He flamed at her: "You don't know what you're talking about, Sis. You're
just a girl."
Noll said impatiently: "Don't have one of your rows, now. I'm sick of
'em. Roy, go down in the cabin and stay there...."
"I can't see the boats from there," the boy complained. Noll turned on
him; and Roy backed away and disappeared. Noll watched the boats,
dwindling into specks across the sea.... Beyond he could see, now and
then, the white spouts of the whales. Once a great fluke was lazily
upreared.... Faith watched beside him.
* * * * *
Whether, in the normal course of things, Noll would have carried out
his threat to whip Brander cannot be known. Chance, the dark chance of
the whale-fisheries, intervened.
Tragedy always hangs above a whaling vessel. This must be so when six
men in a puny boat with slivers of iron and steel go out to slay a
creature with the strength of six hundred men. When matters go well,
they strike their whale, the harpoon makes him fast, he runs out his
strength, they haul alongside and prod him with the lance, he dies....
But there are so many ways in which matters may go wrong. The sea is
herself a treacherous hussy, when she consorts with the wind, and
becomes drunk with his caresses. Under his touch she swells and breaks
tempestuously; she writhes and flings herself about.... Her least wave
can, if it chooses, smash the thin sides of a whaleboat and rob the men
in it of their strength and shelter; her gentlest tussle with her
consort wind can overwhelm them....
And if the sea be merciful, there remain her creatures. She is the wide,
blue pasture of the whale; a touch of his flukes, a crunch of his jaw, a
roll of his great bulk is enough to crush out the lives of a score of
men. If he had wit to match his size, he would be invulnerable; as it
is, men with their wits for weapons can strike and kill him in the
waters that are his own. It is rare to encounter a fighting whale, a
creature that deliberately sets itself to destroy the attacking boats;
the tragedies of the whale-fisheries are more often mere incidents,
slight mischances, matters of small importance to the whale....
A little, little thing and men die.
This day, the day when Brander faced Noll Wing and went unscathed, was
bright and fair, with a gentle turbulent wind, and a dancing sea. It was
warm upon the waters; the sun burned down upon them and its glare and
its heat were reflected from them.... The skin of men's faces was
scorched by it. The men, tugging at the oars in the boats, sweated and
strove; the perspiration streamed down their cheeks, trickled along the
straining cords of their necks, slid down their broad chests.... Their
shirts clung to them wetly; they welcomed the flying spray that lashed
them now and then.
The pod of whales was perhaps five miles from the _Sally_ when the boats
were lowered; but the wind was favoring, and its pressure upon the sail
helped them on for a space. When half the distance was covered, the oars
were discarded as the boats swung around with the wind almost dead
astern, and headed straight for the whales' lay. Before they reached the
basking, sporting creatures, the whales sounded; and it was necessary
for the men to lie upon their oars and wait for a full half hour before
the first spout showed the cachalots were back from their browsing in
the ocean caves below. The boats swung around and headed toward them,
sails pulling....
Mr. Ham's boat was in the lead; for that is the right of the mate. The
others were closely bunched behind him; and as they drew near the pod,
they separated somewhat, so that each might strike a whale. Dan'l Tobey
went southward, where a lone bull lay with the waves breaking over his
black bulk. Willis Cox and Tichel swung to the north of the mate, into
the thick of the pod.
The mate marked down his whale; a fat cow that would yield full seventy
barrels. He was steering; Silva, the harpooner, stood in the bow, knee
braced, ready with his irons. The men amidships prepared to bring down
mast and sail at the word, and stow them safely away so that they might
not hinder the battle that would come. The boat drove smoothly on....
Mr. Ham, looking north and south, saw that the others were drawing up
abreast of him, so that they would strike the whales at about the same
time. He thought comfortably that with a little luck they would kill two
whales, or perhaps three. That each boat should kill was too much to be
hoped for.
Then he gave his attention to his own prey. They slipped up on the
basking cow from almost dead astern, slid alongside her; and Mr. Ham
swung hard on the steering oar. The boat came into the wind; he
bellowed:
"Now, Silva; give her iron."
The harpooner moved quick as light, for all the power of the thrust he
put behind his stroke. He sank his first iron; snatched his second,
drove it home as the whale stirred.... Threw overboard the loose line
coiled forward.... The whale ran.
The sail came fluttering down, mast and all; and the four men amidships
rolled it awkwardly, stowed it along the gunwale.... Silva and the mate,
at the same time, were changing places in the boat. Silva, the
harpooning done, would now come into his proper function as
boat-steerer. It is the task of the mates to kill the whales. The boat,
half smothered in canvas, with Silva and Mr. Ham passing from end to
end, and the whale line already running out through the chock in the
bow, was a picture of confusion thrice confounded.
In this confusion, anything was possible; anything might happen. What
did happen was humiliating and ridiculous.
When Silva struck home the harpoons, he flung overboard a length of line
coiled by his knee. This slack line would allow the whale to run free
while the sail was coming down and he and the mate were changing places.
He threw it overboard--and failed to mark that one loop of it caught on
the point of one of the spare irons in the rack with the lances, at the
bow. He leaped for the stern, groped past Mr. Ham amidships....
The whale was running. As Mr. Ham reached the bow, the line drew taut.
That loop which had caught across the point of the harpoon was
straightened like a flash.
Now a harpoon is shaped, not like an arrow, but like a slanting blade.
It has a single barb; and the forward side of this barb is razor-sharp.
This razor edge cuts into the blubber and flesh; then the shank of the
barb grips and holds. But the edge that will cut blubber will also cut
hemp....
The loop of whale line was dragged firmly back along this three-inch
blade; it cut through as though a knife had done the trick, and the
whale was gone with two irons and thirty fathoms of line. Mr. Ham and
his boat bobbed placidly upon the water; and Mr. Ham looked, saw what
had happened, and spoke sulphurously. Then looked about to see what
might be done.
It was too late to think of getting fast to another whale. The pod was
gallied; the great creatures were fleeing. After them went James Tichel
in his boat, the spray sluicing up from her bows. Tichel was fast; the
whale was running with him.... Mr. Ham looked from Tichel for the other
boats. He saw Dan'l Tobey in distress. A whale had risen gently under
them, opening the seams of their craft; and they were half full of water
and sinking. They had cut.
Willis Cox had hold of a whale; and this one had sounded. Ham saw Willis
in the bow, watching the line that went straight down from the chock
into the water. This line was running out like a whip-lash, though
Willis put on it all the strain it would bear without dragging the
boat's bow under. It ran down and down....
Mr. Ham rowed across; and Willis called to him: "Big fellow. But he's
taken one tub."
"Give him to me," Mr. Ham said.
Willis shook his head. "I'd like to handle him. Get me the line from Mr.
Tobey's boat. He's mine."
Mr. Ham grinned. "All right; if you're minded to work...." He swung
quickly to where Dan'l and his men floated to their waists in water, the
boat under them. "Takin' a swim?" he asked, grinning.