Chapter XIII: The Way They Had in the Whalers

Just as in this first quarter of the twentieth century we are at pains to get together every possible detail of the dying sailing ship--there are but four canvas-driven ocean-goers at the time of writing that still fly the Red Ensign--before the last of a fine race disappears from existence; so with the passing of the sailing whaler and the establishment of the steam “catcher” it is meet that we should set down all those items which illustrate the life and methods of the old-time vessels. And in this chapter we shall not confine ourselves to the routine of the northern whalers.

The crude harpoon-gun which was in existence at the beginning of the nineteenth century had been improved by a gunsmith at Hull, though between 1772 and the next twenty years the Society of Arts had by giving premiums to whaler-men and others tried to encourage improvements both in the gun and the harpoon itself. But the Hull evolution had produced a weapon with an inch-and-seven-eighths bore, the gun being about two feet long, of wrought iron and working on a swivel. A special arrangement was devised to lessen its liability to miss fire. The shank of the harpoon was double, ending in a knob which fitted the bore of the gun. This gun could fire its harpoon about forty yards, but owing to the difficulty in working this gun it was never in universal use and the old-fashioned method of hurling the hand harpoon continued to be employed even long after Svend Foyn introduced his new gun and system.

The whaling gear was overhauled and fitted on the voyage out to the whaling grounds. The four fathoms of 2-1/4-inch hemp of the “foregoer” or “foreganger” was now spliced to the harpoon’s shank, every harpoon being stamped with the name of the ship and the master, so that there could be no question as to which ship had a right to any particular cetacean, for there was a good deal of jealousy and argument bound to arise when more than one ship’s boats had fastened to the same whale. Great care was taken of the harpoon’s point, and after it had been sharpened and cleaned it was protected by a bit of oiled paper or canvas.

The complete outfit for each of the boats consisted of a couple of harpoons, at least a dozen lances, five to seven oars, a “jack” or flag on a pole as a signal that the whale had been harpooned; a tail-knife for making holes in the animal’s tail through which the towing rope could be passed after he was killed; a rest in which the stock of the ready-to-use harpoon was supported at the bow; an axe for cutting the line, a bucket for bailing or for wetting the line; a snatch-block, grapnel, boat-hooks, mallet, swab, grommets and one or two other items. It was in the bigger (six-oared) boats that the harpoon-gun was ever carried, and these craft also were fitted with a winch for hauling in the lines after the whale had been fastened. In these whaling boats you never saw a rudder: steering was always done by means of a long oar. Why was this? The answer is that speed was of the utmost importance, and everyone well knows that as soon as you put your helm over in a boat, the rudder acts as a drag. Many an inexperienced coxswain in a modern eight-oared racing craft has learnt this to his cost.

And this long steering oar was convenient for getting the boat round when the rowers were at rest. But generally for quickly sculling the boat out of a narrow gat where the ice would not allow of oars; for quick manœuvring, and for approaching the whale without making that noise inseparable from several blades being dipped--this stern oar was essential. Each whaling ship split up its crew into as many divisions as she carried boats: but when the ship was making a passage the crew were divided into two watches in the usual manner.

The whaling service had its standard of efficiency, and in its own way it was unique. In regard to boatmanship, quite apart from general seamanship, this standard has seldom been equalled. Thus if the vessel were already cruising in an area where whales could be expected, the boats were always ready for immediate use, hanging from their davits or cranes, complete with all stores, and within one minute of the order being given after the sighting of the whale, at least two boats properly manned could be in the water. Every sailor to-day would admit that this showed first-class organization and discipline up to a point. In the crow’s nest, whilst cruising about the whale area, was one of the officers, or even sometimes the captain himself with his telescope sweeping the sea. If the fish sighted were large, then two boats were sent: if there were more than one whale, then more than two boats were ordered away; and when every boat had been sent off the ship was said to have “a loose fall.”

Such was the zeal for efficiency that when cruising in fine weather and whales were expected at any hour, a boat might be already in the water towing astern. Greenhorns in these boats with little experience in rowing were sure of many cursings and several impressive blows on the head from the officer in charge: for smooth, steady rowing without catching “crabs” was essential. “There were two greenies in each boat,” mentions the late Frank T. Bullen, from whose classic, _The Cruise of the Cachalot_, we have quoted more than once, “they being so arranged that whenever one of them ‘caught a crab,’ which of course was about every other stroke, his failure made little difference to the boat’s progress. They learned very fast under the terrible imprecations and storms of blows from the iron-fisted and iron-hearted officers.”

Elsewhere in these pages I have spoken of the whale as elusive: this adjective exactly fits him. Scoresby says “that a whale seldom abides longer on the surface of the water than two minutes, that it generally remains from five to ten or fifteen minutes under water, that in this interval it sometimes moves through the space of half a mile or more, and that the fisher has very rarely any certain intimation of the place in which it will appear.” Still, an experienced harpooner considered himself successful if his whale reappeared within a couple of hundred yards. But just as in the case of the modern submarine, so the whale under way, submerged just below the surface, leaves an eddy in his progress. The hand-harpoon was effective at a range of not more than ten yards: the old-fashioned harpoon-gun at about thirty yards. The head was impenetrable, so it was never aimed at.

