Thus our orphan grew and waxed great. Together, without mishap of any kind, these lords of the flood skirted the southern slopes of the globe. In serene security they ranged the stormy seas from Kerguelen to Cape Horn, from the Falklands to Table Bay. Up through the scent-laden straits between Madagascar and Mozambique, loitering along the burning shores of Zanzibar and Pemba, dallying with the eddies around the lonely Seychelles and idling away the pleasant north-east monsoon in the Arabian Sea. By the Bab-el-Mandeb they entered the Red Sea, their majestic array scaring the nomad fishermen at their lonely labour along the reef-besprinkled margins thereof, remote from the straight-ruled track down its centre along which the unwearied slaves of the West, the great steamships, steadily thrust their undeviating way. Here, in richest abundance, they found their favourite food, cuttlefish of many kinds, although none so large as those haunting the middle depths of the outer ocean. And threading the deep channels between the reefs great shoals of delicately flavoured fish, beguiled by the pearly whitenesses of those gaping throats, rushed fearlessly down them to oblivion. So quiet were these haunts, so free from even the remotest chance of interference by man, their only enemy, that they remained for many months, even penetrating well up the Gulf of Akaba, that sea of sleep whose waters even now retain the same primitive seclusion they enjoyed when their shores were the cradle of mankind.
But now a time was fast approaching when our hero must needs meet his compeers in battle, if haply he might justify his claim to be a leader in his turn. For such is the custom of the cachalot. The young bulls each seek to form a harem among the younger cows of the school, and having done so, they break off from the main band and pursue their own independent way. This crisis in the career of the orphan had been imminent for some time, but now, in these untroubled seas, it could no longer be delayed. Already several preliminary skirmishes had taken place with no definite results, and at last, one morning when the sea was like oil for smoothness, and blazing like burnished gold under the fervent glare of the sun, two out of the four young bulls attacked the orphan at once. All around lay the expectant brides ready to welcome the conqueror, while in solitary state the mighty leader held aloof, doubtless meditating on the coming time when a mightier than he should arise and drive him from his proud position into lifelong exile. Straight for our hero’s massive head came his rivals, charging along the foaming surface like bluff-bowed torpedo rams. But as they converged upon him he also charged to meet them, settling slightly at the same time. Whether by accident or design I know not, but certainly the consequence of this move was that instead of their striking him they met one another over his back, the shock of their impact throwing their great heads out of the sea with a dull boom that might have been heard for a mile. Swiftly and gracefully the orphan turned head over flukes, rising on his back and clutching the nearest of his opponents by his pendulous under-jaw. The fury of that assault was so great that the attacked one’s jaw was wrenched sideways, until it remained at right angles to his body, leaving him for the rest of his life sorely hampered in even the getting of food, but utterly incapable of ever again giving battle to one of his own species. Then rushing towards the other aggressor the victorious warrior inverted his body in the sea, and brandishing his lethal flukes smote so doughtily upon his foe that the noise of those tremendous blows reverberated for leagues over the calm sea, while around the combatants the troubled waters were lashed into ridges and islets of snowy foam. Very soon was the battle over. Disheartened, sick, and exhausted, the disabled rival essayed to escape, settling stone-like until he lay like some sunken wreck on the boulder-bestrewn sea-bed a hundred fathoms down. Slowly, but full of triumph, the conqueror returned to the waiting school and, selecting six of the submissive cows, led them away without any attempt at hindrance on the part of the other two young bulls who had not joined in the fray.
In stately march the new family travelled southward out of the Red Sea, along the Somali Coast, past the frowning cliffs of Sokotra, and crossing the Arabian Sea, skirted at their ease the pleasant Malabar littoral. Unerring instinct guided them across the Indian Ocean and through the Sunda Straits, until amid the intricacies of Celebes they ended their journey for a season. Here, with richest food in overflowing abundance, among undisturbed reef-beds swept by constantly changing currents, where they might chafe their irritated skins clean from the many parasites they had accumulated during their long Red Sea sojourn, they remained for several seasons. Then, suddenly, as calamities usually come, they were attacked by a whaler as they were calmly coasting along Timor. But never till their dying day did those whale-fishers forget that fight. True, they secured two half-grown cows, but at what a cost to themselves! For the young leader, now in the full flush of vigorous life, seemed not only to have inherited the fighting instincts of his ancestors, but also to possess a fund of wily ferocity that made him a truly terrible foe. No sooner did he feel the first keen thrust of the harpoon than, instead of expending his strength for naught by a series of aimless flounderings, he rolled his huge bulk swiftly towards his aggressors, who were busily engaged in clearing their boat of the hampering sail, and perforce helpless for a time. Right down upon them came the writhing mass of living flesh, overwhelming them as completely as if they had suddenly fallen under Niagara. From out of that roaring vortex only two of the six men forming the boat’s crew emerged alive, poor fragments of humanity tossing like chips upon the tormented sea. Then changing his tactics, the triumphant cachalot glided stealthily about just beneath the surface, feeling with his sensitive flukes for anything still remaining afloat upon which to wreak his newly aroused thirst for vengeance. As often as he touched a floating portion of the shattered boat, up flew his mighty flukes in a moment, and, with a reflex blow that would have stove in the side of a ship, he smote it into still smaller splinters. This attention to his first set of enemies saved the other boats from destruction, for they, using all expedition, managed to despatch the two cows they had harpooned, and when they returned to the scene of disaster, the bull, unable to find anything more to destroy, had departed with the remnant of his family, and they saw him no more. Gloomily they traversed the battle-field until they found the two exhausted survivors just feebly clinging to a couple of oars, and with them mournfully regained their ship.
