76

ANECDOTE OF A DUTCH WHALING CREW.

As the huge animal plunges along in agony, its course is marked by a broad line of oil on the sea, issuing from its wounds.

The final capture is generally preceded by an awful and convulsive struggle; the tail lashes the water with fury, and the circles formed on the surface of the violently agitated waves extend to a great distance. When dying, the whale turns over on its side or back, a circumstance announced from the boats by loud cries and striking the flags. No time is lost: the tail is pierced and fastened with ropes to the boats, which drag the carcase to the ships with boisterous cheers.

A curious instance is related of a Dutch whaling crew, who had as they thought secured their capture to the ship's side, after towing it in triumph from the scene of conflict, missing their prize. The crew were giving vent to their delight, and the security seemed complete, for they were sailing a long distance from the ice-banks. They were having a good dinner to strengthen themselves before proceeding to the nauseous task of cutting up the animal. The feast was prolonged, but at length the men selected for the operation went on deck, with an air of importance and full confidence. What was their astonishment to find that the whale was no longer alongside! It seems that the ship, driven before the wind, had dragged at the animal, the cord had broken, and the rich prize, which had cost so much peril and fatigue, had sunk to the bottom of the sea!

A dead whale, if left in the water, soon putrefies: it swells to an enormous size, until at least a third of the carcase appears above the surface of the water, and sometimes the body bursts by the force of the air generated within.

After the whale has been secured to the ship's side, the next operation is what is called "flensing," or securing the blubber and whalebone, which occupies about four hours, and is, as you may well imagine, anything but an agreeable occupation. The harpooners, having spikes on their feet to prevent their falling from the slippery surface, begin with a kind of spade and huge knives to make long parallel cuts from end to end, which are divided by cross-cuts into pieces of about half a ton. These are hoisted on

WHALE FISHERY IN THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 77

deck, and after being reduced into smaller pieces, are put into casks and stowed away in the hold. When the flensing is proceeding and reaches the lips, which contain much oil, the whalebone is exposed and detached by means of bone handspikes and bone knives, and is hoisted upon deck in one mass, where it is split and stowed away. The two jaw-bones, from the quantity of oil they contain, are taken on deck, after which the huge carcase is abandoned to the birds and sharks, which are always waiting for their share, and speedily devour it. In Ambrose Parey's works, representing the manner of cutting up a whale, a woodcut displays a drummer and fifer standing upon it and playing; drumbeating and bell-ringing being the signals given to the inhabitants of Aquitaine of the capture of a whale.

In the early period of the Northern whale fishery, the animals being numerous and easier of capture, settlements were formed on the ice-coasts for boiling the blubber and extracting the oil, which was sent home in casks; but when the whales diminished, and the fishermen were obliged to seek them in the open sea, the capture became more difficult and dangerous, the settlements were abandoned, and the blubber was, for economy's sake, sent home to be boiled. In the different parts to which whale-ships are bound, there are establishments for extracting the oil; those at Hull are on the outskirts of the town. The blubber when conveyed to the boiling-house is emptied from the casks into large vats, where it undergoes certain processes for extracting the oil.

The whale fishery in the Southern seas does not present the same amount of dangers which beset the whalers of the ice regions, and differs in some particulars, being specially for the capture of the sperm whale, which I described to you in the last chapter. The principal occupiers of this fishery are the Americans; still, there is a scarcity of whales even here. Melville, the author of "Omoo," mentions the remarkable expertness of the natives of New Zealand as harpooners in the Southern whale fishery. One morning, he relates, a whale was seen in the Pacific, the boat was pulled up to it, and a New Zealander, balancing himself on the gunwale, darted his harpoon at the animal and missed. After

78

DEXTERITY OF THE NEW ZEALANDERS.

several hours' chase under a tropical sun the whale was approached a second time, and the harpooner aimed twice, but missed again. Then the bitterest disappointment arose among the tired boat's crew, and their taunts maddened the New Zealander, who, on the boat being pulled up again near the whale, bounded on the animal's back, and for one dizzy second was seen there; the next all was foam and fury, and both were out of sight. The men in the boat pushed off, flinging line over as fast as they could, while ahead nothing was seen but a red whirlpool of blood and brine. Presently a dark object swam out, the line began to strengthen, and the boat sped like an arrow through the water. But where was the

New Zealander? His brown hand was on the boat's gunwale, and he was hauled aboard in the very midst of the mad bubble that burst under the boat. He had struck the whale in a vital part, and more than regained his former reputation for skill.

