BOATS—HAND HARPOON—BLUBBER LANCE—GUN HARPOON—MANNER OF TAKING THE WHALE,
&c.
“As when enclosing harpooneers assail,
In wintry seas, the slumbering Whale;
Soon as the _harpoons_ pierce the scaly side,
He groans, he darts impetuous down the tide;
And rack’d all o’er with lacerating pain,
He flies remote beneath the flood in vain.”
The first and principal thing, my son, in the whaling ships, are the
boats, which are made to float lightly upon the water; their bow and
stern are made sharp, and they are capable of being rowed with great
speed, and readily turned round,—and are of such size as to carry six
or seven men and seven or eight hundred weight of whale-lines. The
instruments used in the capture are the harpoon and lance; besides
these they have used occasionally the harpoon-gun, which is a kind of
swivel. This gun was invented in the year 1731: being however difficult
and somewhat dangerous in its application, it is now seldom used. One of
the most essential particulars in the Dutch whale ships is the “_Crow’s
Nest_,” a sort of sentry box made of canvass or light wood, pitched on
the main-top-mast head. This is the post of honor, where the master or
officer of the watch often sits for hours provided with a spy glass, a
speaking trumpet, and a rifle gun. As soon as they have arrived in those
seas which are the haunt of the whale, the crew are keeping watch day
and night;—seven boats are kept hanging by the sides of the ship ready
to be launched in a few minutes. The captain or some principal officer,
seated in the crow’s nest, surveys the waters, and the instant he sees
the back of the huge animal, gives notice to the watch who are stationed
upon the deck, part of whom leap into the boat, and are followed by a
second boat, a harpooner being in each. Owing to those mighty fields and
mountains of ice, the dangers of the Northern or Greenland whale fishery
is ten times greater than are those of this country, as our whale ships
take these fish upon the coast of Japan, in the Pacific Ocean, and upon
the Brazil Banks, and always in the open sea. There are several rules
among whalers which are observed in approaching this fish, to prevent as
far as possible the animal from taking the alarm. As the whale is dull
of hearing, but quick in sight, the boat steerer always endeavors to get
behind it. Smooth, careful rowing is always requisite, and sometimes
sculling is practised. Whenever a whale lies on the surface of the
water, unconscious of the approach of its enemies, the hardy fisher rows
directly upon it; and an instant before the boat touches it, buries his
harpoon in its back: the wounded whale, in the surprise and agony of the
moment, makes a convulsive effort to escape; then, my dear son, is the
moment of danger. The boat is subjected to the most violent blows from
its head or its fins, but particularly from its ponderous tail, which
sometimes sweeps the air with such tremendous fury, that both boat and
men are exposed to one common destruction. The head of the whale is
avoided, because it cannot be penetrated with the harpoon; but any part
of the body between the head and tail, will admit of the full length
of the instrument. The utmost care is necessary in every person in the
boat, while the lines are running out—fatal consequences having sometimes
arisen from the entanglement of the line while the whale is going with
amazing swiftness. A sailor from Greenock, in 1818, happening to step
into the centre of a coil of running rope, had his foot entirely carried
off; another belonging to the ship Henrietta had carelessly cast some
part of the line under his feet, when a sudden dart of the fish made it
twist round his body, and he had but just time to cry out, “Clear away
the line! O dear!” when he was cut almost asunder, dragged overboard and
never more seen. The immense distances to which whales will run is very
surprising; a harpoon was thrown from the boat of the ship Resolution, in
1812, into one, which run out 10,440 yards, or about six miles of line.
[Illustration: CATCHING WHALE IN THE ARCTIC SEAS.]
