The Whig Standard

KILLING A WHALE.
From a MS. journal entitled "A Cruise in a Whaler."
BY JACK BOWLINE.

April 8, 1843.

We were running down for the Aldabra islands, with a fine steady breeze. The morning was bright and clear, and the water was of that peculiar color which whalemen regard as the favorite resort for whales. I had forenoon watch below, and I was just congratulating myself upon getting through with my "double altitudes," when the loud, clear voice of a man at the mast-head came ringing down the forecastle--

"There she blows!" was the thrilling cry.
"That's once!" shouted the captain.
"There she blows!"
"That's twice, by jingo!"
"There she blows!"
"Three times. Where away, Tabor?"
"Off the weather bow, sir, two points."
"How far?"
"A mile and a half. There she blows!"
"Sperm whale! Call all hands!"

There was a rush on deck, each man trying to get to the scuttle first. Then came half a dozen loud knocks, and a hoarse voice shouting--
"Larboard watch, ahoy! Turn out, my lads!
Sperm whale in sight! Heave out! heave out!
Lash and carry! Rise and chime! Bear a hand my lively hearties!"

Those who were "turned in" rolled out as soon as possible, and buckled on their ducke, and in less than two minutes we were all on deck, ready for orders. The tubs were put in the boats, and the mainyard hauled aback. We all now perched ourselves in the rigging, and kept a sharp look out on every side for the whale's next rising.

Twenty minutes elapsed since the spout was first seen; twenty-five passed, and the captain began to get into a state of nervous anxiety. We strained our eyes in all directions to "make a spout." Half an hour flew by, and no spout was seen. It began to look like a hopeless case, when Tabor, whose visual organs appeared to have the power of ubiquity, sang out--

"There she blows! there she blows!"
"Where now?" roared the captain.
"Off the weather quarter! Two large sperm whales, sir. Go it boots!"

"Clear away the boats! Come down from the mast-head all you that don't belong there! Bear a hand--we'll take them this rising!" shouted the captain, in a fierce, sharp voice.

"All ready, sir."
"Lower away, then!"

The waist and larboard boats were instantly down, ready to "bend on." Capt. A--nr and some of his boats-crew being too ill to man the other boat, we struck off for the whales without them. I pulled the aft oar, as usual; and, as by this time I was as tough and muscular as my comrades, the boat danced along the water in fine style. Although the larboard boat was much easier pulled, and had the oldest and stoutest of the whole crew, we contrived by unusual exertions to keep ahead of her, till the real "tug of war" came. Then was our metal put to the test! One of the whales was leisurely making to windward not more than half a mile off.

"Lay back, my lads!" cried Pope, pale with excitement--"keep the larboard boat astern!--Never say die! That's our whale! Oh, do spring--do spring! No noise!--steady and soft's the word."

We replied to this appeal by "piling up the agony" on the oars. Away sprang our boat, trembling and quivering, as she darted through the waves. She really seemed to imbibe the general excitement, as she parted the clear blue water, and dashed it foaming from her bows.--

Onward, swiftly we flew! The larboard boat was hard upon our stern--the whale rolling lazily in the trough of the sea, a few darts ahead.

"Oh, lay back--lay back!" whispered Pope, trembling with eagerness not to be out-done by the mate. "Do spring, my boys, if you love gin. Now's your time--now or never! Oh see him!--see him! how quiet he lies! Put the beef on your oars, every mother's son of you! Pile it on!--pile it on! That's the way to tell it! Our whale this time!"

The moment of intense excitement now arrived. We pulled as if for life or death. Not a word was spoken, and scarcely a sound was heard from our oars.

"Stand up, Tabor!" cried Pope in a low voice.
Peaking his oar, Tabor sprung to his feet, and grasped a harpoon.

"Shall I give him two irons?"
"Yes--he may be wild."

Another stroke or two, and we were hard upon him. Tabor, with unerring aim let fly his irons, and buried them to the sockets in the huge carcase of the whale.

"Stern all!" thundered Pope.
"Stern all!" echoed the crew; but it was too late. Our bows were high and dry on the whale's head! Infuriated with the pain produced by the harpoons, and doubtless much astonished to find his head so roughly used, he rolled half over, lashing the sea with his flukes, and in his struggles dashing in two of the upper planks. "Boat stove! boat stove!" was the general cry.

"Silence!" thundered the second mate, as he sprang to the bow, and exchanged places with Tabor, "all safe, my hearties! Stern hard! stern! stern! before he gets his flukes to bear upon us!"

"Stern all!" shouted we; and in a moment more we were out of danger. The whale now "turned flukes," and dashed off to windward with the speed of a locomotive--towing us after him at a glorious rate. We occasionally slacked line in order to give him a plenty of play. A stiff breeze had sprung up, causing a rough chopping sea; and we leaked badly in the bow planks. It fell to my lot to keep the water bailed out and the line clear, as the others hauled in--a ticklish job the last, for, as the second mate said, a single turn would whip off a shin "as slick as goose-grease."

Notwithstanding the roughness of the sea, we shot ahead with incredible swiftness; and, the way we "walked" past the larboard boat, whose crew were tugging and laboring with all their might, was surprising.

"Hurrah for the waist boat!" burst from every lip. Three hearty cheers followed, much to the annoyance of the other boat's crew and mate. We exultingly took off our hats and waived them a polite "good bye"--requesting them, if they had any news to send to the windward ports, to be quick about it, as it was inconvenient for us to stop just then. I believe Solomon says it is not good to be vain-glorious. At all events, while we were skimming along so gallantly, the whale suddenly milled, and pitched the boat on her beam ends. Every one who could grasp a thwart hung on to it, and we were all fortunate enough to keep our seats. For as much as a ship's length, the boat flew through the water, on her gunnel, foaming and whizzing as she dashed onward. It was a matter of doubt as to which side would turn uppermost; until Tabor slacked out the line, when she righted.

To have a boat, with all her irons, lances, gear, and oars, piled on one's head in such a sea, was rather a startling prospect to the best swimmer.

Meantime, the whale rose to the surface, to spout. The change in his course had enabled the mate's boat to come up; and we lay on our oars in order that Mr. Durant might lance him. He struck him in the "life" the first dart, as was evident from the whale's furious dying struggles; nevertheless, in order to make sure, we hauled up and churned a lance back of his head.

I cannot conceive anything more strikingly awful, than the butchery of this tremendous leviathan of the deep. Foaming and breaching he plunged from wave to wave flinging high in the air torrents of blood and spray. The sea around was literally a sea of blood. At one moment his head was poised in the air--the next, he buried himself in the gory sea, carrying down in his vast wake a whirlpool of foam and slime. But this respite was short. He rose again, rushing furiously upon his enemies; but a slight prick of a lance drove him back with mingled fury and terror. Whichever way he turned, the barbed irons goaded him to desperation. Now and again intensity of agony would cause him to lash the waters with his huge flukes, till the very ocean appeared to heave and tremble at his power. Tossing, struggling, dashing over and over, in his agony, he spouted up the last of his heart's blood. Half an hour before, he was free as the wave, sporting in all the pride of gigantic strength and unrivalled power. He now lay a lifeless mass--his head towards the sun--his tremendous body heaving to the swell, and his destroyers proudly cheering over their victory!