“THERE SHE BLOWS!”
With a careful look-out being maintained from the masthead, the ship
was at all times ready to lower boats and begin. But there were signs
which indicated that the whales could not be far away. Such items as
floating pieces of cuttle-fish, or oily tracks left by the recent
passage of cetaceans, caused the look-out man to be doubly watchful.
But such obvious phenomena as a whale spouting summoned every man to
eager activity. “There she blows!” would go up the cry, “there again!”
And then within a couple of minutes would be the boats properly manned
and pulling to windward. If the whales were to leeward, then the boat
would also hoist sail to run down. The whale-ship herself remained
directing operations from her masthead by an arranged code of signals.
And now watch the harpooner. Standing in the bow of the boat, he waited
until he was in a favourable position to strike. The first harpoon was
followed by the second immediately afterwards. At first the whale in
his painful shock would take violent plunges, throwing his dangerous
flukes high in the air, lashing the sea till it obscured the men and
threatened to overwhelm them.
After that the animal would begin tearing along the surface of the
water at a great pace, towing the boat after him, oars “apeak”--that is
to say, resting at an acute angle with the gunwale, ready for use. The
line secured to the loggerhead, the boat, down by the stern as the bow
rose over the sea, went crashing, leaping, thudding over the waves and
throwing the spray to port and starboard. There was never anything like
that till the coming of the fast motor-boat days. A stern wave, high
above the gunwale’s level, threatened every moment to rush down into
the little craft. Harpooner and steersman now changed places, and the
lance was ready to give the knock-out blow as soon as the boat could be
hauled up close enough to the whale.
But then the whale would get the notion to “sound,” or dive straight
down deeply, only to reappear: whereupon the boat approached and the
lance attack went on until the creature was surrounded by a crimson
sea. And then through sheer feebleness he seemed to be dying, until,
in a final flurry, he started off again towing the boat at an exciting
speed, lashing the waves with his tail, steering all over the sea.
But then death would come, and the great, inert mass would lie like
a billowed rock at the mercy of his captors. Sometimes these boats
would rush into action with sail still set and not lower away until
the harpoon had got deep into the whale. But there was a whaleman’s
expression “to be gallied,” meaning to be alarmed; sometimes the school
of whales became so “gallied” that they would all make off, or dive for
a time, not showing themselves till a long way ahead and in a totally
different direction--after the manner of tactics which enemy submarines
sometimes employed during the war.
A female cachalot or a young male usually took out not more than a tub
and a half of line, though an adult was known to sound so deeply that
he needed three continuous lines. Sometimes, though not frequently, the
whale was killed immediately by the harpoon, or by a single lance-blow.
There was a certain amount of luck in finding the sperm whale, as
in any other pursuit. The American whaling ship _Arab_, which left
Fairhaven in the fall of 1842, had been at sea about a year, sailed
20,000 miles, crossing the North and South Atlantic and the Indian
Ocean, and during the whole of that voyaging had never once seen so
much as the spout of a sperm whale, only to find the latter in plenty
off the coast of Arabia, in one day killing as many as nine, and on
another seven. “There she breaches!” would go the glad cry, “there she
blows!” But then for several ensuing months sperm whales would not be
seen again, and the ship would be compelled to sail to another part of
the globe, only to find that a large number of other whaling vessels
were already cruising in that area.
During those voyages dogged by weeks and months of ill-luck, everyone
on board from the skipper downwards was feeling in a state of
perpetual irritation as one whaling ground after another was tried
unsuccessfully. The Azores, the Crozets, Tristan da Cunha, Madagascar,
Ceylon and other equally distant localities would be visited with
heart-breaking failure. Sometimes whales would be sighted at dusk but
missed at daylight. Then there would be days of bad weather, the ship
labouring heavily, injuring those useful boats badly. Captain Harding
of the _Arab_ mentioned in his journal that on July 22nd the gale had
been blowing continuously for twenty-five days.
The result of this kind of seafaring was that the men deserted often at
the very first opportunity, and for that reason stringent precautions
were taken to prevent them getting ashore. The ship would therefore
usually avoid inhabited islands, but on some lonely atoll the men would
be allowed shore leave for their health’s sake. If the ship did visit
now and again some island where the natives cultivated and prospered,
as likely as not small-pox would be found raging, and the whaler, still
short of drinking water, would be compelled to proceed elsewhere. On
this occasion the more daring seamen would remain till a native canoe
came out trading alongside, then wait for the great opportunity, get
out through the open porthole, hide at the bottom of the boat and so be
ferried ashore. But those less lucky than himself might have to serve
three monotonous years, and even then end the voyage with little reward.
The discipline of a merchant ship and that of a whaler in the
eighteen-forties were two quite different things. In the former it was
strict: in the latter it was slack. But on getting clear of the port,
watches and boats’ crews were chosen for the voyage until the new
hands arrived at some Pacific harbour to replace those who had run. In
the boats the water breakers were always kept filled, and there were
biscuits. Every day whilst cruising the whaler’s boats were examined
to see that everything was ready--harpoons and lances as sharp as
razors, the lines in the tubs free from kinks and as supple as silk.
