Silver now became so awkward with his paddle that he missed the water altogether—caught a crab—and fell forward on his knees, striking the oars and making a tremendous rattling and rumbling. We were not far from the whales, and no respectable whale could avoid hearing that noise of wood on wood, like beating a great tom-tom. They cocked up their ears for an instant, but the oars were still rolling about, Silver frantically grabbing at them, and the whales simultaneously raised their flukes high, and went down. Mr. Baker, on the other side of Mr. Snow, launched a string of curses at Mr. Snow’s boat for his carelessness, for he had been on the point of signalling Starbuck to stand up, he was so near his whale. Mr. Snow, in turn, cursed Silver up and down. It was rather startling to hear such a flow of language from such a man. Mr. Snow, just to see him in his usual state, made you think of a Sunday-School teacher.
Mr. Brown looked up wearily. I knew him well enough to be sure that he was thinking that cursing would not get them anywhere. Mr. Snow appeared to be of the same opinion, for he stopped his cursing abruptly. We lay on our oars, which we had taken as soon as Silver caught his crab, and waited for the whales.
We were near the middle of the arc, which was not very wide, not above an eighth of a mile for the four boats, for the whales had been bunched. We lay still, but the outer boats pulled hard to make the arc wider. In about twenty minutes the whales came up, just beyond the outermost boat to the westward. That happened to be Mr. Tilton’s. Then came our own, then Mr. Snow’s, and Mr. Baker on the eastward end. Mr. Tilton was an experienced whaleman, and he felt sure enough that we should not get any of those whales, for he saw that they were gallied just enough to be very wary, and not to lose track of the boats for a second. There was a chance, however, and he took it, as he was in duty bound to do. He could not get near enough to dart, and the whales went under again, not deep, but swimming under water. They came up at the opposite end of the line, and Mr. Baker thought that he had a chance, but he did not have any better success than Mr. Tilton. Then the whales rose again between us and Mr. Snow. We pulled hard for them, but they easily got through to windward, lay there and waited for us.
Those three whales seemed to enjoy the sport. They had us where they wanted us, to leeward of them, and they gave us the hardest kind of work for four hours. We were in the region of the southeast trades, which drew in from the southward, and there was a combing sea, hard to pull against. We all knew that the whales had all the best of it, but they would bring to just out of reach, tantalizing us, egging us on with the thought that this time we had them; but before any boat had got near enough to dart, they would up flukes or settle out of reach, only to come up again just near enough to tempt us afresh. I have no doubt it was fun for the whales, but it was no fun for the men. My muscles and my hands were sore and aching when we were signalled from the ship to give it up and come aboard. Mr. Baker did not want to give it up even then. He was fighting mad—it did not take very much to make Mr. Baker fighting mad, and the thought that three common, ordinary whales could have fun with him was almost too much. I think that he would have liked to make mince-meat of them. Fortunately, the ship was well to leeward, and we sailed back. Those three whales followed us back almost to the ship. They seemed to feel hurt because we would not play any longer. I had, and I still have, a great admiration for those whales. There was no malice in them, and they had only been indulging in a game of tag. I was glad to think that we had left them unhurt in their element, instead of drifting carcasses to be stripped bare by birds and sharks.
We saw several whales on our way up the Channel, but they were wild, and we got none of them. We did not even get fast, but had a good many hours of heartbreaking pulling. Opposite Mozambique, about a hundred miles offshore, more or less, the Prince got an iron into one, but it drew, and the whale got away. I overheard Captain Nelson talking to Mr. Baker, one day, about the wildness of the whales. He seemed to think it evidence that they had been chased a good deal, and to be inclined to abandon the Channel at once, and keep right on to the northward to the Seychelles. Mr. Baker did not combat the captain’s opinion openly, but he was so obviously disappointed and so confident that we should do better on the return trip through the Channel that the captain did not insist upon it. We had seen no whalers.
I had been having my lessons—my hours with Mr. Brown—pretty regularly, right along. When we had to chase, or had a whale alongside, of course we had to give it up, but we had not been interrupted by cutting-in and trying-out for about two months. I had added the study of geography to the curriculum. I wanted to know more about the regions which we visited, and although there was usually nothing to be seen but a vast expanse of ocean, I knew that there was some land near, and the fact was a stimulus to the acquisition of knowledge about it, whatever it was. There was not a geography on the ship, but it was no loss worth mentioning. I got what I could from the maps and charts we had, and Mr. Brown supplied the rest, for he highly approved the broadening of the curriculum, although it gave him more work. Already I could almost put my finger on some islands which I had never heard of at school, and Mauritius and Réunion were as definite as Nashawena and Cuttyhunk. I had seen Bazaruta from a distance, although my geography authority at school—a gentle, modest girl, who probably had very little more definite ideas on the subject than I had—had never heard of such an island. Almost every whaling captain knew it pretty well, for it was a place to get wood. It was a different thing actually to see the low-lying coast of Africa, south of Mozambique, or the bold shores north of it, with a glimpse of the high table-land behind, from what it was to read vaguely about them all, quietly seated at my desk in North Street. I knew the general shape of Madagascar, and thought of it as a good enough island of moderate size, with the Mozambique Channel perhaps thirty miles wide. It came to me with somewhat of a shock to find that the Channel was five times as wide as from New Bedford to Nantucket, and that Madagascar was about as long as from New Bedford to Chicago. Chicago was less important in 1872 than it is now, and it was less than a year since Mrs. Kelly’s cow had kicked over the lamp, the beacon that led to greatness.
On our beat south through the Channel, we had better luck. We had many unsuccessful chases, but we got three whales ranging from sixty to seventy barrels each. There was no excitement in it; about as much as there would have been in slaughtering three mild-eyed cows. That was just what it was, simple slaughter. But we had our excitement before we got out of the Channel.
It was as we were getting to the southern mouth of the Channel. I remember that we were not far from Bazaruta Island, for Peter had just been pointing out to me the place where it was. He said that he could see it, but I could not. He looked away for a moment, and was giving me some further information, when he saw the spout. At the instant the cry came down from the masthead. It was a lone spout, the spout of a lone whale, so far as we could see.
We lowered two boats for him, Mr. Brown’s and Mr. Macy’s. Largely by good luck Mr. Macy got to the whale first, and Hall sunk his two irons in him. It was a good strike, and the irons were sunk to the hafts. The whale showed ugly right away. He went down a little, and ran under water, taking out nearly two tubs of line. They had just managed to snub the line somewhat, and were beginning their ride after him, with the line still smoking around the loggerhead, when suddenly he stopped, turned quickly, and came back at them. He came at full speed, head out, his jaw hanging down at nearly a right angle, meaning mischief with it. Mr. Macy saw it, of course, and so did Hall. Hall tried to lay the boat around with the steering oar, out of the course of the whale, but the great length of line hanging over the bow was almost like an anchor. The men were heaving it in as fast as they could. Macy ordered them to their oars, and with oars and steering oar together Hall just managed to get them partly out of the way of the whale. He turned half over, and struck the boat a glancing blow with his jaw, however, stove a couple of planks, and rolled her over. We saw her rise—she did not really leave the water—and come down bottom side up. While she was coming down we heard the crash of the splintering planks.
Most of the men had jumped out just before the whale struck them, and one or two had been thrown out, but we could not be sure, from where we were, whether all were accounted for or not. We pulled hard for them, and when we had come up Mr. Brown counted heads.