Читать книгу Heart of Asia - Roy Chapman Andrews - Страница 8

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I risked four thousand dollars on one shot at the biggest animal in the world when I didn't have four thousand dollars. It came about, indirectly, because a few years earlier a little fat man had sold the Director of the American Museum of Natural History the idea of constructing a life-size model of a sulphur bottom whale, seventy-six feet long, out of paper. I was assigned as his assistant. The little man made an awful mess of it. His whale was full of hollows and wrinkles; it looked like hell. The Director fired him and asked James L. Clark and me if we could finish the job in papier-mâché. We did, and the model still hangs in the third-floor gallery of the Museum.

While the work was going on, a real honest-to-goodness whale was killed off the coast of Long Island, at Amagansett, and Jimmy and I were sent to collect the skeleton. That whale, and the model, started me on travels that ranged from the Arctic to the tropics and twice around the world. For eight years, afloat and ashore, by day and by night, I lived for whales.

Of course, men had been hunting whales since the dawn of history, and before, but, believe it or not, I was the first naturalist to study their habits at sea and examine fresh specimens, not bloated carcasses cast up on the beach, or incomplete skeletons in Museum halls. So almost everything I saw was new to science. Moreover, shore stations, where whales were pulled out of the water on a "slip," had only recently been established in various parts of the world. At these, I measured, photographed, and weighed every part of the animals, and described color, internal organs, stomach contents, and parasites. Each week I went to sea on one of the "chasers" with my Graflex speed camera, notebook, and stop watch to record everything that happened above the surface. That was what I liked best for it was always exciting, and tops in big-game hunting. I had shot a lot of big game, but I wanted more than anything else to add the biggest of all animals to my list. As years passed it became a veritable obsession. Each time I saw a whale killed, I visualized myself behind the gun, lining the sights on the great body that rose dripping out of the water. But whale hunting isn't only sport to the men who do it. It's serious business, involving a great deal of money, and you can't ask to try a shot just for fun. Nevertheless, I had to do it.

My chance came in Japan. I got to be great friends with Captain Erik Anderson, a handsome young Norwegian, about my own age. He had a magnetic personality and a lovely little Japanese wife (I suppose she was his wife; I never asked), who kept him happy in a bamboo-and-paper doll's house perched on a hill above the harbor. I used to spend almost every evening with them when his ship was in, drinking beer and watching the sun go down behind the gnarled pine trees that looked like old men, bent and twisted with arthritis. Sometimes Chio-san played to us on her flute, or sang little Japanese songs with the samisen, a Japanese banjo-like instrument.

One night I brought Erik a bottle of very fine Scotch whiskey with malice aforethought. We had several drinks and, when he was feeling no pain and every aspect of the world seemed bright and rosy, I broached the subject that had been eating at my vitals ever since I saw the first whale killed.

"Erik," I said, "you and I are friends, aren't we?"

"Yes, Roy, we are. Friendship means much to us Norwegians. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you."

I drew a long breath; this was it.

"Would you let me shoot a whale from your ship?"

At my words Erik sat up straight, his eyes wide.

"Of course, I'd love to have you kill a whale from my ship, but you couldn't do it. You've never fired a harpoon gun in your life. It isn't like shooting a rifle. It takes a lot of practice. And suppose you missed! I'd be in a hell of a mess with the Japs. We're on a bonus, you know. I don't mind about my thousand yen. I don't need it—much. But the others do, and think of what the company would lose."

I had figured that all out. "Of course, I wouldn't let you lose your bonus, or the crew, either. If I missed I'd pay them, as well as whatever the whale would have brought the company. How much is a sei whale worth for meat and oil?"

"I don't know exactly, but I think about three thousand yen; it depends on size. You'd be risking more than two thousand gold dollars."

"That's all right. I've saved my salary and I've got thirty-five hundred dollars in the bank. I'm willing to risk it for a chance at a whale."

Suddenly, Erik grinned. "You Americans! I can't understand you, at times, but you're wonderful people. Imagine gambling all your savings on one shot with a harpoon gun!"

Erik became practical. "I'm not going to say 'yes' until you've tried the gun. If you really can shoot, we'll pick a calm day and a 'good' whale and give you a chance. I want to target the gun here in the harbor, anyway, and you can have two or three shots. The Japs won't suspect anything because they'll think we're doing it just for fun."

We confided the plan to Chio-san. At first she was terrified. Maybe Erik would lose his job and then where would they be? But when he told her I would pay all costs if I missed the whale, she began to giggle and decided it would be exciting. Could she go out on the ship when I was going to shoot? Erik said she could. Oh, that was wonderful! What fun!