The look-out man would be aloft at the royal masthead. “There she
blows!” would be answered by the captain below bellowing, “Where away?”
“Two points on the lee bow, sir,” would answer the man. Up into the
rigging armed with his spy-glass would spring the skipper. “Keep her
off a couple of points,” he would order as every man began to forget
the weeks of monotony in that sudden excitement. Presently officers
and their boats’ crews would be away as soon as the ship got up to the
school of sperm whales that were swimming unsuspiciously along. The
main topsail would have been backed just before lowering the boats, and
in order not to scare the whales away, everything was done as quietly
as possible.
But, just before getting up to the school, the steersmen would find the
cachalots had sounded, so there was nothing for it but to wait twenty
minutes till the mammals breached again: but then away went the boats
whilst the pursued, with a “Choo’o, choo’o, choo’o,” went spouting
from their blow-holes close ahead, and the harpooner was just about to
do his work. It was a tense moment, but when pulling towards a whale
no oarsman was allowed to look round. Eyes in the boat! Otherwise he
was given a tap on the head from the officer in charge that made the
oarsman see a whole constellation of stars. When the boat had got so
near to the whale that it was touching, the expression used was that
it was “wood and black skin.” And if the harpooner should fail to
avail himself of the opportunity he would be “broken” as soon as he
got back to the ship; for sometimes men, like whales, became gallied
either from nervousness or excitement. Moreover there was a difference
in technique, which had to be appreciated. The harpooner might have
only recently joined the ship, although anything but a novice in his
art. Perhaps he had been accustomed only to hunting the right whale and
not the sperm. In the former case a long dart was used, and the manner
of approach was towards the fore shoulder: then, after fastening the
harpoon into the whale, the boat was quickly backed out of the way of
the beast’s flukes or there was speedy disaster.
The harpooner’s attack on a right whale was made from a distance of
from a couple to ten yards. But the sperm whale would be “fastened”
by running the boat to the corner of the flukes alongside, and then
attacking at from four to six yards. It was always a remarkable
fact that as soon as one whale had been struck all the rest of the
school were aware of it, and then the surrounding water became as if
an earthquake had disturbed it, and the whole gallied school were
rushing off to windward. Frantic with anger was the boat’s officer as
he exhorted, threatened, encouraged the crew to row after the whale
that had been missed by the unskilful harpooner. Perhaps for an hour
that boat would be pulled to windward till human strength could toil
no more, and then it would be turned round to go down wind towards the
hove-to ship, now almost hull down.
On one occasion a cachalot had as many as seven English harpoons in him
and attached three entire boats’ lines, or about three-quarters of a
mile of cordage, together with one line-tub and numerous drogues. But
in spite of all this dragging him back, the whale succeeded in getting
right away solely by superior speed. Two days intervened, and then
this same whale was sighted again by a totally different whaler, who
managed to kill him. Later on, those two ships met in port, and the
victor returned to the original attacker those seven harpoons and lines
left in the whale. Usually if the harpooner were able to fasten solid
into one whale all the other boats would be able to fasten each on to
another whale: for it was an observed fact that when one whale had been
made fast, the school would remain and give the other craft also a
chance. Blackfish were especially lively creatures and wont to breach
out of the water right over a boat, but if no whales were about these
were captured, as they yielded several barrels of oil which fetched a
good price.
Three years was by no means an excessive time for a whaler to be
away from her home port, and Captain J. D. Whidden mentions in his
_Old Sailing Ship Days_ that during the year 1848 he signed on at
Tahiti aboard the whaling ship _George_, which had already been out
forty-seven months, and had encountered such ill-luck that she had
taken only about 1,200 barrels of oil. It is hardly surprising that
during such a lengthy period most of her crew had at various times
deserted, so that only four of her original ship’s company now remained
in her. She took only one more whale, became so short of provisions
that she had to speak another whaler after rounding the Horn, and beg a
few stores, and there was not a bit of tobacco in the _George_ for over
a month. One such voyage as this usually cured a man of further desire
to go whaling.
After the cachalot was dead it usually floated, but sometimes it could
be kept from sinking only with great difficulty. On certain occasions,
also, after the carcase had been secured to the ship’s side, it became
necessary to chop away the iron chain supporting the body: for in the
case of a big whale which suddenly began to sink, this was the only
way to prevent serious damage to the vessel. But normally, after the
boats had got the cachalot alongside and secured parallel to the ship,
the work commenced of removing the blubber and other valuable parts. A
staging was erected over the vessel’s side where the officers operated
after the bulwarks had been removed. The rest of the crew, having
overhauled the cutting-falls attached to the masthead, proceeded to man
the windlass.
