One of the best accounts of a chase published is that by the late Temple Brown, of the United States Fish Commission, in an article in “The Century” for February, 1893, from which I am permitted to make an extract:
While cruising on the coast of New Zealand, one day about 11.30 A. M., the lookout at the main hailed the deck with: “Thar sh’ b-l-o-w-s! Thar sh’ b-l-o-w-s! Blows! B-l-o-w-s!”
“Where away?” promptly responded the officer of the deck.
“Four points off the lee bow! Blows sperm-whales! Blows! Blows!” came from aloft.
“How far off?” shouted the captain, roused out of his cabin by the alarm, as his head and shoulders appeared above deck. “Where are they heading?” he continued, as he went up the rigging on all-fours.
“Blows about two miles and a half off, sir,” replied Mr. Braxton, the mate, looking off the lee-bow with his glasses, “and coming to windward, I believe.”
“Call all hands!” said the captain. “Haul up the mainsail, and back your main-yards. Hurry up there! Get your boats ready, Mr. Braxton!”
At the first alarm the men came swarming up the companionway of the forecastle, divesting themselves of superfluous articles of clothing, and scattering them indiscriminately about the deck. Rolling up their trousers, and girding their loins with their leather belts, taking a double reef until supper-time, they flitted nervously here and there in their bare legs and feet, observing every order with the greatest alacrity, and holding themselves in readiness to go over the side of the vessel at the word of command. There is a certain order, systematic action, or red tape, observed on all first-class whaling-vessels, however imperfectly disciplined some of the boat-crews may be. The captain indicates the boats he wishes to attack the whales; the boat-header (an officer) and the boat-steerer (the harpooner) take their proper positions in the boat, the former at the stern and the latter at the bow, while suspended in the davits. At the proper moment the davit-tackles are run out by men on deck, and the boats drop with a lively splash; the sprightly oarsmen meantime leap the ship’s rail, and, swinging themselves down the side of the vessel, tumble promiscuously into the boats just about the time the latter strike the water. Although it may be said that there is a general scramble, there is not the least confusion. Every person and thing has the proper place assigned to it in a whaleboat; the officer has full command, but he is subject to the orders of the captain, who signals his instructions from the ship, usually by means of the light sails. The manner of going on to a whale, the number of men and their positions in the boat, and the kind of instruments and the manner of using them, have been perpetuated in this fishery for more than two centuries.
“Clear away the larboard and bow boats!” shouted the captain. “Get in ahead of the whales, Mr. Braxton, if you can. Here, cook, you and cooper lend a hand there with them davy-taycles. Are you ready? Hoist and swing your boats.”
Down went the larboard boat and the bow boat almost simultaneously.