Читать книгу A Whaleman's Wife - Frank Thomas Bullen - Страница 10

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A DISASTROUS DAY

Undoubtedly there was a certain fierce delight in Mr. Court’s mind, as well as great relief, when he fled precipitately on deck from the presence of the terrible man who was his present commander. As any other man of his abilities and bravery would have done, he felt a certain measure of contempt for himself that he should be so meekly subservient to one whom he believed in his heart of hearts to be no braver or more skilful than he was himself; but the deeply ingrained habit of discipline prevented that feeling from reaching its logical conclusion. And, unlike the Dago, he, being an Anglo-Saxon, also felt a certain compassion for a man stricken down by accident in the performance of his duty, and utterly unwilling to take the smallest advantage thereof. More, in some dim manner he felt that if his part were well played now, there might be some alleviation in the lot of that pale saint (for in such a light had the mate come to regard Priscilla—you cannot keep family secrets on board a ship); and so, fired with all the best ambitions that can energise a man, he sprang on deck, every sense keenly alert.

The air was full of wailing cries of ‘Bl-o-o-o-o-w.’ All hands were waiting ready by their boats with an air of expectation, as if each man was taking the highest personal interest in the outcome of the present adventure. The second mate, standing on the little bridge over the wheel conning the ship, no sooner saw his superior than he said, ‘School o’ th’ biggest sparm whale ever I sot eyes on, sir. Ain’t one under a hundred an’ thutty bar’l, I swar. An’ thar’s one—ef he ain’t the father of all the whales ever bo’n I ain’t ever seen one before.’

For all answer the mate shouted ‘’Way boats! Down from aloft.’ And for the next few minutes the whirring of patent sheaves, as the graceful boats ran waterwards, the hoarse, gasping orders given by the boat-headers, and the sharp concussions in the water, filled the air. What a scene of furious energy manifested by men who a little while before were lolling uncouthly about as if incapable of any exertion whatever, under no matter what stimulus or provocation! Within five minutes the ship was deserted by all her crew, save only the discontented half-dozen whose unhappy lot it was to abide by the stuff and labour monotonously to keep the ship as far to windward of the arena of battle as might be. In every man’s heart there was a deep sensation of thankfulness that one ominous figure was absent from this fray—that for once they were free to do their best unhampered by the paralysing knowledge that, whatever they did, their efforts would surely be rewarded by savage treatment which they must endure, because no safe way of rebellion presented itself. How the rowers did lay to their oars! How keenly when, a sufficient weather gauge being reached, the sails were set and the boats bounded blithesomely over the blue waves under the stress of the freshening breeze, did every man peer forward for sight of their gigantic prey; and how fervently each harpooner hoped that he might be privileged to strike the first blow!

I have never been able to understand how it is that all other seamen seem to have cherished contemptuous feelings towards the whale-fishers. That they always have done so is undoubtedly true, and possibly the foundation of so utterly false a sentiment may have been that it is but seldom that ordinary seafarers have been able to witness the mighty conflict between men and whales. Usually when sailors meet whalers it is at a time when the latter are conserving their energies against the coming of the next great fight, or are greasily labouring to harvest their spoil, an occupation which needs much true appreciation of the romantic to see anything in it at all worthy of admiration. In the rare cases that have occurred when sailors have been in at the death of a whale, they have been simply stricken dumb with admiring wonder, and thenceforward have enjoyed a vicarious popularity as the retailers of yarns in the dog-watches to a gaping but utterly sceptical crowd of their shipmates.

So, swiftly the four boats sped whalewards, the mate always ahead, for his intense nervous energy had communicated itself to his crew, who, not content with the pace being made under the pressure of the wind, had each stealthily seized a paddle, and were thrusting them deeply into the hissing waters alongside at every opportunity that was presented, as if their overmastering impatience could not let them rest for one instant. Strange to say, on this occasion, although it seemed to the mate that, large as the whales were, they should have long ago made their periodical descent, they did not do so, but lolled about on the bright sea-surface in an orderly series of rows which converged, until at the apex, as it were, of the whole school lay the gigantic leader of whom the second mate had spoken in such breathless terms of admiration. There could at last be no doubt about the matter: that school of whales had seen their aggressors coming, and for some mysterious reason had decided that on this occasion they would not obey their natural promptings bidding them flee, but would await the foe and do battle with him in befitting manner, with never a doubt as to the issue.