How wonderful are human power and energy in grappling with the monarchs of the ocean!

"Leviathan

Hugest of living creatures, on the deep
Stretch'd like a promontory, sleeps or swims,
And seems a moving land, and at his gills

Draws in, and at his trunk spouts out the sea."

In the Tasmanian Courts at the International Exhibition of 1863 were many interesting productions of the whale fishery, which has become so important a portion of the industry of that colony. There are more than twenty whaling vessels attached to the port of Hobart Town, and these employ a fleet of nearly one hundred and fifty boats.

CHAPTER VII.

PERILS OF THE WHALE FISHERY.

"Laugh at fear!

Plunge in deep the barbéd spear;

Strike the lance in swift career;

Give him line! give him line!

Down he goes in the foaming brine!"

T was well remarked by an old whaling captain that "if the
Almighty had gifted the whale with a knowledge of his

strength, few indeed would be caught." It is truly so, and there are occasions when the whale, inoffensive in its general habits, displays an amount of power and hostility which forms one of the grandest and most exciting spectacles that could be witnessed. In fact, the dangers which the whalers incur in their hazardous occupation are frequently most imminent.

As an instance of the spirit of mischief which sometimes animates the ocean monarch, I will relate what happened to an American whale-ship, the "Essex," Captain Pollard, in the Pacific Ocean. A number of sperm whales being signalled by the look-out, three boats were manned and sent in pursuit. The mate's boat was struck by one of them, and he was obliged to return to the ship to repair the damage. While he was thus engaged, a sperm whale, thought to be about eighty-five feet long, broke water about twenty yards from the ship on the weather-bow. He was going at the rate of about three knots an hour, and the ship at nearly the same rate,

80

THE "ESSEX" ATTACKED BY A WHALE.

when he struck the bows of the vessel just forward of her chains. At the shock produced by the collision of two such mighty masses of matter in motion, the ship shook like a leaf. The whale passed under the ship, grazing her keel, and then appeared at about the distance of a ship's length, lashing the sea with fins and tail, as if suffering intense agony. He was evidently hurt by the collision, and greatly enraged. In a few minutes he seemed to recover himself, and started with great speed directly across the vessel's course to windward. Meanwhile the hands on board discovered the ship to be gradually settling down at the bows, and the pumps were instantly rigged. While working at them, one of the men cried out, "God have mercy! he comes again!"

The whale had turned about one hundred yards from the ship, and was making for her with double his former speed, his pathway white with foam. Rushing head on, he struck her again at the bow, and the tremendous blow stove her in. The whale dived under again and disappeared, and the ship went down in ten minutes from the first collision.

The crew took to their boats as the vessel was sinking, and after fearful hardships and sufferings, the survivors of this catastrophe reached the low island called Ducies. It was a mere sandbank, nearly barren, and they could only obtain water and some wild-fowl. On this uninhabited island, dreary as it was, three of the men chose to remain, rather than experience again the uncertainties of the sea. The poor fellows were never afterwards heard of. The three boats, with the remainder of the crew, put off for the island of Juan Fernandez, two thousand miles distant. The mate's boat was taken up by the "Indian," of London, ninety-three days from the time of the catastrophe, with only three survivors. The captain's boat was fallen in with by the "Dauphin," but with only two men living. Thus, out of a crew of twenty, only five remained to tell the story of the whale's victory.

If the huge monster, in the exercise of his enormous strength, can shatter a large sailing vessel in such a way as to cause its destruction, you may readily imagine what fearful perils are encountered by the hardy crews of the whaling-boats. A singular story is related