Deep-Sea Plunderings

by Frank Thomas Bullen

For an answer the skipper produced from his hip-pocket a revolver, which he pointed straight at Scotty’s head, while with the other hand he made a comprehensive gesture, which we obeyed by falling back from that dangerous vicinity. As we did so, there was a rioting behind us, and into our midst burst the mate and Conkey, fiercely struggling.

In a moment there was as pretty a rough-and-tumble among us as any fighting-man would wish to see, for the harpooners and the other three mates had sprung in from somewhere, and were making up for lost time with vigour.

Apart from the struggling crowd the skipper stood fingering his shooting-iron, apparently irresolute—indeed, it was hard to decide for a moment what to do. Bloodshed was evidently most distasteful to him, yet there could be no doubt that he would not shrink from it if necessary. But the whole affair was so grotesque, so causeless, that he was undecided how to deal with it, the more especially as his officers were every one mixed inextricably with the crew in a writhing mass.

The problem was solved for him and for us in a most unexpected way. In the midst of the riot there was a tremendous shock, as if the Ursus had suddenly struck a rock while going at full speed; but, as she had barely been going through the water at the rate of two knots an hour, that was an impossible explanation. The concussion, whatever it was, flung every man to the deck, and in one moment all thoughts were switched off the conflict with one another and on to this mysterious danger. All hands rushed to the side and looked overboard, to see the blue of the sea streaked with bands of blood, while not twenty feet away, on the starboard beam, a huge sperm whale lay feebly exhaling breath that showed redly against the blue of the water. Like a trumpet-blast the old man’s voice rang out, “Lower ’way boats!” and with catlike celerity every man flew to his station, the falls rattled, and with an almost simultaneous splash three boats took the water.

“Hold on, starboard bow boat!” roared the old man again, seeing that there was no need of it, and taking that advantage of keeping it in its place given him by the third mate being a few seconds slower than the others in getting away.

Before we had time to realize what a change had come over us all, we were furiously assaulting the monster, but he was in no condition to retaliate. Had we left him alone, he must have died in a few minutes, for protruding from the side of his massive head was a jagged piece of timber, showing white and splintered where it had been freshly broken away.

We had little time to speculate upon the strangeness of the occurrence, for suddenly we were aware that urgent signals were being made from the ship; and, leaving one boat to pass the fluke-line ready for hauling our prize alongside, the other two sped back to the ship. Arriving alongside, we clambered swiftly on board, to hear the skipper’s deep voice calling, “Leave the boats and man the pumps!” A cold shudder ran through us at the words, for in a moment all knew that our ship had received a deadly blow from the wounded whale, and that it was a portion of her that we had seen protruding from his head. And we remembered the awful loneliness of that part of the Pacific, far away from the track of all ships except an occasional whaler, so occasional that our chances of falling in with one was infinitesimal.

The wind fell to a dead calm. There was not a cloud in the heavens, and the sea in our immediate vicinity was not only smooth, but silky, from the slight oiliness we exuded, so that looking down into it was almost like looking up at the sky. After the first alarm had subsided it was evident that we could have several relays at the pumps, their structure not admitting of more than eight men working conveniently at one time. The skipper stood by with the sounding-rod, waiting, in grim silence, to see whether we or the leak were gaining, when Mac, sidling up to him, made some remark that we could not hear. The skipper turned to him and nodded; and immediately we saw our pawky shipmate shedding his two garments. Next thing we knew he was climbing over the side, and those of us who were resting mounted the rail and watched him. I have seen Kanakas diving for pearl-shell, and Malays diving for pearls, but never an olive-skinned amphibian of them all could have held a candle to Jock MacTavish. He swam about under the ship’s bottom, examining her just as coolly as if in Lambeth Baths, his wide, open eyes glaring upward through the water with a most uncanny look in them—like the eyes of a man long dead. Suddenly he popped up alongside, not at all distressed, and, wringing the water from his nose, mounted the side and approached the skipper.

With one accord the clang of the pumps ceased to hear his words, for we felt that they were a verdict of life or death for all of us. “She’ll be a’ recht, sir,” said he. “Ther’s a muckle hole in th’ garburd straake, an’ aboot twenty fit o’ the fause keel awa’; bit a poke fu’ o’ shakins ’ll bung it up brawly wi’ a len’th o’ chain roond her tae keep it in’s plaace.” The pumping was resumed with all the energy of hope renewed, while busy hands made ready a bagful of soft rope-yarns and got up a spare fluke-chain. The bag was made fast in the bight of a rope, which, weighted with a lump of sandstone attached by a slipping lashing of spunyarn, was passed under her bottom. Again Mac went overboard and guided the plug into its place.

Then the chain was passed round her, and placed over the plug by Scotty. On deck we hove it taut, and in four hours we had sucked her out.