Memorials of the Sea: My Father / Being Records of the Adventurous Life of the Late William Scoresby, Esq. of Whitby

by William Scoresby

2. Another example of the application of the principles of natural science, may be adduced with respect to my Father’s practice in the capture of certain harpooned whales. In the most usual habits of the mysticetus, when struck in the Greenland seas, it descends to a considerable depth, generally 600 or 700 fathoms, and, after an interval of about half an hour, or so, returns spontaneously to the surface for respiration. But sometimes, especially when a taught strain has been held on the line, the whale continues to press so determinately into the depths of the ocean that it dies by a process similar to drowning. In that case the heaving up of the capture becomes a matter of great labour and difficulty, and, because of the liability of the harpoon to draw, or of the lines to part, of much uncertainty as to the result. It is a matter, therefore, of much importance to avoid the possible contingency of a harpooned whale “dying down.” The process ordinarily adopted for inducing the return of the fish to the surface, after the downward course is suspended, is to haul on the lines as soon as any impression can be produced, so as to stimulate to action and urge an ascending motion. In very many cases this process is effective, but by no means in all. For sometimes so desperate and continuous is the effort to get down that, when necessity might urge a return to the surface for respiration, the power to return no longer remains, and the helpless monster dies at its utmost depression.

My Father, with his peculiar felicity of consideration and device, assumed a measure of proceeding as apparently unfitting as it was novel in its character. When the usual processes for the obtaining of the fish’s return to the surface had failed, and no prospect remained but that it must die where it was, he would throw off the turns of his line round the stem or “loggerhead” of the boat, and allow an extent of fifty or a hundred fathoms more to run freely out and sink in the water.

The meaning of the device was this:—The entangled whale had no doubt descended deep in the water, as its ordinary mode of escaping from its natural enemies; but the attachment and restraint of the line it could not escape from. It was an instinct with it, therefore, as he conceived,—as in the case of some well-known quadrupeds, which may be driven but will not be led,—to resist the restraining force, and to struggle to distance the point from which the restraint proceeds. The untoward effect of this instinct, my Father supposed, might be diverted by rapidly slacking out a large extent of the entangling line, so that it might sink below the place of the fish, and so draw downward; for the same instinct which had incited it so perseveringly to dive, might naturally be expected to urge it, under this change of circumstances, to an upward course.

The experiment on being tried proved, in different cases, successful. The whale, stimulated to a new course by a new direction being given to the restraining line, returned to the surface, where it was received by its waiting assailants, and, when deprived of its life, became a prompt and easy prize, instead of an uncertain, hard-earned object of pursuit!

3. Besides the cases just recited of aptness in natural science, another occasion is before my recollection in which, during his varied adventures in the whale-fishery, this characteristic of mind, with my Father, was strikingly developed. A large whale had been “struck” on the borders of a vast sheet of ice, denominated a “field,” which took refuge beneath the frozen surface, and, after suffering the deprivation of air for a period too considerable for its capabilities of endurance, died there.

After a long interval of patient waiting, on the part of the whalers, for the turning out of the expected capture (for the compactness of a firm field of ice generally obliges the whale to return to the outside for the purpose of respiration), they proceeded to haul on the line to try to facilitate their expectation. But when as much force had been applied as the line might safely bear, their efforts came to a stand. There was no reactive motion indicative of life in the whale, nor any progress towards its withdrawal, if dead.

Various repetitions of a similar effort, after slacking out a quantity of line to give some change to the direction of the tension, ended in the same discouraging manner; so that a doubt arose whether the harpoon were yet attached to the line, or whether it might have got entangled on some submerged irregularity of the ice.

My Father at length left the ship to give his personal attention to this difficult business. His first care was to examine the line at its fullest tension; but the exact direction was not discoverable because of the thickness of the verge of the ice. Slacking out, therefore, a considerable quantity of the line, he caused the boat to be backed off to a little distance, and, whilst it was kept off as much as possible by the oars of several boats attached, the line was hauled in, till, becoming nearly horizontal by tension, its direction beneath the ice could be clearly determined. By this direction he traced, by the eye, an imaginary corresponding line on the surface of the ice-field, which, by means of numerous irregularities and hummocks, he was enabled to do satisfactorily,—noticing particularly a very high and conspicuous hummock in this exact direction, and at about the distance to which the quantity of line run out might be supposed to reach. His next step, and that a truly scientific one, was to try to vary the line of direction, so that he might determine, by the intersection of lines, the position of the harpoon. This he effected by again slacking out the line, but to a much greater extent, and then causing the position of the boat to be changed by rowing slowly in a direction parallel to, and at some distance from, the edge of the ice, until the new direction might make a large angle with that previously determined. Time being allowed for the rope to subside into its position of rest, tension was given to it, as before, and another imaginary line traced by the eye on the ice. My Father now perceived that the point of intersection corresponded very nearly with the position of the remarkable hummock, almost a mile distant, before noticed, and that it must be immediately beyond it.

Taking a whale-lance in his hand he walked over the ice to the place, and just beyond the hummock he found a thin flat surface of much younger ice. Striking his lance repeatedly into this, he gradually effected its perforation; when, to his no small delight and to the amazement of the men who had followed his steps, his lance struck against a soft and elastic substance beneath:—it was the back of the dead whale!

Aid of hands and instruments being now obtained, the thin sheet of ice was partly cut out and the fragments removed till the attached line could be got at. When effected, it was again slacked out of the boat, and the end firmly secured to the slender part of the body of the fish adjoining the tail. The two lobes of the tail were then partly cut off, so as to hang down in the water as sustained by a slight attachment, and thus by their gravity to help to sink the carcass whilst they no longer were calculated to catch the irregularities of the submerged surface of the ice, as the tail, when perfect in structure and position, had previously done. A considerable weight, I believe, in sand-bags, was also hung upon the “bight” of the line for helping to sink the fish clear of obstructions above, and, finally, the line being hauled on in the boat from whence the fish had been originally harpooned, it progressively yielded to the force applied, and in due time the loud and cheerful huzzas of the sailors announced the completion of the capture in its appearance outside!