Next day the wind blew half a gale, and all five chasers were in the harbor. Erik suggested to the other gunners that they have a bit of competitive target practice. He told them I had put up four cases of beer as a prize. They were pleased, for there was nothing else to do but play cards. Each man was to have three shots from his own ship at floating barrels eight fathoms away. They went off to load their guns.

The harpoon gun is a stubby cannon, fifty-two inches long with a three-inch bore, mounted on the very bow of the vessel. It turns easily upon a swivel, up and down and from side to side. At the butt end, under a short wooden handle, is an iron lever which, when pressed upward, explodes the gun. Three hundred and seventy-five drams of very coarse black powder, sewed in a cheesecloth sack, is rammed home from the muzzle; then come wads of okum, hard rubber, or cork and wool, after which the harpoon, well greased, is pushed in and hammered solidly into place with a wooden mallet.

The iron measures seventy-six inches, has a double shaft and four twelve-inch flukes, or barbs; the point is hollow, filled with powder, and ignited by a time fuse set for three or four seconds after the gun explodes. Thus it is a real bomb. A large ring slides easily inside the double shaft of the harpoon, and to this one end of a three-inch rope called the "forerunner" is attached; forty or fifty fathoms are coiled on a pan under the gun to be carried with the iron in flight. The other end of the forerunner is spliced to a five-inch rope that runs over a double winch into the ship's hold, where one or two miles are in reserve. The winch is used to play a wounded whale exactly like the reel on a fishing rod.

Captain Lars Larson had first trial at the floating target. An enormously fat, jolly man, he was considered to be the finest shot in the Orient. He rolled up to the gun, swung it in position, and with hardly a pause sent the harpoon crashing into the barrel. Two others followed. I suppose all three shots could have been spaced in an eighteen-inch circle. Moreover, a dancing ship in heavy seas was no handicap to him. His record was phenomenal; something like two hundred whales without a miss. Erik shot in second place putting two harpoons through the barrel and grazing its side with the third. The others did equally well.

I had taken photographs of each gunner and everyone was drinking beer and being very jolly. Erik winked at me. "Roy, you've done a lot of shooting. I wonder if you could hit the barrel?"

I acted coy. "Gosh, I don't think I could. It's not like shooting a rifle."

Larson chimed in. "Easiest thing in the world. Just point your gun and let 'er go. Come on, I'll show you."

That was exactly what I wanted. Larson lumbered up to the bow. "I'll give you half my beer if you hit the barrel once out of three."

The sights were open, like those on an ordinary rifle. I lined them on the target and squeezed the lever. A great cloud of smoke blew back in my face, but I could see the harpoon hit the water, short by a fathom.

"Not bad," Larson said. "A line shot, but you didn't hold high enough. You can't shoot right at a whale. Got to aim above its back."

My second shot was closer; the third smacked through the barrel. I looked anxiously at Erik. He grinned and nodded; obviously, I'd done well enough so he'd give me a trial.

That night I went aboard Erik's ship, for we were to be off at daylight. He and Chio-san occupied one bunk in the tiny cabin, and I had the other. It wasn't often that girls were welcome on the chasers, but Chio-san had been out two or three times with Erik and loved it. The Jap crew liked her, for she was pretty and brought them little presents, so they were glad to have her aboard.

When I dressed for breakfast next morning, sun streamed through the porthole, but the vessel was rolling heavily in a long swell. Nothing doing for me if that kept up, no matter how many whales we saw! I knew Erik wouldn't let me try and, anyway, I didn't want to risk two thousand bucks under those conditions. At ten o'clock we sighted a school of sei whales, slim gray beasts about fifty feet long. Usually they are easy hunting, but these were wild. Time after time the ship stole up to three or four, blowing lazily at the surface, but when we were a hundred fathoms away they would slide under water, double, and appear simultaneously half a mile astern. Obviously they had some means of communication, but it wasn't until recently that sonic apparatus told the story.

For three hours we chased those damned sei whales. Erik stood at the gun, with me behind him holding my big Graflex camera. Twice, he was almost near enough to shoot. Thirty fathoms is the outside limit, but they never came nearer than forty. Erik was disgusted.

"They're impossible. We'll leave them and see if we can't find others."

It was four o'clock before we raised another spout. This animal was blowing frequently, and a great cloud of birds hovering about indicated that he was "on feed." He was traveling slowly but seldom stayed down long, his high sickle-shaped dorsal fin cutting the surface, first in one direction then in another. Always, it was the center of a screaming flock of birds that dipped into the waves and rose, the water flashing in myriads of crystal drops from their brown wings.

