05 Whale Adventure

by Willard Price

  And he realized that he was not dreaming. He was looking at a killer-whale

  The killer-whale is the most dangerous creature of the sea. Curiously enough it is not really a whale. It is the largest of the porpoise family. But sailors of the early days gave it the name killer-whale, and the name has stuck.

  A famous scientist has called it ‘the most terrible flesh-eating creature on our planet’. A full-grown killer-whale is about thirty feet long. It is shaped like a torpedo and can flash through the water at a speed of thirty-six miles per hour. It has a dozen huge sharp teeth in the lower jaw and another dozen in the upper. The teeth are curved inward, and whatever they take hold of has very little chance of escape.

  The big eyes have keen vision and behind them is an intelligent brain. In fact, the brain of the killer-whale is said to be better than that of the chimpanzee, better than that of any other living thing except man.

  But unhappily that wonderful brain has only one ambition - to kill. It is the brain of a devil. No wonder the Eskimos who believe in evil spirits call this beast a wicked god that can take on the form of a killer-whale in the water or a wolf on land.

  Killers are clever. When they see walruses or seals lying on a floating cake of ice, they will come up under the floe and break it to bits so that the animals will fall into the water. They will go after men in the same deadly fashion. Cherry Garrard in The Worst Journey in the World tells of what happened on an Antarctic expedition when a man and two dogs on an ice-floe were attacked by seven killer-whales: ‘The next moment the whole floe under him and the dogs heaved up and split into fragments. One could hear the booming noise as the whales rose under the ice and struck it with their backs. Whale after whale rose under the ice setting it rocking fearfully. Luckily Ponting kept his feet and was able to fly to security. By an extraordinary chance also, the splits had been made around and between the dogs so that neither of them fell into the water. Then it was clear that the whales shared our astonishment, for one after another, their huge hideous heads shot vertically into the air through the cracks which they had made. As they reared them to a height of six or eight feet it was possible to see their tawny head markings, their glistening eyes and the terrible array of teeth, the most terrifying in the world. But the fact that they could display such deliberate cunning, that they were able to break ice of such thickness, at least two feet, and that they could act in unison, was a revelation to us.’

  Sometimes instead of coming up under the ice a killer will slide up on top of it, clear of the water, grab its prey, then wriggle off into the sea. In the same way it may come aboard a raft, a whaleboat, or a small ship.

  Recently a tuna-boat off the California coast was visited by a killer. It circled round and round the boat until the ship’s cook got annoyed and potted the beast with a rifle bullet.

  Instead of killing it or scaring it away, the bullet only made the killer furiously angry. He swam straight for the ship, shot up into the air, and crashed head-on into the galley, the great jaws chopping the cookhouse into kindling. Luckily the cook saved himself by diving head-first into the hold.

  The killer thrashed savagely about, breaking all the dishes and crunching the iron pans and buckets until they looked as if a tractor had run over them. He chewed up the galley stove, fire and all, but when a huge pot containing enough soup for twenty men spilled its boiling contents on his nose he flipped back into the sea and swam off:’

  The cook crawled up, green and shaking, from the hold and looked at the ruins of his galley. The crew ate cold salt pork that day. The cook never again fired a bullet at a killer-whale.

  One after another the killers sat up in the sea and looked at Roger. He knew they could easily slide up on the whale’s back. Then - one crunch - and Hal would have no brother.

  Perhaps he had better swarm up to the safety of the deck while there was still a chance. But if he ran away the killers would devour the whale. Already they were making savage lunges at the body and swimming off with great chunks of flesh. Several of them were attacking the head. Roger remembered hearing, on his Pacific voyages, of the killer’s habit of forcing the whale’s mouth open to get at its tongue.

  Nothing tasted so good to a killer as a whale’s tongue. It was soft and spongy and full of delicious oil. In fact, the oil in it made it not only luscious to the killer but valuable to the whaler.