Every boat fast to a living whale carries a flag, and the ships to which
such boats belong, also wear a flag, until the whale is either killed
or makes its escape. These signals serve to indicate to surrounding
ships the exclusive title of the “fast ship” to the entangled whale,
and to prevent their interference, excepting in the way of assistance
in the capture. A full grown whale generally occupies the whole of the
boats belonging to one ship in its capture, which sometimes takes the
whole day; they have been taken in half an hour from the throwing of the
harpoon. The ease with which some whales are killed, is truly surprising;
but with others it is equally astonishing that neither line nor harpoon
can effect their capture. Some escape with four or five harpoons, while
others equally large have been killed with a single harpoon; indeed,
my son, whales have been taken by the entanglement of a line, without
any harpoon at all. One was taken by the crew of the ship Nautilus, in
1814, by its accidentally having taken the line into its mouth, and by
the compression of its lips, they having cut the end of the line from a
whale which they had just killed; and as it was sinking in the water,
another one engaged in feeding was advancing with its mouth wide open,
accidentally caught this line between its extended jaws, which induced it
to shut its mouth and grasp the line so firmly as to effect its capture.
A whale sometimes causes danger by proving to be alive after having
exhibited every symptom of death. Capt. Scoresby mentions the instance
of one which appeared so decidedly dead, that he himself had leaped on
the tail, and was putting a rope through it, when he suddenly felt him
sinking from beneath him. He made a spring towards a boat that was some
yards distant, and grasping its side was drawn on board. The fish then
moved forwards, reared his tail aloft, and shook it with such prodigious
violence, that it could have been heard for several miles off. After a
few minutes of this violent struggle he rolled on his side and expired.
The many accidents which have taken place in the Greenland and
Spitzbergen whale fishery, even under the direction of the most
experienced mariners are lamentable and manifold; and I will now,
William, relate to you some of the many which have occurred to the
English and Dutch whalers. The most common is that of a ship being beset
and sometimes dashed to pieces by the collision of those mighty masses
or mountains of ice with which northern seas are continually filled. The
Blecker, Capt. Pitt, was driven against the ice with such violence that
in an instant all her rigging was dashed in pieces; the crew, however,
escaped upon the ice, and after a few days were taken off by a Dutch
ship. Capt. Bile, some years afterwards, lost a ship richly laden, which
went down suddenly; after which the crew wandered in boats over the sea
for fourteen days before they were taken up. Thirteen other vessels
perished the same year in those seas. Three years afterwards, Capt. Bile
lost a second ship, the crew having just time to save themselves on the
ice.
William here asked his father if whale ships were not sometimes lost
at sea? Yes, my son, many fishing-ships as well as merchantmen have
foundered at sea, and have never been heard from since their departure. I
remember, father, says William, a piece of poetry which aunt Mary learnt
me a long time since on the loss of a vessel.
Deep in the silent waters,
A thousand fathoms low,
A stately ship lies perishing,
She foundered long ago.
There were blessings poured upon her,
When from her port she sailed,
And prayers and anxious weeping,
Went with her o’er the sea.
But how that fine ship perished,
None knew, save him on high;
No island heard her signal,
No other bark was nigh.
We only know from Boston
She sailed, far o’er the main;
We only know to Boston
She never came again.
You will find, my son, by referring to Irving’s Sketch Book, a most
thrilling description of a wreck at sea.
The whale-fishery is not more distinguished for examples of sudden peril
and besetment than for unexpected deliverance from the most alarming
situations.
“Three Dutch ships, after having completed a rich cargo on the northern
coast of Spitzbergen, were at once so completely beset, that the crews in
general urged the necessity of proceeding over the ice, and endeavoring
to reach some other vessel. The captain of one of the three, however,
strongly urged the obligation of doing all in their power to preserve
such valuable property, and they agreed to make a further trial; when,
in twenty days, the ice opened, and they had a happy voyage homeward.
The Dame Maria Elizabeth, had set out early for the fishery, and was
so fortunate as, by the 30th of May, to have taken fourteen whales.
Then, however, a violent gale from the south blew in the ice with such
violence, that the captain found himself completely beset, and saw two
Dutch vessels and one English go to pieces at a little distance. At
length a brisk gale from the north gave him the hope of being extricated;
when presently he was involved in a dense fog, which froze so thick upon
the sails and rigging, that the ship appeared a mere floating iceberg.