We were going at full speed and dropped to half but the whale was running directly away from us. As he arched to dive, his back came into view and just behind the fin a large white mark was visible.

"That's an old harpoon scar," Erik said. "It's a bad sign. He may give us trouble, after all."

The engines were at dead slow, for the whale had heard or seen us and might double back under water. Erik was ready at the gun, swinging the weapon slightly to and fro, his feet braced, every few seconds calling to the bo'sun in the barrel, "Do you see him?"

We had been waiting three minutes when the bo'sun shouted, "He's coming. Fast. On the port bow."

My face was buried in the hood of the Graflex, but I heard Erik say, "Ready, Roy. Now. I shoot. I shoot."

In the camera mirror, I could see the enormous gray head burst to the surface, the blowholes open to send forth a column of vapor, and the sleek back draw itself upward, the water streaming from the dorsal fin. Suddenly everything was blotted out in a great cloud of smoke, and I pressed the button of the camera. Before I could see, I heard the sailors shout, "Shinda" (Dead). The next instant the smoke drifted away, showing the whale lying on its side, motionless. Then it sank slowly, and the rope hung taut as a bar of steel, straight down.

"Got him right in the heart, I think," Erik grinned. "He never knew what hit him."

In a few moments he gave the word to haul away. The engineer started the winch, but no sooner had the rattling wheels ground in a few fathoms than we saw the line slack, tighten again, and slowly rise. Faster and faster it came, the water dripping in little streams from its vibrating surface.

The whale blew ninety fathoms ahead, blood welling in huge, red clots from its spout holes. He lay quietly for a time, then swung about and swam toward the vessel. He came slowly at first, but faster every moment. When almost opposite us, about thirty fathoms away, with a terrific slash of his flukes he turned and dashed directly at the ship.

"Full speed astern," Erik yelled, dancing about like a madman. "He'll sink us. He'll sink us."

The whale was coming at full speed, buried in white foam, lashing right and left with its tremendous flukes. In an instant he hit the ship. We had half swung about, and he struck a glancing blow, keeling the little vessel far over and making her tremble as though she had gone on the rocks; then bumped along the side, running his nose squarely into the propeller. The whirling blades tore great strips of blubber from the snout and jaws, and he backed off astern. With his entire head projecting from the water like the bow of a submarine, he swam parallel to the ship. As he plowed along I caught a glimpse of the head in the mirror of my camera and pressed the button. A moment later the great beast rolled on its side, thrust its flipper straight upward, and sank. It had been his death "flurry" and he was down for good. As the water closed over the gray beast, I leaned against the rail trembling with excitement, sweat pouring from my face and body. Erik was shouting orders in English, Norwegian, and Japanese, and cursing in all three languages at once.

He realized, though I didn't at the moment, what a narrow escape we had had. If that whale, weighing fifty tons, coming at thirty knots an hour, had struck the ship squarely, it would have torn such a hole in her side that she would have sunk in sixty seconds. The man at the wheel had saved us by throwing the vessel's nose about so that she took a glancing blow. Miraculously, the propeller blades were neither broken nor bent; it was simply the luck that had followed this ship ever since Erik came aboard.

The dead whale was hauled to the surface, a tube connected to the air pump was thrust into the lungs, and the carcass inflated; then the sailors made it fast to the bow, tail first. Erik and I went below where Chio-san was waiting. She had seen the whole performance from the bridge, and was still shaking. She produced a bottle of Scotch from the locker and we all had a drink. It tasted good.

"We are only thirty miles from Matsu-shima," Erik said. "I told them to run for the cove just outside the harbor. We'll anchor there. It will be dark in another hour. The swell is going down and the glass is high. Maybe you'll get a shot at a whale tomorrow, Roy."

I didn't tell them, but I wasn't at all sure that I wanted a chance after what had happened that day.

A cool little hand on my forehead waked me in the morning. Chio-san was laughing into my eyes. "Better get up, Roy-san. We might see a whale any time. It's a beautiful day. Ocean like a lake. Breakfast is ready."

The sea was like a lake; not a trace of swell, and a brilliant sun. "We're heading nor'west," Erik said. "That's a whale cruise. When we raise a spout, you are to stand behind me with your camera, as usual. If it's a 'good' whale, and I can get the ship in position, I'll give you the word, step off the gun platform, and you take my place. Of course, none of the crew will know you are going to shoot until we are right on the whale."

