Читать книгу Life and Adventure in the South Pacific - John D. Jones - Страница 7

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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.

“GIVE IT TO HIM.”

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.