Chapter VII: “there She Blows!”

With a careful look-out being maintained from the masthead, the ship was at all times ready to lower boats and begin. But there were signs which indicated that the whales could not be far away. Such items as floating pieces of cuttle-fish, or oily tracks left by the recent passage of cetaceans, caused the look-out man to be doubly watchful. But such obvious phenomena as a whale spouting summoned every man to eager activity. “There she blows!” would go up the cry, “there again!”

And then within a couple of minutes would be the boats properly manned and pulling to windward. If the whales were to leeward, then the boat would also hoist sail to run down. The whale-ship herself remained directing operations from her masthead by an arranged code of signals. And now watch the harpooner. Standing in the bow of the boat, he waited until he was in a favourable position to strike. The first harpoon was followed by the second immediately afterwards. At first the whale in his painful shock would take violent plunges, throwing his dangerous flukes high in the air, lashing the sea till it obscured the men and threatened to overwhelm them.

After that the animal would begin tearing along the surface of the water at a great pace, towing the boat after him, oars “apeak”--that is to say, resting at an acute angle with the gunwale, ready for use. The line secured to the loggerhead, the boat, down by the stern as the bow rose over the sea, went crashing, leaping, thudding over the waves and throwing the spray to port and starboard. There was never anything like that till the coming of the fast motor-boat days. A stern wave, high above the gunwale’s level, threatened every moment to rush down into the little craft. Harpooner and steersman now changed places, and the lance was ready to give the knock-out blow as soon as the boat could be hauled up close enough to the whale.

But then the whale would get the notion to “sound,” or dive straight down deeply, only to reappear: whereupon the boat approached and the lance attack went on until the creature was surrounded by a crimson sea. And then through sheer feebleness he seemed to be dying, until, in a final flurry, he started off again towing the boat at an exciting speed, lashing the waves with his tail, steering all over the sea. But then death would come, and the great, inert mass would lie like a billowed rock at the mercy of his captors. Sometimes these boats would rush into action with sail still set and not lower away until the harpoon had got deep into the whale. But there was a whaleman’s expression “to be gallied,” meaning to be alarmed; sometimes the school of whales became so “gallied” that they would all make off, or dive for a time, not showing themselves till a long way ahead and in a totally different direction--after the manner of tactics which enemy submarines sometimes employed during the war.

A female cachalot or a young male usually took out not more than a tub and a half of line, though an adult was known to sound so deeply that he needed three continuous lines. Sometimes, though not frequently, the whale was killed immediately by the harpoon, or by a single lance-blow. There was a certain amount of luck in finding the sperm whale, as in any other pursuit. The American whaling ship _Arab_, which left Fairhaven in the fall of 1842, had been at sea about a year, sailed 20,000 miles, crossing the North and South Atlantic and the Indian Ocean, and during the whole of that voyaging had never once seen so much as the spout of a sperm whale, only to find the latter in plenty off the coast of Arabia, in one day killing as many as nine, and on another seven. “There she breaches!” would go the glad cry, “there she blows!” But then for several ensuing months sperm whales would not be seen again, and the ship would be compelled to sail to another part of the globe, only to find that a large number of other whaling vessels were already cruising in that area.

During those voyages dogged by weeks and months of ill-luck, everyone on board from the skipper downwards was feeling in a state of perpetual irritation as one whaling ground after another was tried unsuccessfully. The Azores, the Crozets, Tristan da Cunha, Madagascar, Ceylon and other equally distant localities would be visited with heart-breaking failure. Sometimes whales would be sighted at dusk but missed at daylight. Then there would be days of bad weather, the ship labouring heavily, injuring those useful boats badly. Captain Harding of the _Arab_ mentioned in his journal that on July 22nd the gale had been blowing continuously for twenty-five days.

The result of this kind of seafaring was that the men deserted often at the very first opportunity, and for that reason stringent precautions were taken to prevent them getting ashore. The ship would therefore usually avoid inhabited islands, but on some lonely atoll the men would be allowed shore leave for their health’s sake. If the ship did visit now and again some island where the natives cultivated and prospered, as likely as not small-pox would be found raging, and the whaler, still short of drinking water, would be compelled to proceed elsewhere. On this occasion the more daring seamen would remain till a native canoe came out trading alongside, then wait for the great opportunity, get out through the open porthole, hide at the bottom of the boat and so be ferried ashore. But those less lucky than himself might have to serve three monotonous years, and even then end the voyage with little reward.