A man climbed to the barrel and we lounged on the deck in the sun. Chio-san was curled up on a seat in a corner of the bridge, looking like a brilliant butterfly in a flowered kimono.

"I brought it especially for you," she told me. "It will bring good luck for your first whale."

"If I do kill a whale, you and Erik and I will go to Sendai and you can buy any two kimonos you want," I said.

About ten o'clock the bo'sun called, "Kujira" (Whale). "Shironagasu" (Sulphur bottom).

Far off the starboard, a high thin spout shot into the air; then another and another. "I can see birds," Erik said. "He must be feeding. But I didn't figure on a sulphur bottom. Those big fellows net the company six or seven thousand yen. The bonus to the ship is fifteen hundred. You wouldn't want to risk four thousand dollars on one shot! Better let me take it."

I will admit that set me back a bit. I didn't have four thousand dollars in the bank; thirty-five hundred was my limit. Still, I knew I could wangle the extra five hundred from the Museum, if necessary. The sulphur bottom whale was the biggest animal that ever lived on the earth or in its waters. Even the great dinosaurs couldn't touch it. If I killed a sulphur bottom, it meant I'd really reached the top; no sportsman could ever beat it. I had a lot of confidence in myself, too. The larger the whale the easier it would be to hit! Good God, hadn't I plastered that barrel right through the middle?

"I'll take a chance," I said, "if you can get it in position. I'm sure I wouldn't miss."

The animal behaved like a good whale. It was loafing along at the surface, blowing four or five times and going under for only short dives. Through my glasses I could see it roll on its side, open its great mouth and take in a barrel of shrimp, the water spurting in thin streams from between the baleen plates. It was a big whale, too; we guessed eighty feet long. That would make it weigh about ninety tons. Not a bad trophy for anyone's gun room!

At two hundred fathoms, Erik called for slow speed. I began to get jittery as the ship slid closer and closer, and my stomach seemed full of buckshot. Sweat trickled down from under my hat. Damn fool, damn fool, a whisper in my mind kept repeating. I didn't want to shoot that whale; it was too big! A little whale would be just as good. I could say I'd shot a whale. None of my friends would know whether it was a sei whale or a sulphur bottom; whales were all alike to them. But I would know I'd funked it, and Erik would know and so would Chio-san. Four thousand dollars was a lot of money to put up just for a fool idea. Sure it was, but what the hell? Was there anything I'd rather risk it on? I'd been thinking about it for years and now I had a chance! Then I looked up at the bridge and Chio-san smiled and stretched out her hand, the thumb up. Suddenly, all the doubts and uncertainty vanished like mist before the sun. The one thing in the world I wanted to do was to line the sights on that sulphur bottom whale. The bigger the better!

We were not more than fifty fathoms away when the whale took a short dive. Erik spoke quietly. "Put down your camera, Roy. He'll be just right next time. Hold two feet above on your sights and wait till his back comes out. Step up here, quick. He's coming. He's coming."

I don't remember exactly how I got there, but suddenly I was standing at the gun, bending over, sighting at the smooth green patch of water that swirled and boiled like a whirlpool. A shadowy form rose almost to the surface, checked its upward rush, and swam slowly right beside the ship. The huge gray ghost lay just under the surface, not six feet down, but as well protected by the water armor as though it had been of steel. Erik's hand was on my arm, "Don't shoot, don't shoot. Yes, now, now he comes."

Almost under me it seemed, a twenty-foot head burst to the surface like a breaching submarine, and a cloud of stinking vapor shot right into my face. Somehow I pressed the trigger. I didn't mean to, but that damned spout set off an involuntary twitch that did the trick. Through the veil of smoke I could see the harpoon strike the top of the head just behind the blowholes, glance off the solid bone, and drop into the water. The whale rolled on its side and lay motionless, stunned. Erik saved my bacon. He grabbed the gun, swung it about till the muzzle pointed inward, and yelled for the reloaders. I stood there dumb, almost as stunned as the whale. Actually, it was not more than three minutes before the powder charge was in, and the second harpoon rammed home, but it seemed three hours. Erik turned the gun outward and yelled, "Shoot. Low. For God's sake, shoot." The whale was still lying inert, and suddenly I came out of my fog. I sighted under the upraised flipper, and pressed the trigger. The harpoon buried itself to the hilt. Before the smoke blew away, the bomb exploded with a muffled thud and the great body gave a convulsive heave, rolled over and sank like lead. I sat down on the gun platform, feeling weak in the knees. What I most wanted was a cigarette.