There was a loud laugh. Then Kreelman interfered:
“Let Fancy Chest alone. Put yourself in his place, you smarties. For a boy fifteen years old he did well, and a man fifty couldn’t have done better. Any old sailor would have cut the line as Fancy Chest did.”
Kreelman was in a pleasant mood so far as his relations with me were involved, and ignoring the others, he observed:
“I think you are goin’ to make a whaleman, Fancy Chest, and there are some things I can tell you about whales and whalin’ that you don’t know, although you’ve learned two things to-day from bein’ in the boat. One of the things you learned is that the boat-steerer don’t throw the iron with his arm raised but gives it a kind of thrust, and the other thing you’ve learned is that, after he’s thrown the iron, he and the mate change places.”
“And why is that?” I asked. “I can’t see the sense to it.”
“There ain’t no sense to it, but it’s been done since whalin’ begun. People do things because their fathers did ’em before ’em. Many a whale’s been lost because the boat-steerer, after a long chase, was all tired out from havin’ to pull an oar. The boat-steerer ought to sit up in the bow and do nothin’ until the whale’s reached so that he can be in good condition to strike. And after he’s struck he ought to stay in the bow and kill the whale, and the mate remain in the stern. There are many things you ought to know. After a sperm’s struck and goes down, he throws out a kind of oil called ‘glip.’ If the boat passes through this glip or crosses the line between it and the whale, he knows it and puts on more speed. Sometimes the sperm is cunning, for while soundin’ with his head in one direction, he will turn and swim just opposite. Now as to the right whale—never follow his wake, for the moment the boat runs into his suds he knows it and makes off in great haste.”
Kreelman continued, “Now, Fancy Chest, them that has book larnin’ write about whales, but we old tars knows more than all of them fellows put together. Sperm whales talk to each other just as folks do.”
“You don’t mean that, do you?” I broke in.
“Talkin’ ain’t always with words. There’s another way of talkin’, especially among animals, and whales is animals. Whales can pass the news from one school to another, so can one whale to another. The moment a whale is struck, other whales in the neighborhood know it and either make off or, if the struck whale is a cow, draw near as if to give help. Can you explain it? I can’t. Men in the hoops often notice that when their own boats is attackin’ whales, a school several miles to wind’ard will appear to be frightened and disappear. Can you explain it? I can’t. Sometimes there’ll be a school of whales spread out over a long distance, and as if by signal they’ll all go under at the same time. Can you explain it? I can’t.
“But there are lots of things whales do that remind you a good deal of human folks. Sometimes you see a lot of sperm whales together, and that’s what you call a big school. Then sometimes you see a little school. Now both them schools may be all bulls, or they may be all cows, with just one bull to take care of ’em. In such case this one bull is a good deal of a gentleman, for, if there’s anything from behind to cause fright, he seems to tell the ladies to make tracks, and he stays behind to look out for the enemy—whether it’s a whaleboat or whatever it is. So this bull, with his caravan, goes travelin’ all over the ocean. Now you let any other bull come near and there’s sure to be a fight. In one of my voyages we saw a fight in the Pacific Ocean. It was a fine day and a smooth sea. The lookout called out whales, and we lowered. It seems it was a school of cow sperms, and there was a big bull with ’em. As we were gettin’ pretty near, another big bull, that had been soundin’, come up not far off, and the two went for each other. Their heads come together with terrible force, and, believe me, you could hear the noise a mile away. Then they drew back and seemed to rest for a minute and then they went at it again. This time they locked jaws. But there was somethin’ clumsy about it. They didn’t seem to show the spunk they did when they first come together. The ladies all disappeared, and we men in the boats laid on our oars and watched the battle, pretty sure we’d get both fellows in the end, and we did. They tried to twist their jaws round without doin’ very much, except that in wigglin’ their bodies and rollin’ round they made lots of suds. It was pretty certain that both of ’em was badly hurt. Our boat and another stole up quietly and we got both of them. And what do you think we found out? Why, one of ’em had his jaw twisted and a number of his teeth torn out, while the jaw of the other was broken off, so that it hung only by the flesh. It’s no uncommon thing to capture a whale whose jaw was long ago shattered and his head battered, and who’s had an awful hard time to get food to eat because he couldn’t fight the cuttlefish. We call them whales ‘dry-skins’ because the blubber makes so little oil.”