them in their extraordinary career seawards, they came floundering,
bellowing right amongst our little party. For one short minute it
seemed as if we should be overwhelmed, crushed under this mountainous
charge of massive flesh. Then there was “sauve qui peut.” In various
directions we fled from the path of the advancing hosts, but hung upon
their flanks, getting a straggler now and then. The chase grew frantic,
“thorough bog, thorough briar,” over rocks and through streams; panting
with fierce desire to slay, and forgetful of all else. What a crowd of
savages we were!
At the last moment, on the very edge of the beach, one of our number,
anxious to get just another victim, missed his blow, and stumbled
right upon the huge beast. Putting out his arms to save himself,
he thrust one of them right into the mouth of the gaping behemoth.
An ear-splitting yell of agony followed, bringing every man to his
assistance on the gallop. At first it was difficult to see what
had happened, the great bulk of the seal as it swayed from side to
side effectually hiding the puny form of the suffering enemy by its
side. He, poor wretch, was in evil case; for the sea-elephant has
the alarming habit of crushing solid pebbles of basalt or granite
as large as oranges between his jaws in much the same fashion as a
healthy youngster does lollypops. Probably this strange exercise of the
gigantic jaw power he possesses is rendered necessary for digestive
purposes, since no seal masticates its food.
Poor Sandy, who in such headlong fashion had thrust his arm into that
awful mill, now found to his bitter cost what use might be made of
the generally harmless stonebreakers. After the first blood-curdling
scream we had heard there was an utter silence as far as our shipmate
was concerned, only the soft floundering of the immense mass of
sliding flesh and the snorting breath being audible. The mate was
the first to realise what had happened, and with a howl of anger he
leaped forward, bringing down his club with all his might just as the
creature stooped low for another launching movement seaward. The blow
fell just at the junction of the proboscis with the skull, and with
a shudder which convulsed the whole mass of his body the huge animal
collapsed, burying our unhappy shipmate beneath him. With one impulse
we all sprang upon the heap of flesh, tearing with desperate energy to
roll it from off the body, but it really seemed at first impossible
to move it. Slipping, sliding, gasping for breath, we all pushed and
strove--wasting, I doubt not, more than half our strength for want of
preconcerted action. Oh, joy; we moved him at last, and there lay Sandy
to all appearance a corpse.
Without any further delay we placed him in the boat, hoping that he
was still alive, but by no means sure, and with all possible speed he
was taken on board. This sudden calamity seemed to paralyse the rest
of us for the time, and we all stood about watching the departing
boat, as if we could not make up our minds to resume operations. But
suddenly a dull, thunderous roar startled us from our lethargy, and
looking landwards through the driving sleet we saw the shapeless
forms of another immense herd of the ungainly monsters floundering
toward us. Manifestly we were in an unhealthy predicament, and without
waiting for orders we fled in all directions but towards the advancing
herd. Through swampy patches of green, over frozen rocks, torn by
thorny shrubs, and incessantly dodging the blind onset of groups of
the wallowing monsters, we scrambled unreasoningly until--panting,
breathless, and demoralized--we halted from sheer inability to go
farther. When we had recovered it was some time before we got together
again, and when we did we were a sorry crowd, as unfit as could well be
imagined for the tremendous labour that awaited us of skinning the huge
carcasses that lay dotted about the foreshore. However, we commenced
the task, and by nightfall had completed the flenching. A gun from
the ship recalled us on board almost too weary to launch the boats,
and plastered thickly with mud, blood, and grease. When we arrived on
board we were too exhausted to eat, hardly able to feel any interest in
the news that Sandy was alive and doing as well as could be expected.
But one conviction was burnt deep into the perceptions of all--that
the hardest whaling ever done was a pleasant pastime compared with
sea-elephant hunting at the Aucklands.
XXIX
AN INTERVIEW
Difficulties, which, could I have foreseen then, would have appeared
insurmountable, attended the interview hereinafter recorded. First
of all, His Majesty King Cachalot the MMCC was not in the best of
humours--which was hardly to be wondered at, since, with all the
ability we could muster, five boats’ crews of us from the spouter
_Finback_ had been harassing him since daylight, eager to add his
fourteen-ton overcoat to our greasy cargo. It was a blazing day on the
Line, Pacific side, with hardly a ripple on the water, so that what
advantage there was weighed on our side. Yet so wary and skilful had
his Majesty proved, that one by one the boats had retired hurt from
the field, while the object of their attentions was as fresh as paint,
and, as he afterwards expressed it, “going very strong.” Nevertheless
the scrum had been warm in a double sense, and his Majesty bore many
palpable evidences of our efforts all over his huge black body.