  The tongue of a sperm-whale is as big as a full-grown elephant. It contains at least fifteen barrels of the finest oil. If Roger allowed these thieves to get away with the tongue he hated to think what would happen to him at the hands of Captain Grindle.

  The great carcass quivered and shook as the savages knocked their noses against the lips in an effort to open the mouth and get at the tongue. Whatever Roger was going to do he would have to do quickly. His rope was not long enough to allow him to get to the whale’s head. With more courage than common sense he threw off the rope and started forward. He cut holes for his feet Even with the help of these footholds he had trouble in keeping his balance. The big whale rolled with the waves and trembled under the attack of the killers.

  Roger was now on the whale’s head. The head of a sperm-whale is an enormous box some ten feet high.

  The nose is on top of it and the mouth is under it. So Roger stood many feet above the killers as they battered against the whale’s lips. Fortunately they were too busy trying to break into this big food-box to pay much attention to the small morsel of boy above them. So long as he left them alone they might leave him alone.

  He could not afford to let them alone. But what could he do with a spade when even a rifle bullet would have no effect upon such a beast?

  He believed that the spade could do what the bullet could not. The spade would let out blood. If these monsters had as bad table manners as the sharks, they would attack their bloody brother. He hoped it would work. There was nothing else he could do.

  With all his strength he drove the sharp spade down into the head of the nearest killer. The tremendous thrashing that resulted scared him out of his-wits. The animal he had wounded backed off, raised his head man-high out of the sea, and stared full at Roger. Then he submerged and came in with a rush. Close to the whale he shot up out of the water and on to the big head.

  Roger had not waited for him. He had lost no time in running aft. The killer’s jaws clamped upon emptiness.

  With one wrench of its body the angry beast twisted its head close to the boy. Blood spurting from the wound sprayed upon Roger. He hunted for the rope by which he could pull himself up to the deck. Dawn was now greying the sky and in its light he could see that the precious rope had swung out of reach against the side of the ship.

  He shouted for help. Brad woke, rose and looked sleepily over the rail. He could not believe what he saw. His mouth hung open stupidly as he tried to clear the mist of sleep from his brain.

  ‘Throw me a line!’ yelled Roger. The big killer was squirming like a fish out of water, trying to get near enough to close its jaws upon its enemy. Then a line came whistling over Roger’s shoulder. It was not the stupid Brad who had thrown it, but the second mate, Durkins. ‘Latch on to it, boy!’

  Roger immediately gripped the line and had his arms almost pulled out of their sockets, so powerful was the pull of the mate’s strong arms as he hauled in on the line. Roger’s swinging body crashed into the ship’s side, but how good that felt in comparison with the crunch of the killer’s teeth! A moment later he was spilled on deck. He got unsteadily to his feet. ‘Are you all right, boy?’

  T’m all right,’ said Roger, but he was still dizzy from the nerve-racking experience of the last few moments. ‘The killers are after the tongue,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ said the mate. ‘You fixed it so they won’t get it. Good job, kid.’

  Roger was not so sure that he had fixed it. Five killers were still struggling to get their heads into the whale’s mouth. In the meantime the wounded killer twisted himself off the whale’s back
and fell heavily into the sea. The blood spread out over the waves. It attracted his companions. They rushed in upon the wounded animal, churning the sea, gulping the blood, taking great bites out of the flukes, the fins, the lips. They would not stop until there was nothing left but the skeleton.

  ‘It will keep them out of mischief for an hour,’ said the mate with satisfaction. ‘That will give us time to get the stage out’ He turned towards the fo’c’sle and bawled: ‘All hands on deck!’

  The men came tumbling up. With them was Hal, who had spent a sleepless night worrying about his young brother. Scott came from his cabin aft. Both of them would have been glad to spend the night helping the boy, but their interference would only have got him as well as themselves into trouble. Now they were eager to hear about his experiences. They talked, over the brief breakfast of coffee and hardtack.

  Their conversation was cut short by the appearance of Captain Grindle.

  ‘Everybody loafing as usual,’ he snarled. ‘And a whale waiting to be cut in.’

