The Boy Whaleman

by George Fox Tucker

“I don’t want to,” I declared. “The story of the Essex is all true and I trust it may never be repeated; but I can tell a story of a whale as savage as the one which sank the Essex. He too attacked a whaler, but no lives were lost.”

“Go on,” they shouted.

“In 1850 the Parker Cook of Provincetown, while cruising in the Atlantic, lowered two boats for a bull sperm. The boat-steerer of one of the boats made fast with two irons, and the whale capsized her. The line fouled and nearly severed the boat-steerer’s leg from the body. He fortunately was able to cut the line, and the other boat picked up the men in the water and returned to the ship. But the whale wasn’t satisfied. Like the destroyer of the Essex, he made for the Parker Cook and struck her with great force, throwing the men to the deck and burying the cutwater and stem up to the planking in his head. Then he repeated the performance but with abated force. The captain lowered another boat, and, when they were in close quarters, fired three bomb lances into the creature and so wounded him that he spouted blood. Every time the whale made for the boat, great skill was required in avoiding his charges. The whale was at last killed, and when tried out yielded a little over a hundred barrels. The vessel put into Fayal for medical treatment for the boat-steerer and for repairs. Lucky it was that the attack was directly on the stem. Had it been on any other part of the vessel she would probably have shared the fate of the Essex.”

The men called for another, and I responded:

“Of course, what I have just told I read out of a book, and, as you ask for another, I’ll give you this which I also read out of a book, but it’s true nevertheless. While near the Azores in 1832, the mate’s boat of the Barclay of Nantucket struck a whale with both irons, and, when the mate went forward to use the lance, the whale turned and killed him and then escaped. A few days after, the Hector of New Bedford fell in with the same whale, and several boats were lowered. The whale made for the mate’s boat. This officer, by a quick move, avoided the encounter, and the boat-steerer threw his harpoon successfully, but the whale turned and smashed the bow of the boat. He then demolished the captain’s boat. While the crew were picked up, the whale proceeded to bite up the pieces of the broken craft, and succeeded with a single exception. This was a keg. As the keg bobbed up and down on the waves, the whale tried to capture it with his teeth, but unsuccessfully, and he seemed very angry. After the men had reached the ship, the whale and the keg were still in evidence. The mate now picked a crew and lowered again. The whale then lost interest in the keg and made for the boat. Its occupants, terror-stricken, pulled for the ship. Several times they barely escaped from the whale’s jaws, and they were becoming exhausted when the whale, which had been fighting of course with his belly up, turned over to lift his head out of water and take in some fresh air. The boat was so near that the mate was able to drive his lance into the creature’s vitals, killing him almost instantly. The harpoons of the Barclay were found in his body.”

The men were very attentive and thoughtful. One of them said, “If a boat’s crew should lose the ship in these waters we’re goin’ to, it wouldn’t do to land, and I don’t know what would become of ’em.”

Kreelman turned to me and said, “Fancy Chest, that reminds me of the bark Janet. I’ve heard the story, but you’ve read about it, I suppose. So go on and tell it.”

“Yes, I have read about it. In 1849 a boat’s crew succeeded in killing a whale, and soon after the boat was capsized. All the contents except the oars were lost. The men were able to right the craft, but she was water-filled, and the sea was so rough that to prevent the boat from foundering the oars were lashed across her. Night was coming on and, unfortunately, they were not seen from the vessel. Working their way to the dead whale, they made fast to him and endeavored to empty the water from the boat, but the sea was so rough that they were forced to cut loose. After a night of great suffering they looked in vain for the bark. They could make little headway, and they were all exhausted, so they put the boat before the wind. On the second day the sea subsided, and they were encouraged to throw over the boat and empty the water. One man was lost in the unsuccessful endeavor, and two of the men soon went mad. The nearest land was an island off the coast of Peru, a thousand miles away. The weak and discouraged crew summoned all their strength and tore the ceiling from the boat, with which to rig a wooden sail. They steered their course at night by the stars, and by day suffered great agony from the heat. There was neither food nor water for seven days, and then they drew lots, and one of their number was killed and eaten. A shower fell, but too late. On the eighth day another man died and on the ninth another shower furnished water. Then a dolphin leaped into the boat. For several days birds came so near that the men were able to kill them. Twenty days after the boat capsized they reached the island off Peru. There they killed a wild pig and two days later were taken off by the Leonidas of New Bedford.”

“Well,” observed one of the men, repeating the previous remark, “if a boat gets lost from a ship on the ground we are goin’ to, they’d have a hard time of it. It wouldn’t do to land there, and where could they land?”

This observation gave rise to discussion, and the expression of views showed a woful ignorance of geography. Kreelman seemed to have the best grasp of the situation.