THE WHALE-KILLER.
This fish is one of the wonders of the mighty deep, well known to those engaged in whaling, and in the Pacific cruisers. It is thus described by one who has often witnessed its attacks on the whale.
“The killer is the wolf of the ocean, and hunts in packs, and their tall dorsal fin can be constantly seen above the water. This fish has always as a companion, but swimming deeper, the sword-fish, and now and then can be seen the shark. On sighting their prey, which the killer sees at a great distance, the pack gives chase. The unconscious whale is slowly moving near the surface, and occasionally spouting, as it were in sport, jets of water above him. But he now suddenly sees the sea-wolf near him. Instinct at once teaches him that on the surface he can not be safe, and, taking in a long breath, he flukes; that is, dives. But there has been another enemy watching him from the depths below—the sword-fish, which now darts at him with the velocity of lightning, and perforates the whale beneath, with his long and spear-like nose. This sends him at once to the surface; here he again meets with his enemies, the killers; but as yet they are afraid to approach him. The whale now begins to see the extent of his danger, and for a time merely lashes the water with his ponderous fluke. He soon tires of this, and remains for a short time at rest; the pack now approach him, and he seeks safety in flight. But what can he do? The poor whale has a hump on his back, and steers unsteadily, while the killer’s tail and stiff fin steady him on his course. Nearer and nearer approach the pack to their victim; again he takes a long breath and dives. The sword-fish has steadily kept him in view; he, too, has a tall fin and long slender propelling tail; and while it is an effort to the whale to increase his speed, it is but play to the sword-fish, which again darts and perforates his prey, and sends the wounded whale again to the surface.
“The race again commences, but this time with diminished speed, the killers having separated to watch the rise of the whale, who, finding his enemies in every direction, courses in a circle, and again makes a third, and sometimes a fourth attempt to escape by diving, but is always met by the terrible spike of the sword-fish. He at last, weak, exhausted and dispirited, returns to the surface, where he again attempts escape by flight. Streams of blood mark his course; his enemies still follow steadily after him, until he stops and begins to lash and make the ocean foam around him; but now large streams of his life-blood are pouring out, and he is only increasing his weakness by the exertion, and merely lashing amidst his own gore. Tired, exhausted and faint, he rolls over. The deep red streaks of blood flowing from large orifices in his white belly can now be distinctly seen. The hungry pack now close, and one more bold than the rest seizes him near the throat and tears away the white skin and fat; he opens his mouth and bellows with pain. This is generally the signal for a combined attack. His tongue is seized and torn out; so are his eyes. The sword-fish now rises to the surface, and his tall spar-like protuberance is seen projecting over the body of the whale; the sharks also close in and feed on the fat rejected by the killers. In this state the whale makes a few dying struggles. The feast now commences and continues until the fat and sufficient flesh are stripped off to cause the carcass to become too heavy to float on the surface, and it sinks. The shark is left to enjoy his few streaks of fat, while the killer pack, accompanied by their companion, the sword-fish, rove again the broad ocean to seek another leviathan of the great deep.”