Bullen’s service aboard a whaler was from 1875 onwards, and he has left behind invaluable information concerning the life aboard one of those New Bedford vessels. But Herman Melville in his _Moby Dick_ based his yarn on his whaling voyage aboard the _Acushnet_ in the eighteen-forties: and his vivid description of the lowering of these boats is too precious not to be quoted.

“‘There she blows! there! there! there! she blows! she blows!’

“‘Where-away?’

“‘On the lee-beam, about two miles off! a school of them.’

“Instantly all was commotion.

“The sperm whale blows as a clock ticks, with the same undeviating and reliable uniformity. And thereby whalemen distinguish this fish from other tribes of his genus.

“‘There go flukes!’ was now the cry from Tashtego; and the whales disappeared.

“‘Quick, steward!’ cried Ahab. ‘Time! time!’

“Dough-Boy hurried below, glanced at the watch, and reported the exact minute to Ahab. The ship was now kept away from the wind, and she went gently rolling before it. Tashtego reporting that the whales had gone down heading to leeward, we confidently looked to see them again directly in advance of our bows.... One of the men selected for ship-keepers--that is, those not appointed to the boats, by this time relieved the Indian at the mainmast head. The sailors at the fore and mizzen had come down; the line tubs were fixed in their places; the cranes were thrust out; the mainyard was backed, and the three boats swung over the sea like three samphire baskets over high cliffs. Outside of the bulwarks their eager crews with one hand clung to the rail, while one foot was expectantly poised on the gunwale. So look the long line of man-of-war’s men about to throw themselves on board an enemy’s ship....

“‘All ready there, Fedallah?’

“‘Ready,’ was the half-hissed reply.

“‘Lower away, then: d’ye hear?’ shouting across the deck. ‘Lower away there, I say.’

“... The men sprang over the rail: the sheaves whirled round in the blocks; with a wallow, the three boats dropped into the sea; while, with a dexterous, off-handed daring, unknown in any other vocation, the sailors, goat-like, leaped down the rolling ship’s side into the tossed boats below.

“Hardly had they pulled out from under the ship’s lee, when a fourth keel, coming from the windward side, pulled round under the stern, and showed the five strangers rowing; Ahab, who standing erect in the stern, loudly hailed Starbuck, Stubb, and Flask to spread themselves widely, so as to cover a large expanse of water.

“And then the exhortations of the officer to urge the crew to row towards the whale, which had now come into sight again, blowing right ahead:

“‘Pull, pull, my fine hearts alive; pull, my children; pull, my little ones,’ drawlingly and soothingly sighed Stubb to his crew.... ‘Why don’t you break your backbones, my boys? What is it you stare at? Those chaps in yonder boat? Tut! They are only five more hands come to help us--never mind from where--the more the merrier. Pull, then, do pull: never mind the brimstone--devils are good fellows enough. So, so; there you are now; that’s the stroke for a thousand pounds; that’s the stroke to sweep the stakes! Hurrah for the gold cup of sperm oil, my heroes! Three cheers, men--all hearts alive! Easy, easy; don’t be in a hurry--don’t be in a hurry. Why don’t you snap your oars, you rascals? Bite something, you dogs! So, so, so, then; softly, softly. That’s it--that’s it! long and strong. Give way there, give way! The devil fetch ye, ye ragamuffin rapscallions; ye are all asleep. Stop snoring, ye sleepers, and pull. Pull, will ye? pull, can’t ye? pull, won’t ye? Why in the name of gudgeons and ginger-cakes don’t ye pull? pull and break something! pull, and start your eyes out! Here!’ whipping out the sharp knife from his girdle; ‘every mother’s son of ye draw his knife, and pull with the blade between his teeth. That’s it--that’s it. Now ye do something; that looks like it, my steel-bits. Start her--start her, my silver spoons! Start her, marling-spikes!’”

Yes: there was something personal, very human, inspiring and thrilling in those fine boat hunts which used to go on from these old ships during the longest voyages which were ever made by men. Melville refers to the life aboard the Nantucket whalers with their sharing-out system of remuneration, their common luck, their common vigilance as tending in some cases “to beget a less rigorous discipline than in merchantmen generally; yet, never mind how much like an old Mesopotamian family these whalemen may, in some primitive instances, live together; for all that, the punctilious externals, at least, of the quarter-deck are seldom materially relaxed, and in no instance done away. Indeed, many are the Nantucket ships in which you will see the skipper parading his quarter-deck with an exalted grandeur not surpassed in any military navy; nay, extorting almost as much outward homage as if he wore the imperial purple, and not the shabbiest of pilot-cloth.”

