The Bushman — Life in a New Country

by Edward Wilson Landor

At these times swarms of sharks of enormous dimensions infest the coast. At the Vasse, they were so numerous in 1845, that the men in the boats became quite cowed by their audacity. Were a whale killed in the evening, two-thirds of it would be eaten before morning by the sharks. The monsters (sometimes thirty feet in length) would follow the whale-boats, and strike against them with their snouts and fins; until the men were so intimidated that they even refused to go in pursuit of a whale which otherwise they might easily have captured. Mr. Robert Viveash, one of the principals at this station, told me, among other anecdotes, that one day, standing on the deck of a small schooner, watching the evolutions of an enormous shark, he saw it seize the rudder with its teeth in a kind of frenzy, or else in mere sport, and shake it so violently that the tiller, striking against some heavy object on deck, was actually broken in two pieces. It is a well-authenticated fact, that some years ago a shark, playing round a whaling vessel of upwards of 300 tons, whilst lying at anchor during a calm, got entangled in the buoy-rope of the anchor, and in its efforts to free itself actually tripped the anchor. The people on board, perceiving something extraordinary had happened, hove up the anchor, and brought the struggling shark to the surface. Having thrown a rope over its head and secured it by a running bowline knot under the pectoral fins, the fish was boused up to the fore-yard; and its length was so great, that when its nose touched the yard, its tail was still lashing the water.

There is something highly exciting in the chase of the whale. I have watched the proceedings for hours from Arthur's Head, the high rock between Fremantle and the sea. A man stationed here on the look out, perceives a whale spouting about six miles off, between the main-land and the opposite islands. He immediately hoists a flag, and makes signals indicating the direction.

The crews of six whale-boats, which have been lying ready on the beach, with their lines carefully coiled in a tub, and harpoon and lances all at hand, assemble like magic. The boats are launched, and pulling rapidly out of the bay, each with its own particular flag flying at the bows; the steersman leans forward, and gives additional force to the stroke-oar by the assistance of his weight and strength; the men pull strongly and well-together; the boats dance over the flashing waves, and silence and determination reign among the crews. The object is to meet the whale, and come down upon him in front; none but a lubber or a knave would cross his wake; for his eyes are so placed that he can see laterally and behind better than straight before him, and the moment he detects a boat in pursuit he begins to run. The lubber crosses his wake, because he has not steered so as to be able to avoid doing so; the knave, because either out of spite to his employer, or because he is bribed by an adverse company, is desirous that the fish should be lost. If the boats are a long distance astern when the whale begins to run, pursuit is useless, and the men return, hoping for better luck another time.

The boats come round Arthur's Head almost together. The men, knowing that many hours of severe toil are probably before them, pull steadily, but not so as to exhaust themselves at the outset. At length one boat creeps out from the rest; the others gradually drop into line, and the distance between each widens perceptibly. The last boat, a heavy sailer, is half-a-mile astern of the first. From the boats, your eye wanders to the spot where the whale was last seen to blow. For some time you can discern nothing, and fancy he must be gone off to sea again. At last a thin white column of vapour is perceptible; the animal is carelessly sporting about, unconscious of danger. The first boat draws rapidly down upon him; it approaches nearer and nearer. The fish has disappeared, but his enemies seem to know the direction in which he is going, and are ready awaiting him when he returns to the surface. You now perceive him blowing close to the first boat, the steersman of which draws in the steer-oar and runs forward, whilst the men have all peaked their oars, and remain quiet in their seats. The steersman has seized the harpoon to which the long line of coiled rope is attached; in a moment he has plunged it into the animal's side. Starting at the stroke, away it darts; the line flies out of the tub over the bow of the boat; the men begin to pull, in order to ease the shock when the line is all run out; and now away they go, the whale drawing the boat after him at such speed that the water flies off from the bows in broad flakes.

After running upwards of a mile, the fish dives down to the bottom; there he remains some minutes, until compelled to return to the surface for breath. His reappearance is heralded by a column of water spouted from his nostrils.

Two of the boats are able to approach near enough to allow lances to be thrown at him, which, penetrating through the blubber, pierce his vitals, and cause him to run again as swiftly as before. Again he sinks, and again appears on the surface; the column which he now spouts forth is tinged with red. The boats again approach, the more lances are driven into his sides, but he is not yet subdued; he breaks away from the assassins, and tries once more to escape; but, alas! his strength and his life-blood are fast ebbing away; his breath begins to fail, and he cannot remain long beneath the surface.

He comes up suddenly in the very midst of the boats, and, as he rolls from side to side, he strikes one of them with his fin, staving it in and making it a wreck upon the water. The drowning men are picked up by their companions, and the whale is again pursued. He is now in the death-flurry, spinning round and round, and lashing the sea into foam with his broad tail. He is still; and now the boats venture to come close up to the carcase, and fixing grapnels in it, with tow-lines attached, they form in a line, and commence towing their conquest to the shore, singing as they row, their measured paeans of victory.

When the blubber is cut off and tryed out, it produces from three to ten tons of oil.

Besides whales, there are immense quantities of fish upon this coast. The best kind are called tailors, and have a good deal of the mackerel flavour; and snappers, which somewhat resemble cod-fish. The mullets and whitings are better than those on the English coast, but every other fish is much inferior in flavour to those known in England. We have nothing to equal salmon, turbot, soles, cod, or mackerel; nevertheless, a snapper of twenty pounds weight is a very eatable fish.

They are caught in great quantities, salted and exported to the Mauritius, where they are acknowledged to be superior to the fish imported from the Cape of Good Hope. Snapper-fishing is not bad sport, as they bite freely. They go in immense shoals, and it is not an uncommon thing to catch twenty-hundred weight at a single haul. When H.M.S. Challenger was lying in Cockburn Sound, some of the men with a very large seine-net, caught two thousand fish at a single haul—averaging five pounds a-piece. This is almost incredible, but it is related on good authority.