CHAPTER IV
THE FIRST CHASE
From early morn, when the men took their places in the hoops, to look for whales, there followed the regular order of the day. If the weather were good, the captain took his observations; the watches changed at proper times, and the men at the wheel and the lookouts were relieved every two hours. In the afternoon, usually at about four, the pumps were tested and the decks scrubbed. There was no noise in the ship save that occasioned by wind and wave and orders to the men. However, in the second dogwatch, which was generally about twilight, some fun was permitted. The men gathered, chatted and smoked. Rude strains were drawn from a battered accordion, while all the time the boat-steerers were at the bench aft the try-pot, engaged in whetting harpoons.
We had, in our day, the old-fashioned log to determine the rapidity of the ship’s motion, but it wasn’t used very much, as in cruising for whales the speed of the vessel was of little consequence.
On the approach of a storm the merchantman sometimes failed to make preparations in season. Not so with a whaler. Only a few days after leaving Pico we encountered a storm. As the gale bore down upon us from the windward blackness, and the long range of wave crests grew larger and the situation became more serious, we were quick to shorten sail and, under storm staysails, met the gale without any fear. Higher blew the wind, heavier pounded the sea, our staunch boat shipped little water, though tossed about like a shell.
A week or more passed, and the men in the hoops saw not a single spout. Kreelman said to me, “Fancy Chest, the sperm whale, you know, is a low spouter—just a little bushy spout forward—and it’s not easy to see unless the whale’s near. The men with the sharpest eyes are the Gay Head Indians, and we’ve got one of ’em on board, and he’s up in the hoops now. He can see a sperm spout if any one can.”
Within half an hour came the gladdening cry from aloft, “B-l-o-w-s! b-l-o-w-s! b-l-o-w-s! There he breaches! There he white-waters!” The captain called out, “Where away?” “Two points on the lee bow.” “How far off?” “Two miles, sir.” “Keep your eye on him. Sing out when we head right.”
The captain gave orders to call all hands, get the boats ready, square the mainyard, put the helm up, keep her off, stand by the boats and lower away. Then he took his glasses and climbed to the main crow’s nest. The braces, sheets, and halyards were thrown from the pins, and then, while the men reached and hauled, the mates slacked away, the yards swung and the vessel came about. The boats quickly took to the water, and the crew swarmed down the falls and dropped into their places. The boat-steerers went forward, the officers aft. There was suppressed excitement, but no disorder. The wind was favorable, the masts were stepped in all the boats, the sails hoisted and peaked and the sheets paid out; and away we went. Each boat, of course, carried six men. As it happened, we were headed for a “pod” or “school” of sperm whales. All the boats were in the chase, and the men left on the ship were the captain, the four sparemen or shipkeepers, the cook, the steward and the carpenter. The vessel fortunately was to windward and could easily bear down on a boat if it made fast to a whale. Here I should say that every whaling house had its private code of signals. As the vessel was often a long distance from the boats engaged in the chase, signals gave needed instructions. The signals were generally about fifteen in number. They consisted of the position of colors and of the sails. Thus the men were told of the location of whales they could not see from the boats, of an accident to their companions, such as a stove boat, or the need of their presence on the ship.
We had not gone a quarter of a mile before the wind shifted and we had to take in sail and resort to the oars. My feelings are so well told by Captain Robbins, an old whaleman, in his book called the “Gam” that I propose to quote his exact language. The captain says:
“I shall never forget the dazzling sensations of that first moment—the tall ship, with her checkered sides and her huge white davits; the two sharp-bowed clinker-built boats—five long oars in each—two on one side, three on the other; the sun-glint upon the oar-blades as they lifted above the surface, the white splash when they dipped again; the rapid, nervous, brutal stroke; the pose of the officers as they stood in the stern-sheets of the boats, each with his lifted left hand holding the steering oar, and each with his right hand pushing upon the stroke oar; and, yet more vivid, the one figure I could see in our own boat. For the mate stood last, steering with one hand and helping me row with the other.”
Just as Captain Robbins describes, Lakeum steered with his left hand and pushed on the handle of my oar with his right. He was an interesting figure as he urged the men on in a low tone, telling them at the same time not to make any noise. “It’s a pretty good pod and we ought to get a good-sized bull,” he declared. Of course, Lakeum was the only one in the boat who could see ahead. The rowlocks were thumbed with greased marline, to prevent any noise of the oars. Soon came the order to take in the oars and use the paddles. Then I knew that we were close to a whale. In a few minutes we were told to take the oars again and await orders. I turned my head and beheld just in front of the bow of the boat a low black mass, and I saw the boat-steerer leaning forward as if awaiting the mate’s order. The fateful moment had come and my feelings were intense. The boat moved ahead very slowly, and, just as the bow touched the monster, Lakeum shouted, “Up and let him have it.” The boat-steerer rose in a moment and pushed his left leg into the clumsy cleat in the forward thwart. Then he rested the top end of the harpoon handle in the palm of his right hand, steadying it with his left. He hurled the iron with all his force and saw it bury itself in the blubber up to the hitches. Seizing the second harpoon, he threw it with equal success.