secured aside of the ship, and before the commencement of the
operation of flensing. An unlucky circumstance once occurred in an
interval of this kind. At that period of the fishery, (forty or fifty
years ago,) when a single stout whale together with the bounty, was
found sufficient to remunerate the owners of a ship for the expenses
of the voyage, great joy was exhibited on the capture of a whale, by
the fishers. They were not only cheered by a dram of spirits, but
sometimes provided with some favorite "mess," on which to regale
themselves, before they commenced the arduous task of flensing. At
such a period, the crew of an English vessel had captured their first
whale. It was taken to the ship, placed on the lee-side, and though
the wind blew a strong breeze, it was fastened only by a small rope
attached to the fin. In this state of supposed security, all hands
retired to regale themselves, the captain himself not excepted. The
ship being at a distance from any ice, and the fish believed to be
fast, they made no great haste in their enjoyment. At length, the
specksioneer, or chief harpooner, having spent sufficient time in
indulgence and equipment, with an air of importance and
self-confidence, proceeded on deck, and naturally turned to look on
the whale. To his astonishment it was not to be seen. In some alarm he
looked a-stern, a-head, on the other side, but his search was useless;
the ship drifting fast, had pressed forcibly upon the whale, the rope
broke, the fish sunk and was lost. The mortification of this event may
be conceived, but the termination of their vexation will not easily be
imagined, when it is known, that no other opportunity of procuring a
whale occurred during the voyage. The ship returned home clean.
Flensing in a swell is a most difficult and dangerous undertaking; and
when the swell is at all considerable, it is commonly impracticable.
No ropes or blocks are capable of bearing the jerk of the sea. The
harpooners are annoyed by the surge, and repeatedly drenched in water;
and are likewise subject to be wounded by the breaking of ropes or
hooks of tackles, and even by strokes from each other's knives. Hence
accidents in this kind of flensing are not uncommon. The harpooners
not unfrequently fall into the whale's mouth, when it is exposed by
the removal of a surface of blubber; where they might easily be
drowned, but for the prompt assistance which is always at hand.
One of the laws of the fishery universally adhered to, is, that
whenever a whale is loose, whatever may be the case or circumstances,
it becomes a free prize to the first person who gets hold of it. Thus,
when a whale is killed, and the flensing is prevented by a storm, it
is usually taken in tow; if the rope by which it is connected with the
ship should happen to break, and the people of another ship should
seize upon it while disengaged, it becomes their prize. The following
circumstance, which occurred a good many years ago, has a tendency to
illustrate the existing Greenland laws.
During a storm of wind and snow several ships were beating to
windward, under easy sail, along the edge of a pack. When the storm
abated and the weather cleared, the ships steered towards the ice. Two
of the fleet approached it, about a mile assunder, abreast of each
other, when the crews of each ship accidentally got sight of a dead
fish at a little distance, within some loose ice. Each ship now made
sail, to endeavor to reach the fish before the other; which fish being
loose, would be a prize to the first who could get possession of it.
Neither ship could out sail the other, but each contrived to press
forward towards the prize. The little advantage one of them had in
distance, the other compensated with velocity. On each bow of the two
ships, was stationed a principal officer, armed with a harpoon in
readiness to discharge. But it so happened that the ships came in
contact with each other, when within a few yards of the fish, and in
consequence of the shock with which their bows met, they rebounded to
a considerable distance. The officers at the same moment discharged
their harpoons, but all of them fell short of the fish. A hardy fellow
who was second mate of the leeward ship immediately leaped overboard
and with great dexterity swam to the whale, seized it by the fin, and
proclaimed it his prize. It was, however, so swollen, that he was
unable to climb upon it, but was obliged to remain shivering in the
water until assistance should be sent. His captain elated with his
good luck, forgot, or at least neglected his brave second mate; and
before he thought of sending a boat to release him from his
disagreeable situation, prepared to moor his ship to an adjoining
piece of ice. Meanwhile the other ship tacked, and the master himself
stepped into a boat, pushed off and rowed deliberately towards the
dead fish. Observing the trembling seaman still in the water holding
by the fin, he addressed him with, "Well my lad, you have got a fine
fish here,"--to which after a natural reply in the affirmative, he
added, "but don't you find it very cold?"--"Yes," replied the
shivering sailor, "I'm almost starved. I wish you would allow me to
come into your boat until ours arrives." This favor needed no second
solicitation; the boat approached the man and he was assisted into it.