The ship was now hove-to, and presently the sea would become red with
blood, and a school of sharks for the next few hours would voraciously
devour the pieces of fat which got adrift, but never touching the
flesh of the whale itself. The work of removing the blubber was called
“cutting in,” and the first operation was to use the spade on the lard
between the eye and the pectoral fin. A large hook was then passed
through and connected to the tackles, one hand lowering himself down
for the purpose on to the dead whale, being careful not to let the
sharks get a chance at him. The windlass then began to revolve, and
assisted by spades, the blubber was separated from the carcase, and
then stowed in the ship’s hold. The blubber after being cut into slips
was then placed in the boilers in order to extract the spermaceti and
the sperm-oil, the refuse being utilized as the fuel for the furnace
in boiling, giving a clear, fierce flame. This boiling process was
technically known among whaling men as “trying out,” and on a dark
night following the day’s hunting, the sea would witness the strange
sight of a vessel exuding clouds of smoke, and flames bursting out
illuminating ship and rigging, whilst the vessel still went sailing
along and weird, stained figures with strange implements worked away
near the fires. At a date long before ever a steamer’s funnel was
seen on the southern ocean, a British man-of-war once came across a
British whaling ship thus engaged, and became alarmed at this flaming
picture. Coming up so as to speak the whaler, the naval vessel hailed
and inquired what the crew were doing. The latter’s master replied
laconically, “Trying.” “Trying?” repeated the man-of-war’s captain.
“Trying? Trying what? To set your ship on fire?”
All the same there was danger during this boiling if a sea or shower of
rain caused the oil, already highly heated, to reach the fires below.
But if all went well, the oil was eventually placed in the cooler
adjoining the try-works, transferred to casks and stowed in the hold.
Three days was the average time for “cutting in,” “trying out” and
getting into casks the clear oil of the biggest species of whale.
Every service has its own particular adherents and experts, but there
was a divided opinion amongst sailormen concerning these ships. The
clipper seaman was accustomed to the steady routine of a well-run
vessel; and unless he were a deserter, or for some reason was without
a ship, he was not attracted by the whaler with its long spells of
comparative idleness, its strenuous spells of disagreeable work, and
its long voyages of several years. On the other hand, the master of
the whaling ship was not anxious to take the clipper sailor. Provided
the whaler had its experienced mates, its skilled harpooners too, it
was preferable to train a raw crew than sign on a lot of disgruntled
hard-case fellows who would cause trouble during those long, monotonous
days away from land.
But the sea always has called men to leave the land, and to some
there was an especial appeal to adventure which only a voyage in
these whalers held out: for it combined the love of fighting with
travel right round the world long before steam navigation came into
the sphere of possibility. There were two well-known mottoes which
the inexperienced soon learnt to know. “A dead whale or a stove boat”
warned him that though the whale was an ugly, clumsy, stupid brute
of some seventy tons displacement, yet he was sometimes nearly four
times longer than the length of the whaling boat; so that the vicious
fifteen-foot-wide cachalot’s tail and the twenty-foot jaw of the right
whale were remembered in the advice, “Beware of a sperm’s jaw and a
right whale’s flukes.”
There is on record the incident of three boats having been destroyed
by one blow of the whale’s tail. But a sperm’s great lower jaw with
its twin rows of glistening teeth has snapped off the forward end of
a boat with two of its men with terrifying suddenness. In the year
1819 the American whaling ship _Essex_ of Nantucket had an experience
such as shows the sperm’s strength in an amazing manner. Owen Chase
was the name of the _Essex’s_ mate and he had been left on board in
charge of the ship whilst the master and second mate were out after a
whale. Chase was heading the _Essex_ down towards them when he saw the
sperm lying on the surface and apparently considering the ship. It then
settled just below the surface, as whales do when making an attack. The
cachalot now headed for the _Essex_, so Chase ordered the helm up to
avoid the brute. Unfortunately the ship had too little way on just then
to get out of the attack that was coming; for the sperm struck the ship
on the bow with such a collision as nearly threw all hands on their
faces, the impact being like the striking of the hull against a rock.
This animal had now become the attacker instead of the intended victim,
and after passing right below the ship’s hull, scraping the keel, came
to the surface and exhibited his anger by thrashing the water with his
tail and snapping his jaws. But he had done the necessary damage, and
now the _Essex_ began to sink. Chase started the pump, signalled the
boats to return, and even as he was getting provisions ready for the
boats, along came the whale again at about six knots, flinging the surf
in all directions, thrashing about with his terrible tail, and again
struck the ship on the windward side just below the cathead, so leaving
the bows completely stove in. Thus avenged of man’s insults, the whale
made off to leeward, and was never seen again. But the unfortunate
_Essex_ was utterly done for and soon foundered. The crew then
underwent an appalling experience for ninety days in the boats, so that
some of them died by starvation and the rest kept themselves alive only
by eating their flesh and the flesh of one other who died after the
casting of lots: a dreadful situation that none the less has occurred
more than once in the days of the sailing ship. The mate’s boat was
subsequently picked up by the British brig _India_ of London; and the
captain’s boat a few days later by another whaler named the _Dauphin_.