  He fixed his eye on Roger.

  T thought I posted you on the carcass. Who told you to come up?’

  T hauled him up, sir,’ said the mate.

  ‘Well, get him down again.’

  Durkins ventured to object. ‘It isn’t necessary, sir. He sliced a killer. That will keep the other killers busy. As for the sharks, the killers scared them away.’

  The captain peered over the rail at the surge of savage beasts enjoying their blood breakfast.

  ‘Then what are you waiting for?’ shouted the captain. ‘Get out the cutting-stage. Hop to it!’

  He had forgotten about Roger. Durkins spoke in the boy’s ear.

  ‘Get to your bunk. Quick, before he spots you.’

  Roger slipped forward and down into the fo’c’sle. The boards of his bunk felt like feathers. He promptly lost himself in beautiful, delicious, heavenly sleep.

  Chapter 10

  Cat-o’-nine-tails

  Captain Grindle turned upon Hal.

  ‘Well, if it ain’t the Gent!’ he sneered. ‘Your softie brother got his. Pretty soon I’ll be getting around to you.’

  ‘I hope you do,’ Hal answered. That would be better than taking it out on the boy.’

  Grindle glared. ‘Do you question my authority?’

  ‘I question your intelligence.’ Hal knew he was unwise to say it but he was too angry to guard his tongue.

  Grindle’s always prominent eyes now seemed to stand straight out from his head. He could not believe what he had heard. He pushed his face close to Hal’s and said in a low, rasping voice:

  ‘Do I understand you proper? You say that I don’t know how to handle my crew?’

  ‘Of course you don’t,’ Hal replied. He knew that he had waded in too far. He would have been glad to wade out again, but it was too late. He might as well go deeper. ‘A man who would do what you did last night to that boy is not fit to give orders to anyone.’

  The captain started back as if he had been struck. He

  stood like a man turned to stone. Then he came to life and bawled: ‘Mr Durkins!’ in a voice that made everybody jump.

  The mate came running.

  ‘String this fellow up,’ ordered the captain. ‘Strip him to the waist. We’ll put a pattern on his back that will stay there if he lives to be a hundred.’

  The order took the mate by surprise, but he did not dare object.

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ he answered, ‘right now, if you say so. But perhaps you’ll be wanting us to get in the blubber first before the killers make off with it.’

  Grindle looked over the rail. The cannibals were still breakfasting on their companion, but soon they would be done with him and free to attack the big whale.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Business first, then pleasure. And what a party we’ll have when the work is done! Something to look forward to, eh, Gent?’ He turned and strode aft.

  The mate scowled at Hal.

  ‘Now you’ve done it. Why in the devil’s name couldn’t you keep your mouth shut? Don’t expect me to get you out of this.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Hal said. T got myself into it.’

  He could not be sorry. The captain’s brutality towards Roger was enough to make anyone rebel. And yet perhaps he had only made things worse for Roger by speaking up. As for himself, he could already feel the cut of the cat-o’-nine-tails into his flesh.

  The cutting-stage was now lowered. This was a sort of platform that was lashed to the rail of the ship when not in use. When let down it projected about ten feet from the ship like a balcony. Directly under it was the whale.

  The cutters went out on the stage. Each was armed with one of the long-handled spades. With these sharp tools they cut a foot deep into the whale’s hide, making a lengthwise slit Then one man descended to the whale’s back and fixed a large ‘blubber-hook’ in the hide. A line ran from the blubber-hook up over a block in the rigging and down to the windlass.

  The man who had fixed the hook clambered back to safety and the mate shouted: ‘Haul! ||&

  Then men heaved on the windlass. The rope tightened. The strong pull of .the hook lifted the whale an inch or two higher in the water. It had a greater effect upon the ship. The weight of the monster made the vessel lean farther and farther to starboard until it was hard to keep a footing on the slippery deck.