The fish being again loose and out of possession, the captain
instantly struck his harpoon into it, hoisted his flag, and claimed
his prize! Mortified and displeased as the other master felt at this
trick, for so it certainly was, he had nevertheless no redress, but
was obliged to permit the fish to be taken on board of his
competitor's ship, and to content himself with abusing the second mate
for want of discretion, and condemning himself for not having more
compassion on the poor fellow's feeling, which would have prevented
the disagreeable misadventure.
Those employed in the occupation of killing whales, are, when actually
engaged, exposed to danger from three sources, viz. from the ice, from
the climate, and from the whales themselves. The ice is a source of
danger to the fishers, from overhanging masses falling upon
them,--from the approximation of large sheets of ice to each other,
which are apt to crush or upset the boats,--from their boats being
stove or sunk by large masses of ice, agitated by a swell,--and from
the boats being enclosed and beset in a pack of ice, and their crews
thus prevented from joining their ships.
On the commencement of a heavy gale of wind, May 11th, 1813, fourteen
men put off in a boat from the Volunteer of Whitby, with the view of
setting an anchor in a large piece of ice, to which it was their
intention of mooring the ship.--The ship approached on a signal being
made, the sails were clewed up, and a rope fixed to the anchor; but
the ice shivering with the violence of the strain when the ship fell
astern, the anchor flew out and the ship went adrift. The sails being
again set, the ship was reached to the eastward (wind at north,) the
distance of about two miles; but in attempting to wear and return, the
ship, instead of performing the evolution, scudded a considerable
distance to the leeward, and was then reaching out to sea; thus
leaving fourteen of her crew to a fate most dreadful, the fulfilment
of which seemed almost inevitable. The temperature of the air was 15
or 16 of Fahr. when these poor wretches were left upon a detached
piece of ice, of no considerable magnitude, without food, without
shelter from the inclement storm, deprived of every means of refuge
except in a single boat, which, on account of the number of men, and
the violence of the storm, was incapable of conveying them to their
ship. Death stared them in the face whichever way they turned, and a
division in opinion ensued. Some were wishful to remain on the ice,
but the ice could afford them no shelter to the piercing wind, and
would probably be broken to pieces by the increasing swell: others
were anxious to attempt to join their ship while she was yet in
sight, but the force of the wind, the violence of the sea, the
smallness of the boat in comparison to the number of men to be
conveyed, were objections which would have appeared insurmountable to
any person but men in a state of despair.--Judging, that by remaining
on the ice, death was but retarded for a few hours, as the extreme
cold must eventually benumb their faculties, and invite a sleep which
would overcome the remains of animation,--they determined on making
the attempt of rowing to their ship. Poor souls, what must have been
their sensations at that moment,--when the spark of hope yet remaining
was so feeble, that a premature death even to themselves seemed
inevitable. They made the daring experiment, when a few minutes' trial
convinced them, that the attempt was utterly impracticable. They then
with longing eyes, turned their efforts towards recovering the ice
they had left, but their utmost exertions were unavailing. Every one
now viewed his situation as desperate; and anticipated, as certain,
the fatal event which was to put a period to his life. How great must
have been their delight, and how overpowering their sensations, when
at this most critical juncture a ship appeared in sight! She was
advancing directly towards them; their voices were extended and their
flag displayed.--But although it was impossible they should be heard,
it was not impossible they should be seen. Their flag was descried by
the people on board the ship, their mutual courses were so directed as
to form the speediest union, and in a few minutes they found
themselves on the deck of the Lively of Whitby, under circumstances of
safety! They received from their townsmen the warmest congratulations;
and while each individual was forward in contributing his assistance
towards the restoration of their benumbed bodies, each appeared
sensible that their narrow escape from death was highly providential.
The forbearance of God is wonderful. Perhaps these very men a few
hours before, were impiously invoking their own destruction, or
venting imprecations upon their fellow beings! True it is that the
goodness of the Almighty extendeth over all his works, and that while
'Mercy is his darling attribute,'--'Judgment is his strange work.'
The most extensive source of danger to the whale-fisher, when actively
engaged in his occupation, arises from the object of his pursuit.
Excepting when it has young under its protection, the whale generally
exhibits remarkable timidity of character. A bird perching on its back
alarms it; hence, the greater part of the accidents which happen in
the course of its capture, must be attributed to adventitious
circumstances on the part of the whale, or to mismanagement or
foolhardiness on the part of the fishers.
[Illustration]
A harpooner belonging to the Henrietta of Whitby, when engaged in
lancing a whale, into which he had previously struck a harpoon,
incautiously cast a little line under his feet that he had just hauled
into the boat, after it had been drawn out by the fish. A painful
stroke of his lance induced the whale to dart suddenly downward; his
line began to run out from beneath his feet, and in an instant caught
him by a turn round his body. He had but just time to cry out, "clear
away the line,"--"O dear!" when he was almost cut assunder, dragged
overboard and never seen afterwards. The line was cut at the moment,
but without avail. The fish descended a considerable depth, and died;
from whence it was drawn to the surface by the lines connected with
it, and secured.
