Chapter VI: The Old Whale-Ships

“In external appearance,” says Bennett, “the South-Seaman is principally distinguished from the ordinary merchant-ship by the number and form of her boats; by the presence of some short spars, affixed to one of her sides, to protect the hull when the blubber is being removed from the whale to the deck; and, when cruising, by her lofty spars being down, her sail shortened, and her mastheads manned. Interiorly, one side of the deck, at the waist of the ship, has a platform, or covering of planks, to receive the more bulky parts of the whale, taken on board: an extent of 10 ft. of the corresponding bulwark being adapted for temporary removal, to facilitate that object. To the head of the mainmast are attached pulleys (‘cutting-blocks and falls’) which communicate with the windlass, and which are employed to raise the blubber, during the flinching of a whale. But the most conspicuous and peculiar object on the deck is the edifice called the ‘try-works,’ and used for boiling the oil. This is a square building, 10 ft. in length by 5 ft. in height, extending across the deck, a short distance behind the foremast, and constructed of firmly cemented bricks, and strengthened with iron. Its summit is flat, and excavated for chimneys, as well as for the reception of two iron cauldrons, or ‘try-pots,’ beneath each of which there are corresponding furnaces. The entire fabric is based upon a cistern of water; and an additional sheathing yet further protects the deck from the effects of intense heat. Each boiler, or ‘try-pot,’ is large enough to contain 136 gallons of oil, and communicates, by a spout, with a large copper cooler, placed on the corresponding side of the works. This building, which is erected on the deck previous to the ship leaving her port, is retained only until the cargo is complete, or whaling relinquished, when the whole is broken up.”

Of course she went to sea with plenty of casks, some of which for convenience in stowage were in packs ready to be put together as required. Others were filled with fresh water and served as ballast. Four iron tanks, usually fixed between decks, could also carry oil. In a South-Seaman the total number of officers and men was about thirty and consisted of master, surgeon, mates, boat-steerers or harpooners, boatswain, carpenter, cooper (for constructing the barrels), armourer and steward. The boat-steerers were petty officers, holding rank between the mates and the able seamen: their duties being to steer the respective boats, look after the equipment and harpoon the whale. In most cases captain and crew depended for their pay on the profits of the voyage, or received as wages a share of the cargo’s value when the latter reached London. A South-Seaman’s crew sailing out of that port received among themselves a third or a fourth of the cargo’s realization; the residue being divided up among the owners and for the cost of the voyage. The captain received from an eleventh to a fifteenth share, whilst an able seaman usually got a one-hundred-and-sixtieth.

Fully provisioned for three years with everything of the best, there were very keen competition and much secrecy. But if two whalers happened to sight each other on a cruising ground each scrutinized the other to ascertain whether he had recently captured whales. The practised eye could tell by glancing up at the cutting-falls; and if there remained any bits of a whale’s skin in the strands, it was known well enough that whales were not far away. Considerable latitude and discretion were allowed by owners to the masters as to where they should go. Obviously, as every captain was financially interested, it was to his benefit that he should voyage where the chances were best. Thus, some ships would go round the Horn to the South American coast, thence westward along the neighbourhood of the Equator towards Japan, thence back across the Pacific to work the Mexican and Californian seas. Others would prefer sailing round the Cape of Good Hope to Indian waters, whilst some small American whalers confined themselves to the North Atlantic, especially off the African coast, the Western Isles, and Equator, with great success.

It is customary to see in an old whaler’s log-book or journal the entry of the day’s work preceded by the figure of a whale’s head if a sperm whale were sighted that day. If, however, whales had been captured, you find as many flukes sketched erect as there had been mammals caught. In the case of a whale found dead, and taken, the fluke in the book was shown reversed. This was the British custom. In American journals the capture of a whale was shown by a sketch of the mammal in the left-hand column. If there were also a sketch of a ship in that margin, it denoted that a vessel had been sighted that day. Thus, there was a kind of primitive visual method of logging events.

As to the gear of the British whaling ships, their boats were necessarily of very great importance. Double-ended, steered not by a rudder but by an oar on the port side secured by a grommet, the steering oar was very long and needed a thoroughly experienced man. These boats were from 27 to 30 ft. long and 4 or 5 ft. broad, of not more than 1/2 in. planking. The double-ended design was not merely for weatherly qualities but so that the boat could be rowed as easily stern first as bow first. Speed, handiness and buoyancy were the main features aimed at. The reason for these qualities will best be appreciated from actual incidents.