Being in command of the only surviving boat, sole representative of
our available force, and with a reputation yet to win, I must confess
to a little lack of care, a nervous desire to distinguish myself; but I
still think it was hard to have my boat knocked into a litter of barrel
staves by the unanticipated somersault of my expected prize just as I
reckoned upon delivering a _coup de lance_ in final settlement of our
little account.
After the surprise of our meeting had somewhat subsided, I found
myself reclining in a richly carved and upholstered chair in my genial
host’s splendidly furnished reception room, puffing with appreciative
enjoyment at one of his unapproachable Rothschilds--’beg pardon I’m
sure--I mean that I found myself clinging with no uncertain clutch to
a capsized line-tub, into which I succeeded in getting after a series
of involuntary evolutions, after having managed to swallow the majority
of a barrel of salt water. While settling myself in my ark like a faded
Moses, our late antagonist drew near and watched me closely. As soon as
I appeared to be _compos mentis_, he thus addressed me:
“What you settin’ there fur a-gappin’ at _me_ ’sif y’didn’t know who I
wuz.”
“I humbly beg your Majesty’s pardon; I meant no offence, I assure you.
But I perceive you are an American citizen.”
“Perseev’ nothin’, y’abbrevyated galoot,” growled he. “Hain’t enny
persepshun ’baout ye, ’r y’ewd see I’m waitin’ ter be interviewed,
same’s all th’ other sellebritiz.”
Now, although I _do_ believe that the journalist is _nascitur, non
fit_, my nascent journalism if existent was decidedly latent, and at
present I was indubitably unfit for anything but a rescue or two. But
here was a unique chance of becoming famous, and though modest and
retiring to the last degree, I rose to the occasion. A few fragmentary
recollections marshalled themselves, and I asked insinuatingly:
“How old is your Majesty?”
“One thousan’ four hunderd seasons,” he replied promptly.
As soon as I recovered my breath, I answered politely, “Indeed! Your
Majesty wears well. I should hardly have thought it. Are your Majesty’s
parents living?”
“How’d I know,” he grumbled, peeping fiercely at me out of the corner
of his starboard eye. “Don’t go much on parients ermong our peepul.
Next please!”
“Where did your venerability do us the honour to be born, if the
question be allowable?” I queried timidly.
“Here,” he roared, with a resounding crash of his enormous tail on the
surface; “where’d ye think I’d be born but at sea?”
Deficient in locality evidently, I thought, being a bit of a
phrenologist myself, though it would have required a theodolite to
survey the bumps upon _his_ capacious cranium. But as he showed signs
of irritability, I added quickly, “Are you married, your Majesty, or
how?”
“Well; I should cackle,” he said--“married, hay! Why one of your (an
awful reverberation suggested a powerful adjective) slush-tubs hez jest
broke up one uv the purtiest little harems I ever collected, twelve
ravishin’ beauties sech ez any monark’d be proud of. Well thar, hurry
up; I’m jest reminded ov an ole schoolmate uv mine ’s got mose ’s good
erwun. He’s usin’ roun’ the Bonins ’baout now, ’n’ I mus’ git over
thar ’n’ b’reave him. Royal rights, y’know,” and his Majesty shed a
ponderous wink.
“What does your Majesty do for a living?” I ventured to inquire.
“Eat!” he roared. “Harpoons en bomb-guns, what dz ennybody du fr a
livin’? _I_ never heerd sech a barnacle-headed grampus ’n all my
fishin’.” With that he lifted up his tremendous caput out of water and
exposed his Blackwall tunnel of a mouth, as who should remark, “Not
much room for other occupation in a whale’s life when a gulf like this
needs attention.”
I suppose I looked a bit preoccupied, for he hastily added, “But I
never eat sech insecks ez you be.”
“What, never?” I ventured to murmur.
“No, never,” he replied; “at least, that is,”--but seeing his
hesitation, I said I fancied I’d heard a story about a passenger by
the name of Jonah down on the Syrian coast a while back. “Oh, well
y’know,” he muttered apologetically, “’f course accidents will happen,
’s the shark said to his brother when he took him in, but I don’t
reckon thar wuz anythin’ to mek a noise erbout. ’Tany-rate the can’date
left considerable sudden. Yew needn’t be ’fraid ennyhow.”
But I was unprepared with any more questions at the moment, the
outlook, or inlook rather, being so disconcerting. So I said, “Would
your Majesty object to outlining a few of your wonderful experiences
for the benefit of landsmen generally. Any information you may choose
to give will be regarded as strictly confidential, of course.”
“Oh, sartinly,” he replied with an alarming area of smile. “Mos’ ov ’em
hev ben with your dod-gasted tribe. Why yew’re tarnally prowlin’ erbout
tryin’ ter get ter wind’ard ov peac’ble fokes I kaint surmise. Still,
up till now I’ve ben equal ter holdin’ me own,--keepin’ me eend up,
ez yew may say. To-day f’rinstance, hey?” I winced under the sarcasm.