Scoresby says that during the capture of a whale, the line would with its friction sometimes cut a groove in the bollard about an inch deep and therefore they used to put a plate of brass, or iron, or lignum vitæ where the line passed over the stem, otherwise in one season’s successful whaling the boat would be cut right through to the water’s edge. A really experienced harpooner was always careful not to have too many turns round that bollard. Sometimes it was a great temptation so to do, when the whale was apparently never going to cease his progress. The harpooner naturally desired to retard the animal and to increase the drag by not slackening up the line: but too many turns sometimes meant that the line would get entangled, it could not be eased off when an obstacle of ice came across the boat’s path. Then suddenly the boat would be drawn beneath the ice, or smashed to small pieces of wood--unless an axe was able to be applied in time.

Not even the greatest expert could ever say how long a period would elapse between the harpooning of the whale and the final capture. Scoresby says that the average time was not exceeding an hour, but he himself remembered the occasion when it took twenty-eight minutes; and another when after sixteen hours the whale actually escaped from its line. But, apart from the ice, the worst enemy of the Arctic whalers was that succession of thick fogs which were to be expected in June and July. Not merely did they endanger the ships, but they interfered seriously with the actual whaling operations. Even if the animal were fastened, the boat would be towed immediately away from the ship’s sight and the boatmen lose all sense of direction and distance. The ship’s bell or horn could signal for a certain distance: but if the boat were beyond the hearing of a gun, then both shipmaster and boat’s officer had every reason to become anxious. A gale frequently follows in the wake of a fog: but up there hunger was always waiting to follow the biting cold. Death from either or both was always threatening.

The persistency of some whales is well illustrated by an incident which happened to a boat in June of 1812 when the Whitby whaler _Resolution_ had reached her northern hunting-ground. The boat had fastened the whale when close to the edge of a small ice-floe, and then a second boat came along with her lines and bent on to those of the first. The whale was towing so furiously that it seemed likely to pull the boat’s bows under. Two or three men went aft but the stern was still well out of the water, and the harpooner was enveloped in the smoke of the line’s friction round the bollard so that he was invisible. Finally the bow of the boat was pulled below the sea, but the crew leapt overboard and succeeded in getting on the ice.

The whale was still visible, and now there occurred the strange phenomenon of the ships themselves working their way through the tricky ice channels and going off in a general chase: for the animal already was anyone’s property who was able to capture it. The boats in the neighbourhood also chased and within an hour three harpoons were fixed, but the whale now making his way below a large floe, drew all the lines out of the second boat that was fast: and since the latter’s officer could get no further assistance, he secured his line to a hummock, but the line broke. There still remained two boats fast, and they were both dragged, in this mad advance, against a floe and one of the harpoons drew out. That left one boat still being towed, but with six or eight lines out.

There followed a species of excitement which made a sensitive nature almost delirious: for the whale next went blundering through great blocks of ice with the boat astern, and occasionally the stout line would get hung up, then with a twang suddenly slip clear, and with the speed of a bird the boat would rush forward over ice, into the water again, and then the onrush would continue. Finally the sportive mammal was seen towing only the sunken boat and any amount of line, but the drag of nearly four miles of ropes and immersed craft must have been something tremendous. Thanks to a good breeze, the ship was able to chase under all sail, and after nine miles from the spot, the vessel came up and sent a couple of spare boats off. But one of the harpooners unskilfully allowed the whale to see the boat approaching, and after resting awhile it made off in alarm. However, the boats were placed at suitable points, the whale rose and was promptly harpooned three times more in addition to being lanced vigorously, so that finally it was killed after a magnificent display of pluck and persistence. Altogether this animal had taken out six miles of line and sunk one boat.

It is this side of whaling--the virile drama between men of the sea and the leviathan of the deep--that gives the work a thrill which is absent in most other occupations. Rapid thinking, quick judgment, active limbs; dexterous management of harpoon, of lines, and of boat itself were essential. It was a battle of wits as well as of courage, with such items as fog and ice to make the contest more varied; and the big monetary reward always being dangled ahead of the men in the boat. In other kinds of fishing there are dangers of varying degree, but chiefly in respect of weather alone. In whale-catching the excitement, the risks, the cool nerve required in the days of sail can be compared only with big-game hunting on land. In describing his first whale, Bullen mentions the horror with which he realized, after having harpooned the whale, that “down went the nose of the boat almost under the water, while at the mate’s order everybody scrambled aft into the elevated stern sheets. The line sang quite a tune as it was grudgingly allowed to surge round the loggerhead, filling one with admiration at the strength shown by such a small rope. This sort of thing went on for about twenty minutes, in which time we quite emptied the large tub and began on the small one.... Mr. Cruce, the second mate, had got a whale and was doing his best to kill it; but he was severely handicapped by his crew, or rather had been, for two of them were now temporarily incapable of either good or harm. They had gone quite ‘batchy’ with fright, requiring a not too gentle application of the tiller to their heads in order to keep them quiet. The remedy, if rough, was effectual, for the ‘subsequent proceedings interested them no more.’”