While the ship Resolution navigated an open lake of water, in the 81st
degree of north latitude, during a keen frost and strong north wind,
on the 2d of June 1806, a whale appeared, and a boat put off in
pursuit. On its second visit to the surface of the sea, it was
harpooned. A convulsive heave of the tail, which succeeded the wound,
struck the boat at the stern; and by its reaction, projected the
boat-steerer overboard. As the line in a moment dragged the boat
beyond his reach, the crew threw some of their oars towards him for
his support, one of which he fortunately seized. The ship and boats
being at a considerable distance, and the fast-boat being rapidly
drawn away from him, the harpooner cut the line with the view of
rescuing him from his dangerous situation. But no sooner was this act
performed, than to their extreme mortification they discovered, that
in consequence of some oars being thrown towards their floating
comrade, and others being broken or unshipped by the blow from the
fish, one oar only remained; with which, owing to the force of the
wind, they tried in vain to approach him. A considerable period
elapsed, before any boat from the ship could afford him assistance,
though the men strained every nerve for the purpose. At length, when
they reached him, he was found with his arms stretched over an oar,
almost deprived of sensation.--On his arrival at the ship, he was in a
deplorable condition. His clothes were frozen like mail, and his hair
constituted a helmet of ice. He was immediately conveyed into the
cabin, his clothes taken off, his limbs and body dried and well
rubbed, and a cordial administered which he drank. A dry shirt and
stockings were then put upon him, and he was laid in the captain's
bed. After a few hours sleep he awoke, and appeared considerably
restored, but complained of a painful sensation of cold. He was,
therefore, removed to his own birth, and one of his messmates ordered
to lie on each side of him, whereby the diminished circulation of the
blood was accelerated, and the animal heat restored. The shock on his
constitution, however, was greater than was anticipated.--He recovered
in the course of a few days, so as to be able to engage in his
ordinary pursuits; but many months elapsed before his countenance
exhibited its usual appearance of health.
The Aimwell of Whitby, while cruising the Greenland seas, in the year
1810, had boats in chase of whales on the 26th of May. One of them was
harpooned. But instead of sinking immediately on receiving the wound,
as is the most usual manner of the whale, this individual only dived
for a moment, and rose again beneath the boat, struck it in the most
vicious manner with its fins and tail, stove it, upset it, and then
disappeared. The crew, seven in number, got on the bottom of the boat;
but the unequal action of the lines, which for sometime remained
entangled with the boat, rolled it occasionally over, and thus plunged
the crew repeatedly into the water.--Four of them, after each
immersion, recovered themselves and clung to the boat; but the other
three, one of whom was the only person acquainted with the art of
swimming, were drowned before assistance could arrive. The four men on
the boat being rescued and conveyed to the ship, the attack on the
whale was continued and two more harpoons struck.--But the whale
irritated, instead of being enervated by its wounds, recommenced its
furious conduct. The sea was in a foam. Its tail and fins wore in
awful play; and in a short time, harpoon after harpoon drew out, the
fish was loosened from its entanglements and escaped.
In the fishery of 1812, the Henrietta of Whitby suffered a similar
loss. A fish which was struck very near the ship, by a blow of its
tail, stove a small hole in the boat's bow. Every individual shrinking
from the side on which the blow was impressed, aided the influence of
the stroke, and upset the boat. They all clung to it while it was
bottom up; but the line having got entangled among the thwarts,
suddenly drew the boat under water, and with it part of the crew.
Excessive anxiety among the people in the ship, occasioned delay in
sending assistance, so that when the first boat arrived at the spot,
two survivors only out of six men were found.
During a fresh gale of wind in the season of 1809, one of the
Resolution's harpooners struck a sucking whale. Its mother being near,
all the other boats were disposed around, with the hope of entangling
it. The old whale pursued a circular route round its cub, and was
followed by the boats; but its velocity was so considerable, that they
were unable to keep pace with it. Being in the capacity of harpooner
on this occasion myself, I proceeded to the chase, after having
carefully marked the proceedings of the fish. I selected a situation,
in which I conceived the whale would make its appearance, and was in
the act of directing my crew to cease rowing, when a terrible blow was
struck on the boat. The whale I never saw, but the effect of the blow
was too important to be overlooked. About fifteen square feet of the
bottom of the boat were driven in; it filled, sunk, and upset in a
moment. Assistance was providentially at hand, so that we were all
taken up without injury, after being but a few minutes in the water.