Meanwhile the triumphant bull was slowly making his way eastward, sorely irritated by the galling harpoon which was buried deep in his shoulders, and wondering what the hundreds of fathoms of trailing rope behind him could be. At last coming to a well-known reef he managed to get the line entangled around some of its coral pillars, and a strenuous effort on his part tore out the barbed weapon, leaving in its place a ragged rent in his blubber four feet long. Such a trifle as that, a mere superficial scratch, gave him little trouble, and with the wonderful recuperative power possessed by all the sea-folk the ugly tear was completely healed in a few days. Henceforth he was to be reckoned among the most dangerous of all enemies to any of mankind daring to attack him, for he knew his power. This the whalemen found to their cost. Within the next few years his fame had spread from Cape Cod to Chelyushkin, and wherever two whaleships met for a spell of “gamming,” his prowess was sure to be an absorbing topic of conversation. In fact, he became the terror of the tortuous passages of Malaysia, and though often attacked always managed to make good his escape, as well as to leave behind him some direful testimony to his ferocious cunning. At last he fell in with a ship off Palawan, whose crew were justly reputed to be the smartest whale-fishers from “Down East.” Two of her boats attacked him one lovely evening just before sunset, but the iron drew. Immediately he felt the wound he dived perpendicularly, but describing a complete vertical circle beneath the boat he rose again, striking her almost amidships with the front of his head. This, of course, hurled the crew everywhere, besides shattering the boat. But reversing himself again on the instant, he brandished those awful flukes in the air, bringing them down upon the helpless men and crushing three of them into dead pieces. Apparently satisfied, he disappeared in the gathering darkness.
When the extent of the disaster became known on board the ship, the skipper was speechless with rage and grief, for the mate who had been killed was his brother, and very dear to him. And he swore that if it cost him a season’s work and the loss of his ship, he would slay that man-killing whale. From that day he cruised about those narrow seas offering large rewards to any of his men who should first sight his enemy again. Several weeks went by, during which not a solitary spout was seen, until one morning in Banda Strait the skipper himself “raised” a whale close in to the western verge of the island. Instantly all hands were alert, hoping against hope that this might prove to be their long-sought foe at last. Soon the welcome news came from aloft that it was a sperm whale, and an hour later two boats left the ship, the foremost of them commanded by the skipper. With him he took four small barrels tightly bunged, and an extra supply of bomb-lances, in the use of which he was an acknowledged expert. As they drew near the unconscious leviathan they scarcely dared breathe, and, their oars carefully peaked, they propelled the boats by paddles as silently as the gliding approach of a shark. Hurrah! fast; first iron. “Starn all, men! it’s him, d—n him, ’n I’ll slaughter him ’r he shall me.” Backward flew the boat, not a second too soon, for with that superhuman cunning expected of him, the terrible monster had spun round and was rushing straight for them. The men pulled for dear life, the steersman swinging the boat round as if she were on a pivot, while the skipper pitched over the first of his barrels. Out flashed the sinewy flukes, and before that tremendous blow the buoyant barrico spun through the air like a football. The skipper’s eyes flashed with delight at the success of his stratagem, and over went another decoy. This seemed to puzzle the whale, but it did not hinder him, and he seemed to keep instinctively heading towards the boat, thus exposing only his invulnerable head. The skipper, however, had no idea of rashly risking himself, so heaving over his remaining barrel he kept well clear of the furious animal’s rushes, knowing well that the waiting game was the best. All through that bright day the great battle raged. Many were the hair-breadth escapes of the men, but the skipper never lost his cool, calculating attitude. Finally the now exhausted leviathan “sounded” in reality, remaining down for half-an-hour. When he reappeared, he was so sluggish in his movements that the exultant skipper shouted, “Naow, boys, in on him! he’s our whale.” Forward darted the beautiful craft under the practised sweep of the six oars, and as soon as she was within range the skipper fired his first bomb. It reached the whale, but, buried in the flesh, its explosion was not disabling. Still it did not spur the huge creature into activity, for at last his strength had failed him. Another rush in and another bomb, this time taking effect just abaft the starboard fin. There was a momentary accession of energy as the frightful wound caused by the bursting iron tube among the monster’s viscera set all his masses of muscle a-quiver. But this spurt was short-lived. And as a third bomb was fired a torrent of blood foamed from the whale’s distended spiracle, a few fierce convulsions distorted his enormous frame, and that puissant ocean monarch passed peacefully into the passiveness of death.
When they got the great carcass alongside, they found embedded in the blubber no fewer than fourteen harpoons, besides sundry fragments of exploded bombs, each bearing mute but eloquent testimony to the warlike career of the vanquished Titan who began his career as an orphan.
A PORPOISE MYTH
Far away to the horizon on three sides of us stretched the sea, its wavelets all sparkling in the sun-glade, and dancing under the touch of the sedate trade-wind. Above hung a pale-blue dome quivering with heat and light from the sun, that, halfway up his road to the zenith, seemed to be in the act of breaking his globular limit and flooding space with flame. Ah! it was indeed pleasant to lie on that little patch of pure sand, firm and smooth as a boarded floor, with the rocks fringed by greenery of many kinds overshadowing us, and the ocean murmuring at our feet.