Thus, while cruising, the whale-ship _Tuscan_ one day sighted on her voyage out in the Atlantic a school of small whales. Boats were lowered away as quickly as possible in pursuit, and three whales were soon harpooned. One of these mammals escaped by the harpoon drawing, a second sank immediately after death, the third, however, was captured, brought back to the ship and taken on deck. It measured only 16 ft. and produced about thirty gallons of oil. That was a comparatively easy catch. But on another occasion the same ship sighted quite a number of cachalots moving so rapidly to windward that the oared boats were unable to get near them. On a third occasion a couple of whales were harpooned in the midst of a school, but one of the boats whose harpoon had penetrated the mammal was, whilst securing the victim, so severely lashed by the flukes of another whale that the officer and harpooner were both thrown into the sea. Fortunately the rest of the crew had the presence of mind to cut the rope, and the harpooned whale was allowed to escape in order to rescue the two shipmates. But the boat was too badly damaged to be of further service. The second whale, after being harpooned, “sounded” to the depth of a tub and a half of line, then rose fiercely to the surface of the sea and went off, towing the boat in a wild, mad fury to windward. Before long two other boats had succeeded in getting their harpoons into the beast, but the whale still continued its pace alive, and could not be killed by nightfall: so, in spite of all their efforts, the boats had to cut their lines and return to the ship unrewarded.

Often it was merely the handiness and good oarsmanship which saved the men from disaster. On one occasion four of the boats were launched after sighting a school of sperm whales, and three boats made their captures satisfactorily. But the fourth cachalot was of the dangerous fighting type and as mad as a Spanish bull. This young male had been pierced by a couple of harpoons, but was in no mood to start flight as desired. Instead, he attacked his attackers and rushed his head towards the boat. By clever steering and hard rowing this onslaught was evaded, but the whale next tried to crush the boat with his jaws, turning on his back. The reception of a lance wound negatived this effort by causing him to close his mouth. But the monster was still determined and struck the boat with such a blow that it was nearly overturned, and then he drove his jaw clean through the boat’s planking. Of course the water came rushing in, and only by lashing the oars across the gunwale could the half-immersed crew remain. The harpoon line was quickly cut and the monster was allowed to escape. Scarcely visible in the waves, the men were eventually picked up by the other boats and taken aboard the ship, which came bearing down to them.

Yes: whaling, especially when there was any sea running, was always more or less risky, and there was no telling what might happen, any more than the toreador knows what his animal is about to perform. There was the instance when three boats had each harpooned a whale, while the fourth had got his weapon into an adult bull whale. The latter now went tearing along towing the fourth boat, but the line crossed that of another whale already made fast, and so drew the second boat towards the bull, which struck it a blow with his flukes. This capsized the boat, keel uppermost, so that the crew were swimming about or supporting themselves with the oars. Thereupon the men in the boat which had been engaging the bull had to cut the harpoon line and rescue their friends.

Fortunately the capsized boat was undamaged and soon righted and emptied. There followed another exciting chase after the bull, which was so strenuous and fast that the boats soon got out of sight from the ship. Finally, by the greatest exertion the oarsmen overtook the bull, managed to secure the line which was trailing astern from the whale, made fast to this, got right up to the bull and finally captured him. It had been a long and thrilling day which did not end till ten that night, when all the cachalots were brought back to the ship and afforded 116 barrels of oil. Sometimes these incidents resulted in fatal termination to men’s lives: but in any case it was only the fine boatmanship and cool heads which enabled them to win through.

Besides the steering, there were five other oars, fifteen feet in length and named respectively harpooner, bow, midship, tub and after oar. The row-locks were muffled with mats, and in order to secure the oars across the gunwales when the boat was shattered and sinking, lifelines were attached to the sides, the steering oar being lashed in the centre. In the bow was a small platform, sunk below the level of the gunwale, named the “box,” with a thigh-board to receive the lower extremities of the harpooner as he stood to hurl his harpoon or his lance. At either end of the boat mats were spread to afford a firmer footing to steersman and harpooner, the former also having a small platform. Axes and knives were placed ready for use to cut the line whenever necessary.

