“As soon as they have arrived in those seas which are the haunt of the whale, the crew must be every moment on the alert, keeping watch day and night. The seven boats are kept hanging by the sides of the ship ready to be launched in a few minutes, and, where the state of the sea admits, one of them is usually manned and afloat. These boats are from twenty-five to twenty-eight feet long, about five and a half feet broad, and constructed with a special view to lightness, buoyancy, and easy steerage. The captain or some principal officer seated above surveys the water to a great distance, and the instant he sees the back of the huge animal which they seek to attack emerging from the waves, gives notice to the watch who are stationed on deck, part of whom leap into a boat, which is instantly lowered down, and followed by a second if the fish be a large one. Each of the boats has a harpooner and one or two subordinate officers, and is provided with an immense quantity of rope coiled together and stowed in different quarters of it, the several parts being spliced together so as to form a continued line usually exceeding four thousand feet in length; to the end is attached the harpoon, an instrument formed not to pierce and kill the animal, but by entering and remaining fixed in the body to prevent its escape. One of the boats is now rowed towards the whale in the deepest silence, cautiously avoiding to give any alarm, of which he is very susceptible. Sometimes a circuitous route is adopted in order to attack him from behind. Having approached as near as is consistent with safety, the harpooner darts his instrument into the back of the monster. This is a critical moment, for when this mighty animal feels himself struck he often throws himself into violent convulsive movements, vibrating in the air his tremendous tail, one lash of which is sufficient to dash a boat in pieces. More commonly, however, he plunges with rapid flight into the depths of the sea or beneath the thickest fields and mountains of ice. While he is thus moving, at the rate usually of eight or ten miles an hour, the utmost diligence must be used that the line to which the harpoon is attached may run off smoothly and readily along with him; should it be entangled for a moment the strength of the whale is such that he would draw the boat and crew after him under the waves. The first boat ought to be quickly followed up by a second to supply more line when the first is run out, which often takes place in eight or ten minutes. When the crew of a boat see the line in danger of being all run off, they hold up one, two, or three oars, to intimate their pressing need of a supply; at the same time they turn the rope once or twice round a kind of post called the bollard, by which the motion of the line and the career of the animal are somewhat retarded. This, however, is a delicate operation, which brings the side of the boat down to the very edge of the water, and if the rope be drawn at all too tight may sink it altogether. While the line is rolling round the bollard the friction is so violent that the harpooner is enveloped in smoke, and water must be constantly poured on to prevent it catching fire. When, after all, no aid arrives, and the crew find that the line must run out, they have only one resource—they cut it, losing thereby not only the whale but the harpoon and all the ropes of the boat.
“When the whale is first struck and plunges into the waves, the boat’s crew elevate a flag as a signal to the watch on deck, who give the alarm to those asleep below by stamping violently on the deck, and crying aloud, ‘A fall! a fall!’ On this notice they do not allow themselves time to dress, but rush out in their sleeping-shirts or drawers into an atmosphere the temperature of which is often below zero, carrying along with them their clothing in a bundle and trusting to make their toilette in the interval of manning and pushing off the boats. Such is the tumult at this moment that young mariners have been known to raise cries of fear, thinking the ship was going down.”
The period during which a wounded whale remains under water is various, but is averaged by Mr. Scoresby at about half an hour. Then, pressed by the necessity of respiration, he appears above, often considerably distant from the spot where he was harpooned and in a state of great exhaustion, which the same ingenious writer ascribes to the severe pressure that he has endured when placed beneath a column of water seven hundred or eight hundred fathoms deep. All the boats have meantime been spreading themselves in various directions, that one at least may be within a start, as it is called, or about two hundred yards at the point of his rising, at which distance they can easily pierce him with one or two more harpoons before he again descends, as he usually does for a few minutes. On his reappearance a general attack is made with lances, which are struck as deep as possible to reach and penetrate the vital parts. Blood mixed with oil streams copiously from his wounds and from his blow-holes, dyeing the sea to a great distance, and sprinkling and sometimes drenching the boats and crews. The animal now becomes more and more exhausted, but at the approach of his death he often makes a convulsive and energetic struggle, rearing his tail high in the air, and whirling it with a noise which is heard at the distance of several miles. At length, quite overpowered and exhausted, he lays himself on his side or back and expires. The flag is then taken down, and three loud huzzas raised from the surrounding boats. No time is lost in piercing the tail with two holes, through which ropes are passed, which, being fastened to the boats, drag the fish to the vessel amid shouts of joy.
One reflection must arise in the mind of the young reader—if he have begun to reflect—on reading this brief description of whale fishery enterprise. Man’s attack upon the whale is not an act of self-defence; is it, then, justifiable? We cannot go into the whole argument which would present itself when such an important question is asked. We leave the reader to grapple with the difficulty as a healthy exercise for his understanding, only reminding him that the conveniences of civilization in the degree hitherto reached would be immensely curtailed if Man were not allowed to sacrifice for his own use the lives of animals which, either by their gentle nature or the localities they occupy, are without the range of the noxious and dangerous class.
CHAPTER II.
Equally early with their contests with wild animals primeval men would have had to encounter peril, and to overcome difficulty in the fulfilment of the natural desire possessed by some of them to visit new regions of the earth. Even if the theory be true which is supported by hundreds of learned volumes, that man’s first habitation was in the most agreeable and fertile portion of Asia, by the banks of the Tigris and Euphrates, the native characteristic of enterprise would impel some among the first men to go in quest of new homes or on journeys of exploration and adventure; and, as the human family increased, removal for the youthful branches would be absolutely necessary.