The reason for this strange behaviour could not, of course, be known to the mate, since even the keenest of human observers has never been able to penetrate the motives influencing what we are pleased to call the ‘lower animals’ in their pursuance of any abnormal course of behaviour; although there can be no doubt that had he known why the whales thus awaited him, the knowledge would not have caused him to alter his procedure in any way. For he was a perfectly brave man, whom no amount of prospective peril could turn aside from what he considered to be the path of duty. True, he was but an ordinary example of the New England whale-fisher; but it must ever be remembered that this wonderful calling—i.e., hunting the sperm whale—of necessity bred a most extraordinary type of man, having as it did the grand old Puritan stock to work upon.

So Mr. Court led his little flotilla into battle, every man watching with keenest anticipation the gently heaving masses of the mighty foes, and wondering much what so unusual an attitude portended. Some of the fellows felt a queer clutching sensation at the pit of the stomach as every bound of the buoyant craft brought them nearer those silent, listless-looking whales. But it was not fear; it was but the nerve-centres notifying the brain to call up all the energies of the body to face the unknown, and it would at the first crash of battle be replaced by a tautening of every muscle, an exaltation of spirit heady as that produced by wine, and a great, if dimly understood, sense of the power of man in the world.

A short, blast-like order, and Mr. Court, gripping his steer-oar fiercely, bent his body almost double and swung his boat’s head round at right angles to the leader of the great company. His harpooner, Gonsalvo, one thigh firmly pressed into the ‘clumsy cleat,’ raised the harpoon high overhead, and a hissing expiration burst from his clenched teeth as the weapon flew from his hand and buried itself up to the hitches in the whale’s broad side. One could see the convulsive quiver run through that vast body as the stab was felt; but Gonsalvo did not look; he snatched up his second iron and hurled it after the first to such good purpose that it buried itself like the first one—only about a foot higher up the body. Then, turning coolly round, the gratified assailant cast adrift the backstays of the mast and proceeded to roll up the sail as if quietly coming alongside a wharf. Meanwhile the boat had swung up into the wind and lay side by side with the whale, at a distance of about twenty feet. Hoarsely the mate encouraged his crew in their efforts to get the hampering mast unshipped, keeping at the same time a wary eye upon his prey. He was astonished beyond measure to see that the whale made no sign beyond that quivering of the skin before spoken of, but lay as if meditating upon this strange event. Then without further sign the whale sank, sank with hardly a ripple, and for a moment or two all was quiet, just giving Mr. Court an opportunity to glance around and see that his lieutenants were all busily engaged similarly to himself.

There was no lack of readiness or watchfulness; but suddenly a vast black mass appeared on the other side of the boat, and with a perfectly indescribable motion turned a somersault in the air, just missing, in the downward sweep of that awful tail, the frail boat by an inch or so. But the steer-oar was snapped off soundlessly, like a radish severed by the sweeping blow of a knife, leaving the boat helpless. Mr. Court’s orders flew; his men seconded him nobly, pulling first on this side, then on that, to turn the boat; but, bereft of that great oar aft, her movements were slow and hesitating. Then uprose that massive head, with jaws wide extended, which, taking the boat amidships, crashed through her as if she had been a stick of celery, destroying utterly two men and seriously injuring the mate. His right arm and leg were broken, and his whole side lacerated in appalling fashion.