The discipline of a merchant ship and that of a whaler in the eighteen-forties were two quite different things. In the former it was strict: in the latter it was slack. But on getting clear of the port, watches and boats’ crews were chosen for the voyage until the new hands arrived at some Pacific harbour to replace those who had run. In the boats the water breakers were always kept filled, and there were biscuits. Every day whilst cruising the whaler’s boats were examined to see that everything was ready--harpoons and lances as sharp as razors, the lines in the tubs free from kinks and as supple as silk. The look-out man would be aloft at the royal masthead. “There she blows!” would be answered by the captain below bellowing, “Where away?” “Two points on the lee bow, sir,” would answer the man. Up into the rigging armed with his spy-glass would spring the skipper. “Keep her off a couple of points,” he would order as every man began to forget the weeks of monotony in that sudden excitement. Presently officers and their boats’ crews would be away as soon as the ship got up to the school of sperm whales that were swimming unsuspiciously along. The main topsail would have been backed just before lowering the boats, and in order not to scare the whales away, everything was done as quietly as possible.

But, just before getting up to the school, the steersmen would find the cachalots had sounded, so there was nothing for it but to wait twenty minutes till the mammals breached again: but then away went the boats whilst the pursued, with a “Choo’o, choo’o, choo’o,” went spouting from their blow-holes close ahead, and the harpooner was just about to do his work. It was a tense moment, but when pulling towards a whale no oarsman was allowed to look round. Eyes in the boat! Otherwise he was given a tap on the head from the officer in charge that made the oarsman see a whole constellation of stars. When the boat had got so near to the whale that it was touching, the expression used was that it was “wood and black skin.” And if the harpooner should fail to avail himself of the opportunity he would be “broken” as soon as he got back to the ship; for sometimes men, like whales, became gallied either from nervousness or excitement. Moreover there was a difference in technique, which had to be appreciated. The harpooner might have only recently joined the ship, although anything but a novice in his art. Perhaps he had been accustomed only to hunting the right whale and not the sperm. In the former case a long dart was used, and the manner of approach was towards the fore shoulder: then, after fastening the harpoon into the whale, the boat was quickly backed out of the way of the beast’s flukes or there was speedy disaster.

The harpooner’s attack on a right whale was made from a distance of from a couple to ten yards. But the sperm whale would be “fastened” by running the boat to the corner of the flukes alongside, and then attacking at from four to six yards. It was always a remarkable fact that as soon as one whale had been struck all the rest of the school were aware of it, and then the surrounding water became as if an earthquake had disturbed it, and the whole gallied school were rushing off to windward. Frantic with anger was the boat’s officer as he exhorted, threatened, encouraged the crew to row after the whale that had been missed by the unskilful harpooner. Perhaps for an hour that boat would be pulled to windward till human strength could toil no more, and then it would be turned round to go down wind towards the hove-to ship, now almost hull down.

On one occasion a cachalot had as many as seven English harpoons in him and attached three entire boats’ lines, or about three-quarters of a mile of cordage, together with one line-tub and numerous drogues. But in spite of all this dragging him back, the whale succeeded in getting right away solely by superior speed. Two days intervened, and then this same whale was sighted again by a totally different whaler, who managed to kill him. Later on, those two ships met in port, and the victor returned to the original attacker those seven harpoons and lines left in the whale. Usually if the harpooner were able to fasten solid into one whale all the other boats would be able to fasten each on to another whale: for it was an observed fact that when one whale had been made fast, the school would remain and give the other craft also a chance. Blackfish were especially lively creatures and wont to breach out of the water right over a boat, but if no whales were about these were captured, as they yielded several barrels of oil which fetched a good price.

Three years was by no means an excessive time for a whaler to be away from her home port, and Captain J. D. Whidden mentions in his _Old Sailing Ship Days_ that during the year 1848 he signed on at Tahiti aboard the whaling ship _George_, which had already been out forty-seven months, and had encountered such ill-luck that she had taken only about 1,200 barrels of oil. It is hardly surprising that during such a lengthy period most of her crew had at various times deserted, so that only four of her original ship’s company now remained in her. She took only one more whale, became so short of provisions that she had to speak another whaler after rounding the Horn, and beg a few stores, and there was not a bit of tobacco in the _George_ for over a month. One such voyage as this usually cured a man of further desire to go whaling.

After the cachalot was dead it usually floated, but sometimes it could be kept from sinking only with great difficulty. On certain occasions, also, after the carcase had been secured to the ship’s side, it became necessary to chop away the iron chain supporting the body: for in the case of a big whale which suddenly began to sink, this was the only way to prevent serious damage to the vessel. But normally, after the boats had got the cachalot alongside and secured parallel to the ship, the work commenced of removing the blubber and other valuable parts. A staging was erected over the vessel’s side where the officers operated after the bulwarks had been removed. The rest of the crew, having overhauled the cutting-falls attached to the masthead, proceeded to man the windlass.