The whale escaped; the boat's lines fell out and were lost, but the
boat was recovered.
A remarkable instance of the power which the whale possesses in its
tail, was exhibited within my own observation, in the year 1807. On
the 29th of May, a whale was harpooned by an officer belonging to the
Resolution. It descended a considerable depth; and, on its
re-appearance, evinced an uncommon degree of irritation. It made such
a display of its fins and tail, that few of the crew were hardy enough
to approach it. The captain, (Captain Scoresby's father,) observing
their timidity, called a boat, and himself struck a second harpoon.
Another boat immediately followed, and unfortunately advanced too far.
The tail was again reared into the air, in a terrific attitude,--the
impending blow was evident,--the harpooner, who was directly
underneath, leaped overboard,--and the next moment the threatened
stroke was impressed on the centre of the boat, which it buried in the
water. Happily no one was injured. The harpooner who leaped overboard,
escaped certain death by the act,--the tail having struck the very
spot on which he stood. The effects of the blow were astonishing. The
keel was broken,--the gunwales, and every plank, excepting two, were
cut through,--and it was evident that the boat would have been
completely divided, had not the tail struck directly upon a coil of
lines. The boat was rendered useless.
Instances of disasters of this kind, occasioned by blows from the
whale, could be adduced in great numbers,--cases of boats being
destroyed by a single stroke of the tail, are not unknown,--instances
of boats having been stove or upset, and their crews wholly or in part
drowned, are not unfrequent,--and several cases of whales having made
a regular attack upon every boat which came near them, dashed some in
pieces, and killed or drowned some of the people in them, have
occurred within a few years even under my own observation.
The Dutch ship Gort-Moolen, commanded by Cornelius Gerard Ouwekaas,
with a cargo of seven fish, was anchored in Greenland in the year
1660. The captain, perceiving a whale a-head of his ship, beckoned his
attendants, and threw himself into a boat. He was the first to
approach the whale; and was fortunate enough to harpoon it before the
arrival of the second boat, which was on the advance. Jacques Vienkes,
who had the direction of it, joined his captain immediately
afterwards, and prepared to make a second attack on the fish, when it
should remount again to the surface. At the moment of its ascension,
the boat of Vienkes happening unfortunately to be perpendicularly
above it, was so suddenly and forcibly lifted up by a stroke of the
head of the whale, that it was dashed to pieces before the harpooner
could discharge his weapon.
Vienkes flew along with the pieces of the boat, and fell upon the back
of the animal. This intrepid seaman, who still retained his weapon in
his grasp, harpooned the whale on which he stood; and by means of the
harpoon and the line, which he never abandoned, he steadied himself
firmly upon the fish, notwithstanding his hazardous situation, and
regardless of a considerable wound that he received in his leg in his
fall along with the fragments of the boat. All the efforts of the
other boats to approach the whale, and deliver the harpooner, were
futile. The captain, not seeing any other method of saving his
unfortunate companion, who was in some way entangled with the line,
called to him to cut it with his knife, and betake himself to
swimming. Vienkes, embarrassed and disconcerted as he was, tried in
vain to follow this counsel. His knife was in the pocket of his
drawers; and, being unable to support himself with one hand, he could
not get it out. The whale, meanwhile, continued advancing along the
surface of the water with great rapidity, but fortunately never
attempted to dive. While his comrades despaired of his life, the
harpoon by which he held, at length disengaged itself from the body of
the whale. Vienkes being thus liberated, did not fail to take
advantage of this circumstance; he cast himself into the sea, and by
swimming, endeavored to regain the boats which continued the pursuit
of the whale. When his shipmates perceived him struggling with the
waves, they redoubled their exertions. They reached him just as his
strength was exhausted, and had the happiness of rescuing this
adventurous harpooner from his perilous situation.
Captain Lyons of the Raith of Leith, while prosecuting the
whale-fishery on the Labrador coast, in the season of 1802, discovered
a large whale at a short distance from the ship. Four boats were
dispatched in pursuit, and two of them succeeded in approaching it so
closely together, that two harpoons were struck at the same moment.
The fish descended a few fathoms in the direction of another of the
boats, which was on the advance, rose accidentally beneath it, struck
it with its head, and threw the boat, men, and apparatus about fifteen
feet into the air. It was inverted by the stroke, and fell into the
water with its keel upwards. All the people were picked up alive by
the fourth boat, which was just at hand, excepting one man, who having
got entangled in the boat, fell beneath it, and was unfortunately
drowned. The fish was soon afterwards killed. The engraving on page
30, is illustrative of this remarkable accident.