As the atmosphere cleared, the faint light, and the birds winging their
way to the southward, announced the closing in of winter. Unable to
make any progress, the seamen looked forward in despair to the prospect
of spending the season in that frozen latitude. They had nearly come
to the end of their provisions, and famine was already staring them in
the face, when they thought of broiling the whales’ tails, which proved
very eatable, and even salutary against the scurvy. Thus they hoped to
exist till the middle of February, beyond which the prospect was very
dismal; but on the 12th November there arose a violent north wind, which
dispersed the ice. Their hopes being now awakened, every effort was
strained; and on the 18th a north-wester brought on so heavy a rain, that
next day they were entirely clear of the ice, and had a prosperous voyage
homeward.
Capt. Broerties, in the Guillamine, arrived on the 22d June at the great
bank of northern ice, where he found fifty vessels moored and busied
in the fishery. He began it prosperously: the very next day indeed he
killed a large whale. The day after, a tempest drove in the ice with such
violence that twenty-seven of the ships were beset, of which ten were
lost. Broerties, on the 25th July, seeing some appearance of an opening,
caused his ship to be warped through by the boats; but, after four days’
labor, she found herself, with four other ships in a narrow basin,
enclosed by icy barriers on every side.
On the 1st August the ice began to gather thick, and a violent storm
driving it against the vessels, placed them in the greatest peril for a
number of days. On the 20th a dreadful gale arose from the north-east,
in which the Guillamine suffered very considerable damage. In this awful
tempest, out of the five ships two went down, while a third had sprung
a number of leaks. The crews were taken on board of the two remaining
barks, which they greatly incommoded. On the 25th all the three were
completely frozen in, when it was resolved to send a party of twelve men
to seek aid from four vessels which a few days before had been driven
into a station at a little distance; but by the time of their arrival two
of these had been dashed to pieces, and the other two were in the most
deplorable condition. Two Hamburgh ships, somewhat farther removed, had
perished in a similar manner. Meantime the former came in sight of Gale
Hamkes’ Land, in Greenland, and the tempest still pushing them gradually
to the southward, Iceland at length appeared on their left. The two more
distant ships found a little opening, through which they contrived to
escape. The crews of the three others were beginning to hope that they
might at last be equally fortunate, when, on the 13th September, a whole
mountain of ice fell upon the Guillamine. The men, half naked, leaped
out upon the frozen surface, saving with difficulty a small portion of
their provisions. The broken remnants of the vessel were soon buried
under enormous piles of ice. Of the two other ships, one commanded by
Jeldert Janz had just met a similar fate, and there remained only that
of one other, to which all now looked for refuge. By leaping from one
fragment of ice to another, the men, not without danger, contrived to
reach this vessel, which, though in extreme distress, received them on
board. Shattered and overcrowded, she was obliged immediately after to
accommodate fifty other seamen, the crew of a Hamburg ship which had
just gone down, the chief harpooner and twelve of the mariners having
perished. These numerous companies, squeezed into one vessel, suffered
every kind of distress. Famine, in its most direful forms, began to
stare them in the face. All remoter fears, however, gave way, when on
the 11th October, the vessel went to pieces in the same sudden manner
as the others, leaving to the unfortunate sailors scarcely time enough
to leap upon the ice with their remaining stores. With great difficulty
they reached a field of some extent, and contrived with their torn sails
to rear a sort of covering; but, sensible that, by remaining on this
desolate spot, they must certainly perish, they saw no safety except
in scrambling over the frozen surface to the coast of Greenland, which
was in view. With infinite toil they effected their object, and happily
met some inhabitants, who received them hospitably, and regaled them
with dried fish and seals’ flesh. Thence they pushed across that dreary
region till they succeeded at length, on the 13th March, in reaching the
Danish settlement of Frederickshaab. Here they were received with the
utmost kindness, and, being recruited from their fatigues, took the first
opportunity of embarking for Denmark, whence they afterward sailed to
their native country.
