Frank Nelson in the Forecastle; Or, The Sportman's Club Among the Whalers

by Harry Castlemon

"There he is," cried the skipper, a moment afterward. "Throw it at him and go overboard if you miss him."

The old sailor obeyed the order to the very letter. He threw his harpoon, missed his object and went overboard. Whether it was for the reason that the boat was unsteady, or because the seaman was too badly frightened to stand firmly on his feet, or because his hand had lost its skill during the years that had passed since he struck his last whale, it is hard to tell. Perhaps all these things combined operated to bring about the events that followed. At any rate the iron went wild and the old boatswain's mate turned a complete back somersault and disappeared over the side. He rose immediately, however, and Frank catching sight of him as a wave carried him past the boat, promptly thrust his oar out to him.

The captain was almost beside himself with fury. He did not act or talk quite so much like an affectionate father as he did a short time before. He tore off his hat, trampled it under his feet and shook all over with rage. "He missed him as sure as I'm a sinner," he sputtered, hardly able to speak plainly. "If I had him aboard the ship I would trice him up for a week. Let the fool go," he roared with a long string of heavy adjectives, as Frank tried to place the blade of his oar in the old sailor's grasp. "A man that'll get up on his legs and tumble overboard while the boat is standing still, is of no use aboard a vessel of mine; so let him go down among the sharks, where he belongs. We're well rid of—Stern all! Stern for your lives! Well done, my son. You've been in this business before, and you are my boat-header from this day out."

The change in the captain's tone was brought about by an action on Frank's part that was unexpected, even to himself. He scarcely knew he did it until after it was done. Lucas, having missed his first throw and gone overboard, had no chance for a second attempt, and unless somebody took his place on the instant, the game was likely, if he did not escape altogether, to lead them a long, hard race before they could come up with him again. It required an emergency to show what Frank was made of. He never waited to take a second thought, but throwing his oar to the boatswain's mate—he knew it would keep him afloat until the boat could pick him up—he jumped to his feet, catching up the extra harpoon as he arose.

When his face was turned toward the bow of the boat, Frank saw a sight that was well calculated to shake stronger nerves than his—a sperm whale coming up on a breach almost within an oar's length of him. His huge bulk was shooting up into the air, and he did not even make a ripple in the water as he arose. But when he fell on his side, as he did a moment later, he created something more than a ripple. He raised waves that threatened to swamp the boat, and made a noise that would have given Frank some idea of the immense weight of the monster, if he had not been too highly excited and alarmed to have any ideas at all.

As the whale fell into the water—fortunately he fell away from the boat—Frank's harpoon was launched into the air, and being thrown with all the force his sinewy arms could give it, and flying true to its aim, was buried to the socket in the side of the whale. The next instant the young harpooner was thrown flat among the thwarts by the sudden start backward which the crew gave the boat in obedience to the captain's order "Stern all!" He heard something whistling through the air, and looked up just in time to see the whale's flukes disappearing in a pile of foam. How he opened his eyes at the sight of them! They would have measured more feet across than the boat measured in length. The whale gave the water an angry slap, raising a sea that would have filled the boat had not the bow been promptly brought around toward it, and then started down into the depths at the rate of a mile in six minutes, the line fairly smoking as it whizzed through the lead-lined groove. Frank held his breath while he gazed at it. It looked like a streak of blue flame, so swiftly did it run out. If it caught on anything, the boat and all her crew would be a hundred feet under water in an instant's time.

The young harpooner did not hear any of the words of praise and promises of reward which the delighted skipper shouted at him. He did not hear anything but the hissing of the line as it ran through the groove in the bow. He lay on the bottom perfectly stupefied, until he was aroused by the touch of somebody's hand.

When the captain gave the order to "Stern all," the crew sent the boat within reach of Lucas, who laid hold of the gunwale, and worked his way along to the bow, where he belonged. Attracting Frank's attention by a pull at his trowsers, he was hauled into the boat, and took his seat, looking not a little crestfallen. He caught up a hatchet lying near, and held it in his hand in readiness to cut the line in case it fouled while running out. Frank also seated himself, and then began to think about what he had done. No one in the boat could have been more surprised at it.

"I don't want any more of this," said he, mentally. "It is just awful. I can't stand it. While that fellow was shooting up toward the clouds he looked like a church-steeple turned wrong end up. He must be a hundred and fifty feet long—perhaps more. Who would have thought that I had courage enough to send that harpoon at him?"

Here Frank looked over his shoulder as if to satisfy himself that he had really performed the feat. There could be no mistake about it. The line was still running out, and Lucas was watching it while hauling in the harpoon with which he had missed the whale.