Crossing the Equator.—Barney looking for the “Line.”—Spoke Ship
“Java.”—Spoke Ship “Ontario,” homeward bound.—Writing Letters Home
“under Difficulties.”—Sperm Whales again.—A Fast Boat.—The Red
Flag.—The Flurry.—The Fluke-chain passed.
On the 13th of December, 18—, we crossed the equator in longitude 24°
30´ west. The weather was delightful; pleasant breezes and sunshine;
the heat not uncomfortable, but just enough to make thin clothing
desirable. Old Neptune did not favor us with a visit, although rather
fearfully expected by some. This practice, we believe, has become
obsolete, and we rejoice heartily at it, for a more barbarous one
never was invented.
Barney was very anxiously and busily engaged during the middle and
morning watches, and most of the day, in looking for the “line” as
we crossed it. He had talked of nothing else for several days, and
was keeping a bright look-out for it, losing his watch below for the
purpose. But he was doomed to disappointment. No “line” was visible
when we crossed the equator, and poor Barney went below, when the
announcement was made that we were south of it, muttering to himself,
“It is certainly strange; I have often seen it on the maps, and I
can’t imagine how we crossed it without seeing it.” Barney found out
his error before the voyage was up.
The same day we saw the first whale-ship at sea, the ship “Java,” of
Fairhaven, Captain Thompson. She, like ourselves, was bound for the
Pacific. Had taken no whales as yet.
On the twentieth of the same month, while in company with the Java,
we spoke the “Ontario,” of Sag Harbor, bound home, with a full
cargo of whale oil. Paper, pens, and ink were now in great demand,
all eager to send letters home. And now a great many of those who
attempted writing for the first time found out the difficulty, we
might almost say folly, of attempting to write legibly at sea. We had
by this time, from having practiced it daily in keeping a journal,
acquired the _knack_, though at first our efforts in that line
were really astounding, to us at all events. Even now it is hard
deciphering the marks we first “entered in our log,” they having a
closer resemblance to the tracks of an old turkey who had stepped in
a pool of ink and walked over paper than any thing else we can liken
them to.
But we must hasten, as the good ship “Ontario” is waiting
anxiously for her master to return on board, that she may be
on her way “homeward bound.” Her crew were pitying us poor
fellows—outward-bounders on a long voyage—while we were vainly
endeavoring to conjecture how soon the time would arrive when we
should be homeward bound with a full ship, and could look with an eye
of pity upon poor outward-bound whalemen.
The morning of the twenty-second commences with light breezes from
the northeast; pleasant weather. Suddenly, about 9 A.M., the monotony
is broken by the welcome cry from masthead,
“T-h-e-r-e she b-l-o-w-s! T-h-e-r-e she b-l-o-w-s!”
“Where away?”
“Four points off the lee bow, sir.”
“How far off?”
“About two miles, sir.”
“What does it look like?”
“Sperm whales, sir.”
“Ay, ay; sing out every time you holler.”
By this time the captain was aloft, and, on taking a view with his
spy-glass at the “spouts,” sings out, “Sperm whales! Call all hands;
bear a hand there, and get your boats ready.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” is the reply. All hands are called, and the different
crews stand by their respective boats, “all eager for the fray,” and
expressing their determination to capture a whale before returning to
the ship, taking for their motto, “A dead whale or a stove boat.”
“Lower away the boats!” shouts the captain, as he descends to the
deck. They are instantly lowered, followed by the crews, and now
comes the tug of war. Each boat sets her sail, and the men pull in
good earnest. While they are skimming the waves the whale is still
spouting, and all are anxious to reach him before his “spoutings
are out.” It frequently happens, when in pursuit, that, just at the
moment the boat-steerer “stands up” to strike the whale, he suddenly
descends; but experienced whalemen can generally tell the direction
they take while down by the position of the “flukes” when going down.
The boats are then pulled in the direction the whale is supposed
to have taken. They also judge of the distance the whale will go
under water by the velocity of the animal when last seen. After the
boats have pulled what is judged to be the proper distance, they
“heave up,” or cease pulling. A large whale, when not “gallied,” or
frightened, generally spouts from sixty to seventy times before going
down, and remains down from fifty to seventy minutes.
