She Blows! And Sparm at That!

by William John Hopkins

“There she comes,” said Mr. Brown quietly; and I saw what seemed a blank wall of mist, with the black cloud above. We could see it some miles away, and it was coming fast.

“Fog, sir?” I asked, puzzled.

“Rain, and hail, probably, and wind,” said Mr. Brown.

As it came on I could see the line of rain and hail, as sharp as the cut side of a cheese; and there was a queer foaming commotion in the water at the foot of the advancing wall. It had got almost to the carcass of the whale before we felt the first cold puffs of air. Those first cold puffs were from every direction, some straight up; and the foaming commotion in the water resolved itself into an infinite series of small geysers, from one to two feet high, like columns of water sent up by explosions of shells, such as I have seen many times in the last few years when the Fort has been at target practice. At a distance of six or seven miles, even through a powerful glass, they look no higher than these did.

The edge of the wall reached the carcass, and there was a curious effect of bombardment with small white rubber balls—I should have thought at once of tennis balls if I had then ever seen a tennis ball—the balls bounding high from the elastic surface of the carcass. I knew it then for hail. The wall was past the whale, and completely hid it from sight, less than a hundred feet off, and the wind struck us like a blow from a chunk of ice. Then the hail struck us, hail mixed with rain.

We hardly knew what to do to protect our heads. It was like being pelted with rocks—rocks which there was no escaping. They were everywhere. I instinctively put up my hands over my head, and had to take them down again, for the bones of my hands were being bruised, and I was really afraid they might be broken. None of us had a stiff hat, but all wore soft hats or caps or were bareheaded. I did not mind the wind—I was not conscious of it—and I did not see what the others did; but I found myself crawling in the bottom of the boat, partly under a thwart, and pulling out a corner of the sail to protect my head. When I had time to think of anything but the safety of my own head, I saw that the others had done the same thing.

I looked out from my protecting canvas, and saw the water absolutely filled with those miniature geysers. The hail had beaten down the sea, in spite of the furious wind, until the surface was almost as smooth as a pond, with the rollers running under it as if the water were covered with silk. After a while—perhaps half an hour, perhaps a quarter—the hail stopped, and left only the rain and the wind, and the rapidly growing seas. We were sitting in a deep slush of water and hailstones, and the hailstones weighed heavily on my legs. They were beautiful, round, white stones, many as large as robins’ eggs, but most of them the size of marbles. The boat was deep with them, and rolled sluggishly. We had to get them out at once, which we did with a couple of buckets, our hats and our hands, shoveling them over the side.

I have never in my life known it to blow harder than it did in the next few hours. We rode it out, safe in the lee of our sea anchor, drenched to the skin, all of us, and very cold. Although the sea rose very quickly as soon as the hail stopped, and ran very high, the carcass of the whale seemed to smooth the seas out, and none broke around us; but the boats stood almost on end. My heart was in my mouth most of the time, but I do not think my apprehensions were evident to the others. Heaven knows I tried hard enough, for I was even more afraid of showing fear than I was of the wind and the sea. I think the fact that we were in a small boat, and near the water, was a help. I was more used to that, and, somehow, I never feel so helpless in a small boat as I do in a ship. I have not got over that feeling to this day. I suppose I should have felt better still if I had been alone or with no one but Jimmy Appleby. A man seems to have more of a chance in a small boat, and is not subject to the orders—and the mistakes—of somebody. That somebody might be like Mr. Wallet. If there is a mistake, it is his own.

Night fell while it was blowing viciously and raining. In a few hours the rain stopped, but the wind did not. It seemed to blow harder, and it gradually shifted to the southeast; and after a while the stars came out. I do not know how long it was, for I had lost all sense of time. I had got over the worst of my scare, and I was too tired to think. I crouched down in the boat, and I fell asleep, soaked and cold as I was.

It was gray dawn when I awoke, stiff and cramped. I saw Mr. Brown in his place, gazing out at the eastern sky. He had been awake all night, ready to cut if the carcass of the whale showed signs of sinking; but it was still afloat, and no lower in the water than it had been the night before. Mr. Baker’s boat was so near that we could almost have touched oars.