The harpoon had struck the whale in a bad place, for with the iron embedded between his massive shoulders he could pull with all his strength. For half an hour we were dragged through the water and again he sounded. This time he was down ten minutes and came to the surface with a rush which threw half his eighty feet of body into the air. Then he started off at a terrific pace. The Captain did not dare to check his dash and ordered another line to be spliced on when the men called up from below that the rope was almost gone. Three-quarters of a mile of line was out before the animal finally slowed enough so that the winch could hold. Even then, with the engines at full speed astern, the ship was being dragged ahead at nearly six knots an hour.
“I ran on deck just as the great brute rounded up right beside the bow and the gun flashed out in the darkness.”
Our catch next began a series of short dives, followed by frantic rushes from side to side, which lasted two hours. Each time the animal went down the winch ground in a few fathoms of line, sometimes losing it and more on the next mad plunge, but slowly, surely, recovering it foot by foot.
At eleven o’clock the whale began to weaken. Every time he rose the stay at the surface was a little longer, his rushes became less violent, and the winch swallowed more and more of the coveted line. With the powerful glasses I could see that at times the water about his back was tinged with red, and knew that the working of the hundred-pound harpoon between his shoulders was making an ugly wound and letting gallons of blood flow from his great veins.
Finally only one line besides the leader for the harpoon was out and I had already begun to work the camera whenever the whale rose to blow. The wind had nearly died but had left a tremendous swell, and the little ship was rolling and tossing like a thing possessed. Captain Olsen, against his better judgment, was drawing the whale in for a second shot when the line slacked away as the ship dropped into the hollow of a great swell, then tightened suddenly and parted with a crack like a pistol shot when she rose on the crest.
With an oath Olsen shouted for full speed, and fired as the great body disappeared beneath the surface. It was a long chance but he made it, and we gave a wild yell as the harpoon shot over the water in a wide semi-circle and dropped upon the whale’s back. There was a sudden jerk, a muffled explosion, and the line slacked away again, leaving a great crimson patch staining the surface. The ship plunged forward through it and I saw the bits of torn and mangled flesh which told the story all too plainly—the bomb on the tip of the harpoon, as it exploded, had blown the iron out and the whale was free.
We lay to with the engine stopped to see what would happen next. Little was said; almost the only sound was the retching and groaning of a pump when the ship keeled far over to starboard with the swell. For ten minutes the silence continued, then the Captain said in a quiet voice: “There he is, far away on the beam.”
Instantly the “ting, ting” of the bell in the engine room sounded and a chase began which I shall long remember as showing what a great part persistency plays in whaling. All the rest of the afternoon the little ship hung to the whale’s track, now getting almost close enough to shoot and again losing sight of the spout in the rain and fog. It was disagreeable enough for me on the bridge, where I could be partly protected from the cold rain by a canvas screen, but Captain Olsen never left the gun. At three o’clock a cup of tea was brought him and he drank it hastily, meanwhile cramming a few crackers into his pocket to be nibbled as opportunity offered.
The day wore on but the animal seemed to be stronger instead of weaker and at five o’clock I had given up hope that we would ever get another shot.