Peter the Whaler

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“The Frenchmen had music, you may be sure; so we had dancing and singing to our hearts’ content, and were quite sorry when the wind shifted, and, the ice breaking up, we had to separate on board the few ships which escaped wreck.”

“I remember that time well,” said Alec Garrock, a Shetlander, belonging to our ship. “It was a mercy no lives were lost, either escaping from the ships, or afterwards, when we were living on the ice, and travelling from one station to the other. It seems wonderful to me that I’m alive here, to talk about what once happened to me. The boat I was in had killed a whale in good style; and when we had lashed the fins together, and made it fast to the stern of the boat, we saw that a number of whales were blowing not far off—I ought to say we were close under an iceberg. We, of course, were eager to be among them; and as, you must know, the stern-boat had just before been sent to us with one hand in her with another line, we wanted him to stay by the dead fish. He said he would not—if we liked to go, so would he; but stay there by himself; while sport was going on, he would not.

“At last we resolved to leave the small boat empty, and to take him in ours. To this he agreed. So, making the whale fast to his boat, and securing the boat to the berg, away we pulled, as fast as we could lay our backs to the oars, after a fish we saw blowing near us. Now what I tell you is true, mates. Not thirty fathoms had we pulled, when over toppled the iceberg right down on the boat, and we were nearly swamped with the sea it made. When we pulled back to look for the whale, neither it nor the boat was to be seen. You may fancy what would have become of us if we had been there!”

“There are none of us, to my belief; but have often, if we would but acknowledge it, been mercifully preserved by Providence,” observed my friend Andrew.

“I won’t speak of what has happened to myself; and Terence, and Peter here. No one will doubt, I hope, but that it was the finger of God directed you to take us off the iceberg; but every day some less remarkable case occurs. A block falls from aloft on the deck, where a moment before we were standing; a musket-ball passes close to one’s ear; a topmast is carried away just as we have come off the yard; and fifty other things occur of like nature, and we never think of being grateful for our preservation. Talking of escapes, I once saw a man carried overboard by a line round his ankle as a fish was diving. We all gave him up for lost; but he had a sharp knife in the right-hand pocket of his jacket, and he kept his thoughts about him so well, that before he had got many fathoms down, he managed to stoop and cut the line below his foot, then striking with all his might, he rose to the surface.”

“Did you ever hear tell of the Dutchman who had a ride on the back of a whale?” asked David. “He had just struck his harpoon into a fish, when, lifting up her tail, she drove the boat into shatters. He fell on his back, and got hold of his harpoon, his foot at the same time being entangled in the line. Away swam the fish on the top of the water, fortunately for him never thinking of diving. He stood upright all the time, holding on by his right hand, while his left tried in vain to find his knife to cut himself clear. Another boat followed, for the chance of rescuing him; but there appeared but little hope of his being saved, unless he could free himself. Just as the fish was going down, the harpoon shook out, and, jumping off its back, to which he gave a hearty kick, he struck out for the boat, and was picked up when he could swim no more. He is the only man I ever heard of who really has ridden on a whale’s back, though there’s many a tale told by those who have, which is not true.”

“I’ve been on the back of a live whale more than once,” said Garrock. “I mean when we’ve been fishing among bay ice, and the fish have come up through the holes to breathe. But I was going to say how last season we had a chase after a fish, which gave us more trouble than I ever saw before. It led us a chase for the best part of the day, after it had been struck. It dragged one boat, with twenty lines fast, right under a floe, and then broke away; and when we killed it at last, it had taken out thirty lines, which, as you know, is close upon six miles of line.”

Thus yarn after yarn was spun. I do not attempt to give the peculiar phraseology of the speakers; but their stories, which I believe to be perfectly true, may prove interesting. For a whole week we were beset, and some of the green hands began to fancy that we should be blocked up for the winter; but the old ones knew better.

Every day the surface of the ice, where the nip had taken place, was examined with anxious eyes, in the hopes that some sign of its taking off or breaking up might be given. At length the pressure became less, the sound under the ice shrill and sharp, instead of the sullen roar which had before been heard; the fragments which had been cast above others began to glide down and disappear in the chasms which were opening around, and water was seen in a long thin line extending to the northward.

A lane was formed, with a wall of fragments on either side; the lane widened, the fragments rushed into the water, and the captain, from the crow’s-nest, ordered the ship to be towed out of dock. The order was cheering to our hearts; and as we had plenty of hands, it was soon executed. All sail was made, and away we flew through the passage, in a hurry to take advantage of it, lest it should again close upon us. We succeeded in getting clear, and soon after were joined by our consorts, which had escaped the nip.