“But I mind onst daown on the Noo Seelan’ coas’ towin’ five boat-load
ov Mowries frum the Solander ’way down eenamost ter the Cambells. They
wuz a plucky crowd, f’r they helt on ter me through a blizzard ov hail
an’ snow lasting twyst az long as I kin stay soundin’. When it gin
over they wuz all fruz stiffer’n a lance-pole. My, but gettin’ cleer
ov em wuz a pull. I hed to soun’ at top-gait ’sif I wuz boun’ f’r two
thousan’ fathoms, ’n’ suthin’ hed ter give. I wuz pretty fat in those
days, so their all-fired irons drew. They galled me like sixty, but I
was free.
“Then a left-handed-on-both-feet crowd eout ov a French right-whaler
tackled me offn the Cape. Mighty big mistake _they_ struck--thought I
wuz pore ole say-nothin’-ter-nobody Mr. Cetus, they did. ’N’, when I
milled roun’ ’n’ cum f’r ’em eend on ’ith er twenty foot smile on me
hed! airthqueeks ’n’ volcanose! y’ sh’d jest er seen ’em flew. Didn’
wait to say howdy, jest cut line ’n’ vamoosed like ’sif ole Jemmy
Smallback wuz after ’em. I wuz thet mad, I’d liketer hev busted up
their ole hooker ’n’ all, but thet thar _Essex_ affair gin me sech er
swell’d hed I ’lowed it warn’t bad reck’nin’ ter let her go et that.
“Say, djever see er big squid, big’s me?” he queried sharply.
“Yes, your Majesty, I did once. Only once. B-b-b-ay of B-b-bengal,” for
I was almost moribund.
“Ah, you _hev_ seen suthin’ then. F’r yew insecks wut live on top don’t
offen git a chance ter see them critters ’less we bring ’em up f’r the
sun ter see haow gaul-darned ugly they air. Wall, one like yew say yew
seen tangled erp my fav’rit’ wife off Futuna one afternoon. Me an’ my
harem wuz feedin’ at ’bout a thousan’ fathom, an’ Polly jest sidled up
ter ole Jellybelly ’n’ got hole ov a mouthful ov him. He, bein’ kinder
s’prised, gripped her all over ter onst; ’n’, stranger,” he added
impressively, “I’ll be weather-bound ef he didn’t frap her hole head up
so’s she couldn’t bite er breathe. We’d ben down ’bout long ernough
too, but I sailed right in ’n’ bit his great carkiss in half az well az
I c’d see f’r his ink-cloud. Hows’ever I wuz too late, f’r he’d locked
his tangle ov arms roun’ an’ roun’ her hed, ’n’ though his body wuz all
chawed erp they couldn’ come adrift. So she drowned, ’n we all hed ter
make tracks upstairs quicker ’n winkin’ er we sh’d a ben drowned tu. As
’twuz we wuz fair beat out when we arrove up top.
“Did I ever have enny fights with me own people? Well I--but there,
how’d yew know, poor thing. Millyuns ov ’em. Look at me,” and he swept
proudly past exhibiting his grooved and ribbed flanks bearing indelible
traces of many a furious battle, some of the foot-wide scars being
twenty feet long.
“Enny more informashun I c’n supply yew with at short notice? bekuz
this session’ll hev ter adjurn _siny die_ in about tew minnits. I’m
gittin’ mos’ amazin’ peckish.”
Happy thought, “What do you live on mostly, your Majesty?”
“Squid. Fust ’n las’ ’n’ between meals gen’ly. They aint nothin’ better
tew eat in the hull worl’ ’z far’s I know. We dew ’casionally git a
bellyful ov fish ov sorts by layin’ quiet when the shoals air swarmin’.
They run down a feller’s gullet in hunderds ’n never know whar they’re
goin. But they’re cussid indigestible----”
I was alone. There was nothing in sight, but my interviewee was gone.
So stiff and sore was I that I could hardly turn my head to see if
help was coming. There was no help in sight that I could discover, but
presently a boat came along from the ship and picked me up--none too
soon. Gloomily we returned on board to moralise mournfully over our
ill-luck and the perfidy of sperm whales generally.
XXX
UP A WATERSPOUT
Of course no one is under any obligation to believe this most reliable
relation. At the same time I may be allowed to remind the sceptical
that in the present case their credibility is subjected to no such
strain as half the respectable advertisements of the day place upon
it. However, I won’t press the point; here is the story, _fay ce que
vouldras_.