In the bows were placed a couple of harpoons and a couple of lances, with reserves in other parts of the boat. The line had to be coiled carefully in tubs which were placed on the floor between the seats. This line led through a deep groove lined with lead, at the stem. Aft it led to a stout pillar or bollard called a “loggerhead,” which was used to take the strain when the line had been secured to the whale. Woe betide any man if that line got foul whilst it was running out at such furious pace! In each boat were provided a mast and sail, kegs of fresh water, drogues of wood sometimes fastened to the harpoon line so as to hinder the whale’s progress; and whifts of small coloured flags in order to buoy the dead whale so that it could easily be sighted.

There is an old chantey[1] which used to be sung by the British whalers who were engaged in the Greenland industry, which relates the operations of the whaler and the work of the boats in several verses. Two of them run as follows:

We struck that whale, the line paid out,
But she gave a flourish with her tail;
The boat capsized and four men were drowned,
And we never caught that whale, brave boys,
And we never caught that whale.

“To lose the boat,” our captain said,
“It grieves my heart full sore;
But oh! to lose four gallant men,
It grieves me ten times more, brave boys,
It grieves me ten times more.”

[1] Reproduced in _Roll and Go_, by J. C. Colcord. Boston, 1924.

Mr. Arthur C. Watson, who recently published in the American monthly _Yachting_ some interesting extracts from the journal of Captain Ephraim Harding of the whaling ship _Arab_, gives the following entry under the date of Thursday, June 15, 1843. It should be mentioned that the island of Johannah was at the northern end of the Mozambique Channel.

“At 4 p.m. sent the boat in. Saw the _Sally Ann_ of New Bedford and the _Bengal_ lying there. Captain Borden, of the _Sally Ann_, after leaving here some days previous on a cruise for whales, fell in with them to windward of this island. He lowered his boats in pursuit, and after chasing them for several hours, came up with them. In the act of striking the whale, he received a blow on his legs from the whale’s flukes, which broke them both. His right leg was broken in two places below the knee, and the upper bone of his left leg was broken. He immediately left the whales and came on board the ship, crowded on all sail for this place, where he arrived in fifteen hours after the accident. He immediately had assistance from an English doctor who was on board a vessel here. He is now getting along well.”

The British South-Seamen whaling ships usually carried four boats suspended over the sides of the vessel, their keels resting upon iron cranes. These boats were stationed on the quarter, or waist, or bow of the ship, and were commanded by the master and the three mates. When the boats were launched, the captain of the boat took his place aft with the steering oar, whilst the harpooner rowed the foremost oar: but when the assault on the whale commenced, these two officers usually exchanged stations. The whaling boats were capable of carrying twelve people, so that they could always go to the rescue of a second boat and then continue after the whale. Few sports or occupations connected with the sea could afford more thrilling, wholesome excitement than was found in these nice-lined craft. Manned with a sturdy, tough, hard-case crew full of the experience of many a chase, it was a real man’s life for those who were happy roving and roaming all over the oceans. No one but a real sailorman could have endured it otherwise. Bennett, the ship’s surgeon, wrote of the oared whale-boat with enthusiasm and referred to her as “swift and handsome,” “buoyant and graceful in her movements, she leaps from billow to billow, and appears rather to dance over the sea than to plough its bosom with her keel.”

But besides the fine seamen and the good boat, the harpoon line had to be of the best possible cordage that could be manufactured. Tarred hemp was selected, two-inch, three-stranded and extremely strong, the complement for each boat being 220 fathoms, so that when the whale got away with the harpoon in him there might be as much as a quarter of a mile of line rushing through the sea and then the boat at the end of that. Coiled with great care in two tubs in one long continuous line, each end was kept exposed so that one end was ready to be attached to the harpoon, while the other with a spliced loop could be connected with the line of a second boat, should the entire length need to be increased. And every additional fathom of course meant further drag through the water for the whale to pull.

The harpoon was three feet long, arrow-shaped, made of the finest wrought iron and fixed to a heavy pole, five feet long. A dexterous throw would plant this weapon up to its socket into the mammal and would hold so tenaciously that when the whale was finally dead and the harpoon withdrawn it would sometimes be found to have been twisted throughout. The lance was kept keenly sharpened for destroying the harpooned whale, and was secured to the boat by a seven-fathom line and stick. The skill lay in quickly darting and withdrawing it from the whale, sometimes killing the creature by a single wound at a vital spot. The instrument used for separating the blubber from the whale and cutting it into suitable portions was called a spade, being made of a triangular steel plate and very sharp.

So much, then, for the ships, their boats and equipment. Let us now get a close insight into the technique which had to be employed before the whale could be captured.