We had raised a small school of whales and had lowered four boats. The whales proved to be cows, most of them with calves accompanying them closely. I knew too little about whales then—I know no more now—to be able to tell the age of a whale calf by its appearance; these calves were not newly born, but yet they were so young that they had to come up to blow every three or four minutes. Mr. Baker struck a calf, probably thinking by that manœuvre he would find the capture of the mother easier.
I know that I was rather shocked at his doing so at the time. There was nothing sporting about it. It was like murdering a baby. But there was nothing sporting about whaling—none of the sporting spirit, and my feeling was only momentary. It did seem short-sighted, at the least, to destroy an animal that could be of no possible use to us, and one which might grow up to be of considerable value to somebody. There should be some sort of international agreement not to kill calves or any cow under forty barrels or so. It would be in the interest of the whale fishery as an industry, and would very likely result, eventually, in making it easier to fill up a ship; like the restrictions on the seal fishery, or good game laws on land. Nobody supposes that the game laws exist from sympathy with the game; but where there is a good buck law, deer are abundant enough.
To come back to Mr. Baker; he knew whales very well, and ought to have known what would happen. The whole school of a dozen or fifteen cows brought to at once, and gathered around the wounded calf and Mr. Baker’s boat. They crowded so closely about the boat that Mr. Baker did not dare to use his lance, and had all he could do to keep his boat from being stove by the loose cows. The three other boats were at some distance when he struck. We pulled up as fast as we could, but could do nothing to help him. On the way over I heard Mr. Macy call to Mr. Tilton to look. I could see nothing, of course, having my back to whatever it was that he was calling attention to, but on our arrival on the outskirts of the school I saw what it was.
There were a great many more than fifteen whales there, and more were arriving every minute. In self-defense, Mr. Baker had lanced two of the nearest, and he could have reached two or three more from the boat. The whales seemed to have lost their wits, but were none the less dangerous on that account, they were so tightly packed. The small school which we had attacked had been, apparently, but an offshoot of a much larger school, all cows and calves. Their spouts covered the sea for some distance. No doubt they seemed more numerous than they were; but we found our boat gradually getting enclosed, and we backed out, after lancing two without putting an iron into either. So did Mr. Tilton and Mr. Macy, leaving Mr. Baker closely surrounded by crazy whales; probably only gallied and not knowing what to do. There was nothing for Mr. Baker to do but to do nothing, and he did it. His men took in their oars, and there they sat waiting for something to turn up, their boat not so very unlike one of the bodies that surrounded it.
Presently Mr. Baker’s patience was rewarded. The poor little calf which he had struck turned on its side, fin out, and the whales scattered very soon, the whole school gradually resuming its orderly progress.
Just before we backed out of the mess, the whales of the main school had come so close to our boat that I had only to look over the side to see the small calves swimming close alongside their mothers, almost concealed from view. One of the calves I saw must have been born a very little time before, for its flukes were scarcely unfolded. I have no means of knowing how long it takes for that process, but the calf could not have been more than a few days old. The mother seemed very anxious and solicitous for its safety. I saw her turn partly on her side, and put her side fin over it, holding it close against her, as you would take a small child under your arm. She had it so when we backed away, and lost sight of the pair.
The school left us in such semblance of order that we could not have struck again without risking a repetition of Mr. Baker’s experience; and we had about as many whales as we could take care of at one time. Each boat had got one or two. They were all small, none over thirty barrels, and some much smaller.
When the trying-out was over we made for the Japan grounds as straight as we could with the northeast trades directly ahead. Peter was still engaged in repairing the boat stove in the Java Sea. It was stove rather badly, every plank on the port side from the gunwale nearly to the garboard strake having to be replaced, and two broken ribs. Although Peter’s workmanship left a repaired boat almost as good as new—it would be better in some cases, but our boats had been made by Beetle, and were good boats—in spite of Peter’s workmanship, we had a good many cripples. If the rate of damage to boats increased, it seemed to me that we might find ourselves short. One fighting whale will sometimes reduce two or three boats to matchwood, quite beyond Peter’s skill. We were going where there was no source of supply, for what whale boats were scattered among the islands of the Pacific were mostly old boats, patched and painted over to hide the patches; boats that the whalemen, who traded them to the natives, had no further use for. Still, I do not remember that I worried about it at the time. It is only since I got home—since I became middle-aged and timid, I suppose whalemen would say—that it has seemed to me short-sighted.
We stood in fairly close to Formosa, and in that neighborhood we got one whale, a lone bull, which made no fight to speak of, although it was not like slaughtering a steer at Green’s or Pike’s. A pot of hot oil from him may have saved us; or, at any rate, it may have saved us a nasty fight. While we were trying-out, a small junk appeared from the direction of Formosa or the Chinese coast beyond. Nobody gave it a thought until it was close aboard, when it suddenly occurred to Captain Nelson, who happened to be on deck, that its actions were suspicious. I saw nothing suspicious about it except that it was almost near enough to throw a biscuit aboard—if anybody had wanted to waste a biscuit. The old junk was going along after the manner of junks, with six or seven men loafing on deck. We were hove to, and a great volume of black smoke was pouring from our try-works. As far as working the ship was concerned, we were helpless. If they wanted to board us, they could do it a dozen times over before we could get the Clearchus going.
Captain Nelson watched the junk for a minute, then he spoke to Mr. Baker, who went at once among the men. The men left their work, and armed themselves with lances, harpoons, spades, and boarding-knives, but did not range themselves along the rail, for the captain was not sure, and he did not want to make himself a laughing-stock among other captains. I was watching the men, feeling little pricklings all over and my hair rising. Captain Nelson turned to me.