The ship was now hove-to, and presently the sea would become red with blood, and a school of sharks for the next few hours would voraciously devour the pieces of fat which got adrift, but never touching the flesh of the whale itself. The work of removing the blubber was called “cutting in,” and the first operation was to use the spade on the lard between the eye and the pectoral fin. A large hook was then passed through and connected to the tackles, one hand lowering himself down for the purpose on to the dead whale, being careful not to let the sharks get a chance at him. The windlass then began to revolve, and assisted by spades, the blubber was separated from the carcase, and then stowed in the ship’s hold. The blubber after being cut into slips was then placed in the boilers in order to extract the spermaceti and the sperm-oil, the refuse being utilized as the fuel for the furnace in boiling, giving a clear, fierce flame. This boiling process was technically known among whaling men as “trying out,” and on a dark night following the day’s hunting, the sea would witness the strange sight of a vessel exuding clouds of smoke, and flames bursting out illuminating ship and rigging, whilst the vessel still went sailing along and weird, stained figures with strange implements worked away near the fires. At a date long before ever a steamer’s funnel was seen on the southern ocean, a British man-of-war once came across a British whaling ship thus engaged, and became alarmed at this flaming picture. Coming up so as to speak the whaler, the naval vessel hailed and inquired what the crew were doing. The latter’s master replied laconically, “Trying.” “Trying?” repeated the man-of-war’s captain. “Trying? Trying what? To set your ship on fire?”

All the same there was danger during this boiling if a sea or shower of rain caused the oil, already highly heated, to reach the fires below. But if all went well, the oil was eventually placed in the cooler adjoining the try-works, transferred to casks and stowed in the hold. Three days was the average time for “cutting in,” “trying out” and getting into casks the clear oil of the biggest species of whale.

Every service has its own particular adherents and experts, but there was a divided opinion amongst sailormen concerning these ships. The clipper seaman was accustomed to the steady routine of a well-run vessel; and unless he were a deserter, or for some reason was without a ship, he was not attracted by the whaler with its long spells of comparative idleness, its strenuous spells of disagreeable work, and its long voyages of several years. On the other hand, the master of the whaling ship was not anxious to take the clipper sailor. Provided the whaler had its experienced mates, its skilled harpooners too, it was preferable to train a raw crew than sign on a lot of disgruntled hard-case fellows who would cause trouble during those long, monotonous days away from land.

But the sea always has called men to leave the land, and to some there was an especial appeal to adventure which only a voyage in these whalers held out: for it combined the love of fighting with travel right round the world long before steam navigation came into the sphere of possibility. There were two well-known mottoes which the inexperienced soon learnt to know. “A dead whale or a stove boat” warned him that though the whale was an ugly, clumsy, stupid brute of some seventy tons displacement, yet he was sometimes nearly four times longer than the length of the whaling boat; so that the vicious fifteen-foot-wide cachalot’s tail and the twenty-foot jaw of the right whale were remembered in the advice, “Beware of a sperm’s jaw and a right whale’s flukes.”

There is on record the incident of three boats having been destroyed by one blow of the whale’s tail. But a sperm’s great lower jaw with its twin rows of glistening teeth has snapped off the forward end of a boat with two of its men with terrifying suddenness. In the year 1819 the American whaling ship _Essex_ of Nantucket had an experience such as shows the sperm’s strength in an amazing manner. Owen Chase was the name of the _Essex’s_ mate and he had been left on board in charge of the ship whilst the master and second mate were out after a whale. Chase was heading the _Essex_ down towards them when he saw the sperm lying on the surface and apparently considering the ship. It then settled just below the surface, as whales do when making an attack. The cachalot now headed for the _Essex_, so Chase ordered the helm up to avoid the brute. Unfortunately the ship had too little way on just then to get out of the attack that was coming; for the sperm struck the ship on the bow with such a collision as nearly threw all hands on their faces, the impact being like the striking of the hull against a rock.

This animal had now become the attacker instead of the intended victim, and after passing right below the ship’s hull, scraping the keel, came to the surface and exhibited his anger by thrashing the water with his tail and snapping his jaws. But he had done the necessary damage, and now the _Essex_ began to sink. Chase started the pump, signalled the boats to return, and even as he was getting provisions ready for the boats, along came the whale again at about six knots, flinging the surf in all directions, thrashing about with his terrible tail, and again struck the ship on the windward side just below the cathead, so leaving the bows completely stove in. Thus avenged of man’s insults, the whale made off to leeward, and was never seen again. But the unfortunate _Essex_ was utterly done for and soon foundered. The crew then underwent an appalling experience for ninety days in the boats, so that some of them died by starvation and the rest kept themselves alive only by eating their flesh and the flesh of one other who died after the casting of lots: a dreadful situation that none the less has occurred more than once in the days of the sailing ship. The mate’s boat was subsequently picked up by the British brig _India_ of London; and the captain’s boat a few days later by another whaler named the _Dauphin_.