There was but a very light breeze on the port quarter, the ship making about two knots an hour, and the skipper, grabbing his binoculars and mounting the main rigging, shouted:—
“Port braces, bring her head up WNW. Mr. Spurrell, lively now,” the words exploding as he toiled upward and seated himself on the upper topsail yard. Meanwhile the other masthead-men had caught sight of the whales and were all adding their voices to the musical minor wail that was going up. On deck the watch below were beginning to swarm up; cleansing gear of brooms, buckets, sand, etc., was being put hurriedly away, and boats’ gripes cast off, while in each boat the harponeer might be seen critically examining the state of his weapons.
Presently the old man’s voice rang out peremptorily—
“Down from aloft! See all clear for lowering, call all hands. Christmas, you’d better git an’ see that all’s right in your boat.”
As his orders rang out the recipients of them responded severally, and swiftly the various duties were performed, but with an utter absence of bustle, for all hands were well trained. C. B. grabbed a backstay as he slid out of the crow’s-nest hoop and came to the deck like a flash, plunging at once full of eagerness in the direction of his boat. But here he found that the fourth mate had been before him and left nothing for him to do. I have not hitherto spoken of this curious individual, who is indeed worthy of special notice, because he is quite a supernumary in time of peace and indeed in time of war has to give place to the Captain should the latter wish to take the field himself. He was a Guamese, from the Ladrone Islands, the offspring of a Spanish father and a Chinese mother, but with practically only the facial characteristics of the Mongol. He was taciturn to a degree, never uttering an unnecessary word, although he spoke English fluently as well as Spanish and the Lingua Franca of the islands with which a man may get along from Honolulu to Haapai. And he answered to the name of Merritt, Mr. Merritt.
Seeing him in the boat, C. B. said pleasantly—
“Is there anything I can do, sir?”
“Get the lines in,” growled the officer, but not uncivilly—it was his natural mode of expression. And C. B., ready on the instant, turned to the boat’s crew who stood near and gave the necessary orders. The two tubs of line were flung into their places and all was ready. From his lofty perch the skipper’s voice came occasionally in steering directions as the whales, being on a passage, changed their bearings. This state of suspense endured for nearly two hours, during which the whales descended twice, their course, the time of their down-going and up-coming and the number of their individual spoutings out being carefully noted, all of which things are guides to the future movements of the whale of the utmost value.
For when unmolested and on a passage from one spot to another the sperm whale steers an exact course, as if directed by compass. So that when he settles down he heads his course and when he rises again, often fifty minutes later, he heads still the same way. Moreover the time he remains below, still when unmolested and on a passage, does not vary, it is as fixed as in the number of times he breathes on reaching the surface. But this latter phenomenon does not alter, whether the creature be unmolested or chased in full health or dying; when rising to breathe he must obey some strange law compelling him to keep to his particular number of spouts unless their quantity is cut short by death.
But it often happens that a school of sperm whales will spend an entire day upon the surface of the sea, apparently basking in the sunshine and doing nothing but enjoy the sensation of being peacefully alive. In this case their spoutings can hardly be seen, so attenuated does the vapour become as the creature’s air vessels get thoroughly charged with pure air. On first rising to the surface, after a prolonged stay below, the breath is so thick that a casual observer could easily mistake it for water, as indeed has so frequently been done. I can never understand why, though, because the expelled breath always hangs in the air like a tiny fog wreath, which water of course could not do.