When the flukes came out, the Captain rang for half speed, for the whales would probably be down several minutes. Turning the wheel over to the Mate, he went forward to the gun, pushed up the spring which cocked it, and waited, alert, for the animals to rise.
I had descended with him from the bridge and stood just behind the gun platform. The ship, her engines stopped, was rolling about on the mirror-like patches of water left by the whales as they went down. After ten minutes of waiting three silvery clouds suddenly shot upward a quarter of a mile away. Instantly the engine signal rang and the ship swung about, plowing through the water at full speed until the whales sounded. For two hours this kept on. Each time when we were almost within range the big fellows would raise themselves a little higher, arch their backs, and turn downward in a beautiful dive, waving their huge flukes as though in derision.
I had my notebook and pencil at work as well as the camera but it was getting pretty difficult to use either. The wind had risen and I was deathly seasick; even the best sailors lose their “sea legs” when aboard one of these little eggshell boats after a long period ashore, and mine were gone completely. The Orion was twisting and writhing about as though possessed of a demon, and every time she climbed a huge wave to rock uncertainly a moment on the crest and then plunge headlong down its smooth, green slope, I was certain she would never rise again. Balcom was doggedly hanging to the gun, but just after we had both been soaked by a big sea that came over the ship’s nose he shouted, “If we don’t get a shot soon we’ll have to leave them.”
At that time we were heading for the whales, which were spouting only a short distance away. One of them had left the others and seemed to be feeding. He was swimming at the surface, sometimes under for a second or two, but never far down. The ship slid nearer and nearer with engines at dead slow until the huge body disappeared not thirty fathoms away.
“In a minute he’ll come again,” shouted Balcom, feet braced and bending low over the gun.
I was clinging to a rope just behind him, trying to focus the camera, but the flying spray made it well-nigh impossible. Suddenly I saw the Captain’s muscles tighten, the tip of the harpoon drop an inch or two, and caught a glimpse of a phantom shape rushing upward.
Almost on the instant a blinding cloud of vapor shot into our very faces, followed by the deafening roar of the gun. I saw the black flukes whirl upward and fall in one tremendous, smashing blow upon the water; then the giant figure quivered an instant, straightened out, and slowly sank. For a moment not a sound was heard on the vessel save the steady “flop, flop, flop” of the line on the deck as the dead weight of forty tons dragged it from the winch.
Balcom leaned over the side and saw the rope hanging rigidly from the ship’s bow. “I must have caught him in the heart,” he said, “and killed him instantly.”
“Two men with long-handled knives began to cut off the lobes of the tail.”