In the suddenness of the shock the mate was mercifully spared the full realisation of his injuries; but the absence of pain only made his brain more active, and his mental agony was extreme. For not only had he been the victim of a complete defeat, but he did not know how matters were proceeding with his subordinates, and he feared the worst. Then as he paddled mechanically, conscious of a whelming drowsiness stealing over him, his left arm touched something hard—an empty line-tub. With one last flash of energy he rove his arm through its becket and passed immediately into blissful unconsciousness, that merciful suspension of the ‘suffering’ faculties that has been Divinely provided to smooth the way from life to death of shrinking, sensitive flesh. His poor fellows, those who were left, were fortunately uninjured, but thoroughly demoralised at the terrible shock they had received. They also were able to support themselves amid the whirling waters upon fragments of the broken boat; but, of course, like their officer, in a most precarious and tentative fashion.

And round about them, in leisurely fashion, as if contemplating the result of his strategical effort, swam the whale, neither doing nor attempting to do them any harm, but putting them in serious danger of drowning from the abnormal whirling of the water which the passage of his monstrous bulk effected. Occasionally, too, there would appear, cutting the water in erratic directions, the tall dorsal fin or ‘gaff topsail’ of a great shark, hunger-driven almost to madness by the taint of blood in the water, but (as yet) scrupulously respecting the bodily integrity of the hapless men still living. Overhead flitted restlessly a few birds, screaming mournfully, as if they realised that in the effort of providing a great banquet for them man had utterly failed this time. But of everything except the fast-weakening desire of living the principal actors in this stormy scene were utterly oblivious, and thus for a while we must leave them.

The other three boats, arriving upon the scene of conflict almost simultaneously, saw their leader get fast to the monarch of the school. And had they obeyed the regular rule, well known to them all, they would certainly have deputed the fourth boat to lie off and watch events, in case of need for assistance. But, freed from the baleful overglance of the skipper and fired to utmost emulation of each other as they were, it was easy to forget so necessary a precaution, and consequently, each singling out his whale, the three boats rushed to the attack, all harpooning about the same time. At once the scene became almost indescribable. For the stricken whales, unlike their leader, each fought with Titanic energy to free himself from the galling weapon, rearing monstrous heads high in the air at one moment, at the next flourishing with sufficient force to smash in a ship’s side their mighty tails, the supple corners of which actually snapped like whip-lashes from the vigour with which they were lashed to and fro. Also the loose whales, apparently with some indefinite object in view of rendering aid, glided about and between the combatants, making it impossible for the men to do what they tried and converting the sea into the semblance of the surface of a huge cauldron of water fiercely boiling.

Yet such was the skill and energy displayed by these hardly bestead hunters that for a considerable time they all escaped damage, although they often did so by a couple of inches only. At last, as they were weakening, the first calamity came, sudden and complete. The third mate’s boat was towed swiftly in a certain direction (and so furious had been the fight that the sail had not yet been secured) until the crew found themselves between two ominously revolving bodies, one that of the whale to which the fourth mate was fast, and the other their own quarry. There was no room wherein to use oars, nor was there time had there been place, when the two huge carcasses, rolling in opposite directions, crashed against the tender shell of the boat, which collapsed into matchwood, while the crew leapt madly upon the shiny, slippery bodies of the monsters, and, slithering downwards, disappeared in the smother of foam around.

With a groan of regret the fourth mate cut from his whale, and, regardless of his own immediate danger, incited his crew with all his powers to pick up their shipmates. And they did strive, literally for dear life. The huge bulk of the whales brushing past them, the frantic motions of their boat, apparently harassed them not at all. Intent upon the orders of the erect, keenly observant figure at the stern, they pulled, backed, peaked oars, or lay still as commanded, and while in the full tide of their tremendous labours were suddenly hoisted, as if by some submarine earthquake, upon the uprushing head of a whale ten feet into the air. They were flung in a writhing heap from their thwarts, and when they recovered themselves they were clinging sadly to a wreck, for the boat, although still holding together as to her frame, had her keel or backbone broken in three places, and, full of water, just sufficed to sustain their weary heads occasionally above the sea surface. Even at that dread time the minds of all were bent upon the fate of those whom they had failed to rescue. For themselves they cared nothing; they were comparatively safe with something floatable beneath their uncertain feet; but alas for those who in that tormented whirl of waves had not even a splinter unto which they might cling hopefully.