  Then there was a tearing sound and the hook went up carrying a great strip of hide with it. As the whale rolled the hide peeled like the skin of an orange. Whalers called this the blanket. It was a good name. This hide, a foot thick, consisting mainly of oily blubber, wrapped the whale as in a blanket and kept it snug and warm when it sank into the chill depths of the sea.

  The piece of blanket was hauled inboard and dropped on the deck. The process was repeated and, piece by piece, the entire blanket of the whale was brought aboard.

  The hardest job came next. The head must be cut off. The spades attacked the neck, cutting deeper and deeper through muscle and nerve and flesh. Every once in a while the blades, dulled by bones, had to be resharpened. They must be so sharp that they would slice through the bones and even through the backbone itself.

  At last the head and trunk parted company. The carcass was now cast loose and drifted several hundred feet off, where a company of sharks attacked it.

  Now it was a race with the killers. They had almost finished off their dead friend. They began making passes at the whale’s head, trying again to get at the tongue.

  The head, still floating in the sea but secured by hooks, was turned upside-down. Cutters neatly removed the lower jaw. And there, exposed to view, was the elephant-size tongue.

  It was severed at the root, a hook was fixed in it, the windlass creaked, and the great spongy morsel so loved by the killers began to rise. It was none too soon. Already the killers were nipping at it feverishly. Several large bites were torn out of it. Even when it was eight feet above the sea three killers stood up on their tails snapping at it. Then it was drawn out of their reach and hauled aboard.

  It would have done Roger good to hear how the men cheered. The rich fine oil of the tongue would put more money into the pocket of every man aboard. ‘Don’t forget,’ said Jimson, ‘we owe it to the kid. Fifteen barrels in that tongue if there’s a pint!’

  The disappointed killers turned upon the floating carcass. They scared away the sharks, but they could not scare away the frigate birds, albatrosses, and gulls that had come in swarms to this royal feast.

  The cutters were not done with the head. It contained another rich prize. Having turned it right side up a cutter with a rope about his waist stood on the head and poked about with his spade, hunting for the soft spot. When he found it he cut a round opening about two feet across.

  A bucket was let down through the hole and came up full of clear oil as sweet-smelling as any perfume. Bucketful after bucketful was hoisted to the deck and poured into casks-For this oil was so pure that it did not need to be boiled in the try-po
ts.

  When the job was finished the mate did some adding up. ‘Two thousand gallons of oil we got out of that head!’ Now the head itself was hoisted aboard. Even without the tongue and empty of oil it was so heavy that its weight listed the whaler far to starboard. When it lay at last on the deck it seemed as big as a cabin. Hal had to look up to see the top of it. He had known that a sperm-whale’s head is one-third of the entire body, but it was hard to believe such a thing without actually seeing it.

  Then came the dirty, greasy job of trying-out. The head and hide were cut into small pieces and dumped into the try-pots. As fast as the oil was boiled out of the blubber it was ladled out into casks.

  Then the scraps of blubber from which the oil had been boiled were thrown out on deck. Hal wondered why they were not tossed overboard.

  He soon saw why. When the fixe burned low no more wood was put on it. Instead, the scraps of boiled-out blubber were thrown in. Thus blubber boiled blubber. The whale was actually cooking itself.

  This saved both money and space. There would not be room on a ship for the wood required to boil down all the whales captured on an average voyage. Besides, it would be costly. But the scraps were supplied free of charge by every whale that came aboard.

  Because of their oiliness they made an extremely hot fire. But it was not as pleasant as a wood fire. It sent up a greasy smudge of rank-smelling black smoke that made the men choke and gag and cover their faces with grey masks. Sweat running down their cheeks made rivers of white through the grey.

  As the knives attacked the blubber, spurts of oily blood spattered the shirts and trousers of the workers.

  Some of them saved their clothes by taking them off and stowing them, and worked almost naked. Their bodies were rapidly covered by layers of grease and grime and blood. It got into their unshaven whiskers and uncut hair.

  They were the sort of creatures one might see in a nightmare. They were pictures no artist could paint. If one of them had appeared suddenly in a Honolulu street women and children would have run screaming to their homes.