The boats have now got close on. Those left on board the ship are
watching with breathless anxiety, occasionally exclaiming, “Oh pull,
boys! do pull!” Meantime the men in the boats are bending back to it,
but the bow boat has the advantage; she is the head boat. Mr. K. is
jumping up and down in the stern, crying, “Once more, my hearties;
give it to her! a few more strokes, and we have him; pull, my
children! why don’t you break your backbones, you rascals? so there
you are now; that’s the stroke for a thousand pounds; start her, but
keep cool; cucumbers is the word; easy, easy; only start her! why
don’t you snap your oars, you rascals? bite something, you dogs! easy
now, but pull; oh, you’re all asleep! stop snoring, and pull; pull,
will ye? pull, can’t ye? pull, won’t ye? pull, and start your eyes
out! that’s it; now you start her.” Thus, one moment coaxing and the
next scolding; but no one heeds him, as all are bent on taking the
whale. “Stand up!” shouted he; and the boat-steerer rose to his feet,
grasped his iron, and, as the boat neared the monster, “Give it to
him!” is the next cry, and “chock to the socket” went the first iron,
followed as quick as thought by the second. ONE DEAFENING CHEER, and
the cry resounded over the waters, “_We are fast! we are fast!_” The
sea, which but a moment before lay still and quiet, with scarcely
a ripple to break its even surface, is now lashed into foam by the
writhings of the whale. “Stern all!” shouts the officer. The boat
is immediately backed, and removed from present danger; the officer
takes the head of the boat, and the boat-steerer takes the steering
oar to manage the boat; the whale is sounding, and the line is
running through the “chocks,” or groove in the head of the boat, with
the rapidity of lightning, and as it passes round the loggerhead it
ignites from the heat produced by friction, but the tub-oarsman is
continually dashing water upon it in the line-tub. The whale sounds
deep, and the line is almost out; a signal is made to the other
boats, which are coming down. They come near enough, and bend on
their lines; but presently it ceases running out and slackens; the
whale is coming to the surface again. All hands now commence to “haul
in line” as fast as he rises, and the boat-steerer coils it away, as
fast as hauled in, in the stern sheets. He soon breaks water, and
the boat is gradually hauled up to him. Another boat now fastens,
and he again attempts to sound; but, being weakened by loss of blood,
he is soon at the surface again. The boats now draw alongside, and
the officer of the first boat fast prepares his lance. He darts it
for his vitals (just behind the fin), and the first one proves fatal,
for in a moment more he shows the “red flag;” the blood flows freely
from the spout-hole in a thick, dark stream; the sea is stained for
some distance, and the men in the boats are covered with the bloody
spray, but glory in it.
[Illustration: “GIVE IT TO HIM.”]
[Illustration: TOWING A DEAD WHALE.]
The monster now attempts to sound, but is obliged to keep to the
surface, and he soon goes in what is technically termed by whalemen
his “flurry,” but what landsmen would call his dying agonies—and
terrible they are. The sea is beaten into a perfect foam by his
writhings and contortions; and, after a short time, as if with
accelerated strength, he starts off with lightning speed, describing
in his course circles, each growing smaller than the preceding one,
and his speed slackening, until he finally gives one monster throe
and dies, rolling fin out, with his head to the sun.[2]
The battle is now ended, and the “huge leviathan lies a victim to the
superior power and mind of man.”
Now that life is extinct, a hole is cut in his head, the line made
fast, and all the boats “hook on” and tow him to the ship, where
he is made fast by means of a fluke-chain being passed around his
tail, which chain is brought to the forward part of the ship, and
passed through a “hawse-hole,” and made fast to the “bowsprit bits,”
bringing the whale with his head pointing aft, and in a proper
position to commence the operation of “cutting in.”
[2] This is stated to be a fact by old and experienced whalemen, who
assert they have never seen a sperm whale die in any other manner.
This peculiarity we have never heard accounted for.