What of the second mate? Well, some might call him a coward, for although he had got fast like the rest, before three minutes had passed, having witnessed the disaster which had overtaken his senior officer, he had coolly cut his line and withdrawn with all the speed he could command from the arena. One thing, and one only, was in his mind, and that was how he could avoid being entangled in a fight, so that he might, as soon as opportunity offered, rush in and rescue some of the drowning ones. But, as he afterwards said, never in all his fishing had such a task fallen to his lot. For every whale in the school seemed to make for him, and although they did not attack, whales being magnanimous beyond all other powerful and sensible animals, they circled about him with majestic movement, occasionally scarifying the faces of himself and his patient men with the blistering drops from their condensed spoutings as they blew across his boat, and clearly made him understand that he existed only by their favour. And he was fretting his heart to fragments over his inactivity, and wondering how long it would be ere he could emerge from his august environment, and save those shipmates of his whom he knew to be perishing so near. Even then he had no notion of the completeness of the disaster. But his heart failed him as he thought of meeting the tyrant of his life, on that terrible man’s recovery, and endeavouring to explain away so great a failure.

Meanwhile as far as the eye could reach the boat was hemmed in by whales, that with majestic movement circled around their tiny captive, or, perpendicularly erected in the water, protruded their vast cylindrical heads from the surface like symmetrical columns of black rock. Then, as if at a given signal, the great assemblage divided, leaving between their closely packed ranks a lane of clear water. Not an instant was lost by Mr. Winslow; if his hand trembled, in its grip of the steer-oar, his voice did not; if his men looked wistfully at one another and at their gigantic escort, they pulled none the less lustily at the word of command. And presently they came upon a pitiful sight. In an area that might have been covered by a big ship’s mainsail floated listlessly six men, each clinging to some derelict portion of their late vessel’s equipment. None of them appeared able to appreciate their most perilous position; no gasp of fear passed their cracked and blistered lips when the long, quivering body of some ravening shark glided closely past them. No; for them nothing mattered any longer: they had passed beyond the reach of either hope or fear. And had one remembered how painful were their lives, how remote the possibilities of brightness ever lightening their dreary way through the world, the thought would inevitably have compelled admission that it was almost criminal to bring them back again to the suffering they had left behind—especially remembering how full of pain to them would be the process.

Such an idea, however, never occurred to those tender-hearted if ruffianly looking rescuers. Forgetting all their own danger—oblivious, indeed, to anything else but the manifestly urgent needs of the perishing ones they saw around them—they toiled furiously to get the exhausted men into their boat. Nor did they desist until, the gunwale of the boat being just awash, they were warned that any further attempts to pick up men would certainly mean the loss of all, both rescuers and rescued. Six were still a-missing, but that could not be helped, and with the utmost care they moved heavily off towards the ship, which was standing down the wind in their direction. A careful shipkeeper of a whaleship always devotes all his energies, as soon as boats have left, to keeping his vessel to windward of the scene of conflict—a position of advantage whence, when the great fight is over, he may run down with a free sheet and pick up the boats and their gigantic prizes.

So that, although the time seemed interminably long, it was really only a matter of minutes before the boat was alongside the ship and the broken men were being hauled on board. All the time this work was going on the ship was the centre of a vast assemblage of whales, seemingly satisfied that their enemies were now powerless to harm them, and, although majestically refusing to attack a helpless foe, quite determined to let that foe see unmistakably what might be his fate should his late prospective victims become aggressive. No sooner were the rescued men on board than Mr. Winslow, as if he and his crew were machines of iron rather than men of weariable muscles, pushed off from the ship’s side and carefully steering between the bulky bodies of the assembled whales, made the best of their way back to where they hoped to find the remainder of their shipmates. Six were still missing, among them the mate, who since the captain’s accident had endeared himself to all hands. But it really seemed as if their colossal escort knew the errand they were upon, for their progress was hindered in the most extraordinary manner by the whales crowding about them. No assault was made; had it been, however slight, they must all have perished; but it was as if they were incessantly reminded by the whales that forbearance had, even with such magnanimous monsters, its limits, and that while no advantage would be taken of primary helplessness, they (the whalers) would not lightly be permitted to help those who were receiving the due reward of their own aggression.