Doubtless you have all heard of waterspouts, many of you have seen them
in full spin, and not a few, amateurs of meteorology, have got their
pet theories as to the genesis, evolution, and dissolution of these
mysterious meteors. With just a touch of perhaps pardonable vanity I
may say that, for an important section of society, my theory holds
the field--is, in fact, unassailable. But I refrain from exposing it
publicly at present, principally because such exposition involves a
large use of the higher mathematics, in which I am, to be candid,
somewhat shaky; and secondly, because the editor would see me farther
before he would let me do it. But an ounce of experience is worth a
ton of theory, even such gilt-edged theory as mine--at least most of us
work on the lines of this well-worn proverb. So my experience, which is
herein set forth, must necessarily be considered as the most valuable
contribution to our knowledge of waterspoutery or trombe-oonery that
has ever yet appeared. I might claim more for it than this, but modesty
was ever a failing of mine.
On 23rd August last, then, I was leaning over the taffrail of an
ancient barque, of which I was “only” mate, homeward bound from Iquique
to Falmouth for orders. We had reached the horse latitudes, those
detestable regions embracing the debatable area between the limits of
the north-east and south-east trade winds. Here you may have such an
exhibition of what the skies are capable of in the matter of rain as
nowhere else in the world. For days together the weather will consist
of squalls--not much wind in them as a rule--from all points of the
compass, but rain--well, one might almost as well be living beneath an
ocean of which the bottom is given to falling out occasionally. And
as all this tremendous rainfall comes from the sea, the replenishment
of the supply upstairs keeps the pumping machinery going constantly.
It is no uncommon sight to see forty or fifty waterspouts in various
stages of their career at one time. On this particular afternoon there
was quite a forest of them about, but as yet none of them had come
within less than two or three miles of the ship. It was my watch
below, and the air being stifling down in the murky little cabin, I
was enjoying a pipe and a little cool breeze that had been blowing
for about twenty minutes in the right direction. The old hooker was
wriggling along about two or three knots--sufficiently fast to induce
me to try whether some members of a sociable school of dolphins that
were playing about us could be gulled into biting at a bit of white rag
I was trailing, which concealed a formidable hook. The “old man” was
below, seated at the cabin table, wrestling with his day’s reckoning
not over-successfully, for his grumbling expletives were now and then
audible through the wide-open skylight, the man at the wheel gazing
skyward with a comical expression of innocence whenever he met my
eye after an extra heavy blast from below. The antics of the fish
beneath me so fully occupied my attention that the near approach of a
waterspout along the starboard beam did not attract my notice. In any
case, the weather was no affair of mine, the bo’sun being in charge,
though, as usual in these undermanned vessels, up to his elbows in
tar, away forward somewhere. But suddenly the gloom became so heavy
and the chill in the air so evident, that I looked up wondering whence
the squall had arrived at such short notice. At that moment a big
dolphin who had been tantalising me for a long time seized my hook. I
had only two or three fathoms of line out, and being balanced upon
the taffrail, the jerk was sufficiently forceful to make me turn a
back somersault overboard. The last thing I saw was the helmsman’s
face blank with utter amazement at my sudden exit. I struck the
water end-on, going pretty deep, but on returning to the surface was
horrified to find myself the centre of a whirling, seething commotion,
as if some unseen giant was stirring the sea with a mighty spoon. The
gyrations I was compelled to perform made me quite giddy and sick,
although my head kept so well above water that I was in no danger of
drowning. Faster and faster yet I was whirled around, while a dense fog
seemed to rise all round, shutting out everything from view behind an
impenetrable white curtain.
I have often noticed that if you tuck a chicken’s head under its
wing and give it a gentle circular motion it will “stay put,” in any
position you like for an indefinite length of time, although the
brightness of its eyes and its regular respiration shows that it is
“all there.” Thus it was with me. I was certainly all there, but
the spinning business had reduced me to a hypnotised or mesmerised
condition, in which I was incapable of independent volition, while
keenly conscious of all that was going on. I became aware of an upward
movement, a sort of spiral ascension, as if I was attached to one of
the threads of a gigantic vertical screw that was being withdrawn by a
steady left-handed revolution. Also, it was very wet, though not with
a solid wetness as of the sea--more like one of the usual tremendous
showers we had lately been having, and in no sense was I conscious of
floating. I began to get somewhat used to the spiral movement, the
sensation being almost pleasant, since the nausea that troubled me
was gone, but I wondered vaguely whither I was bound. It was getting
very cold, and a muffled persistent roar, as of some infuriated bull
uttering his grievances through a vast speaking-trumpet, worried me
greatly, for I could imagine no reason for such a sound. However, in my
passive condition I could only endure whatever came along, this being
no time for protest or struggle.