The Davis’s Strait fishery has also been marked with very frequent and
fatal shipwrecks. In 1814 the Royalist, Capt. Edmonds, perished with
all her crew; and in 1817, the London, Capt. Mathews, shared the same
fate. The only account of either of these ships ever received was from
Capt. Bennet of the Venerable, who, on the 15th April, saw the London in
a tremendous storm, lying to windward of an extensive chain of icebergs,
among which, it is probable she was dashed to pieces that very evening.
Large contributions were raised at Hull for the widows and families of
the seamen who had suffered on these melancholy occasions.
Among accidents on a smaller scale, one of the most frequent is, that of
boats employed in pursuit of the whale being overtaken by deep fogs or
storms of snow, which separate them from the ship, and never allow them
to regain it. A fatal instance of this kind occurred to the Ipswich,
Capt. Gordon; four of whose boats, after a whale had been caught, and
even brought to the ship’s side, were employed on a piece of ice hauling
in the line, when a storm suddenly arose, caused the vessel to drift
away, and prevented her, notwithstanding the utmost efforts, from ever
coming within reach of the unfortunate crews who composed the greater
part of her establishment. Mr. Scoresby mentions several casualties of
the same nature which occurred to his boats’ companies, all of whom,
however, in the end, happily found their way back. One of the most
alarming cases was that of fourteen men who were left on a small piece
of floating ice, with a boat wholly unable to withstand the surrounding
tempest; but amid their utmost despair they fell in with the Lively of
Whitby, and were most cordially received on board.
The source, however, of the most constant alarm to the whale-fisher is
connected with the movements of that powerful animal, against which,
with most unequal strength, he ventures to contend. Generally, indeed,
the whale, notwithstanding his immense strength, is gentle, and even
passive; seeking, even when he is most hotly pursued, to escape from his
assailants, by plunging into the lowest depths of the ocean. Sometimes,
however, he exerts his utmost force in violent and convulsive struggles;
and every thing with which, when thus enraged, he comes into collision,
is dissipated or destroyed in an instant. The Dutch writers mention Capt.
Vienkes of the ship Barley Mill, who, after a whale had been struck, was
hastening with a second boat to the support of the first. The fish,
however, rose, and with its head struck the boat so furiously, that it
was shivered to pieces, and Vienkes was thrown with its fragments on the
back of the huge animal. Even then this bold mariner darted a second
harpoon into the body of his victim; but unfortunately he got entangled
in the line and could not extricate himself, while the other party were
unable to approach near enough to save him. At last, however, the harpoon
was disengaged, and he swam to the boat.
Mr. Scoresby, in one of his earliest voyages, saw a boat thrown several
yards into the air, from which it fell on its side, plunging the crew
into the sea. They were happily taken up, when only one was found to have
received a severe contusion. Capt. Lyons of the Raith of Leith, on the
Labrador coast, in 1802, had a boat thrown fifteen feet into the air; it
came down into the water with its keel upwards, yet all the men except
one were saved.
The crew of Mr. Scoresby the elder, in 1807, had struck a whale, which
soon reappeared, but in a state of such violent agitation that no one
durst approach it. The captain courageously undertook to encounter it
in a boat by himself, and succeeded in striking a second harpoon; but
another boat having advanced too close, the animal brandished its tail
with so much fury, that the harpooner, who was directly under, judged it
most prudent to leap into the sea. The tail then struck the very place
that he had left, and cut the boat entirely asunder, with the exception
of two planks, which were saved by having a coil of ropes laid over
them; so that had he remained, he must have been dashed to pieces.
Happily all the others escaped injury. The issues, however, were not
always so fortunate. The Aimwell of Whitby in 1810, lost three men out of
seven, and, in 1812, the Henrietta of the same port lost four out of six,
by the boats being upset, and the crews thrown into the sea.
In 1809, one of the men belonging to the Resolution of Whitby, struck a
sucking whale; after which the mother, being seen wheeling rapidly round
the spot, was eagerly watched. Mr. Scoresby, being on this occasion in
the capacity of harpooner in another boat, was selecting a situation for
the probable reappearance of the parent fish, when suddenly an invisible
blow stove in fifteen feet of the bottom of his barge, which filled with
water and instantly sank. The crew were saved.
[Illustration]