So, with infinite pains, the second mate and his hardly entreated boat’s crew made their way back to the scene of conflict, and found one man, the mate, still afloat, and possibly alive. They could not be sure of the latter, but took him in on the chance. Further search, although prolonged to the utmost limit of their endurance, failed to show them any more of their lost shipmates, and at last in a faint voice Mr. Winslow ordered them to give way for the ship. As his men doggedly obeyed, and called up their final reserve of energy, the attendant whales, as if satisfied with the progress of the day’s events, drew off, and with their great leader well ahead, took their departure to windward along the bright glorious path of the setting sun, whose rays touched their mighty bodies with gold and made every little spray they threw upwards in their stately progress glisten like a shower of diamonds.

The overburdened crew reached the ship without further incident, and, once alongside, realised how terrible had been the strain imposed. For even the simple business of hoisting the boat, usually a matter of at most two minutes, became a herculean task hardly to be accomplished by the united efforts of all hands remaining capable of standing on their feet. Once secured on her cranes, Mr. Winslow dismissed his boat from his mind and wearily slouched to where the mate lay on a mattress brought up by one of the harpooners. So great was his loss of vigour, that although he saw the mate had recovered consciousness and was now peacefully asleep in his drying clothes, he felt a dull want of interest in that fact, as in everything else, and without taking further interest of his surroundings or of the claims of his position, he cast himself down in the little clear space abaft the wheel on the starboard side, pillowed his head upon his right arm, and immediately fell asleep.

The shipkeepers—that is, the four petty officers, carpenter, cooper, steward, and cook, with the four men appointed to assist them in the duty of managing the ship during the process of catching whales—had been hardly pressed both by work and anxiety. But they saw and realised how easy had been their lot as compared with that of the hunters; and although they had well earned a relief, they said nothing, but went grimly on with their by no means easy task of preparing the vessel for the night, clearing away gear, &c.

Now during this terrible day Priscilla had found great peace. We left her at its beginning comforted as only those heavy-laden ones can be comforted who are in direct communication with the Comforter. Permeated by that Peace which passeth all understanding, she felt content to abide in quiet security any event that might happen, and she looked down upon the insensible form by her side with something of the Divine compassion, although without one spark of the human love which should exist between husband and wife. All that her simple ideas of nursing could suggest as good to be done for him she did assiduously, while his face twitched convulsively, unintelligible muttering flowed ceaselessly from his lips, and every muscle of his body seemed as if under the influence of a powerful galvanic battery.

It was very quiet down in the small cabin. The workers on deck went about their duties softly in dread of rousing the skipper, and only a faint echo of an occasional carefully modulated cry from aloft came stealing softly to her ears. She did not feel hunger, weariness, or anxiety. Whenever the good darkey steward could spare a few minutes from the work of the ship he stole down to see if he could do anything for her; but beyond accepting a cup of tea and a biscuit at midday, she gently declined all his kindly offers. The only feeling, as she said afterwards, that did occasionally shoot athwart the placid state of her mind was one of thankfulness that her husband was so long oblivious of all that must, she knew, be going on, for she could not help realising what his fury would be if, with all his senses about him, he should be unable to take part in the hunting.

And so quietly the long day wore to its close. She remained in utter ignorance of the outcome until, at about 7 P.M., the steward crept to her side with a cup of soup, and begged her to sup it. While she languidly did so, he sketched for her in a few hurried whispers the condition of things, and wound up by saying, his swart face looking a ghastly green in the dim light of the swinging lamp: ‘An’ de good Lawd Hisself only knows wa’s gwine happen t’ us wen he comes to an’ fine’s eout abaout it. Lawd hab massy on us all den.’ She answered him not a word, but, handing back the cup, laid her tired head back in her chair and passed peacefully to sleep.