"Thet whale 'll stay down fifty minutes, I guess," said he, "fer he's every gill ov a hundred en twenty bar'l; and don't yew fergit it." "Do the big whales give much more trouble than the little ones?" I asked, seeing him thus chatty."Wall, it's jest ez it happens, boy--just ez it happens.I've seen a fifty-bar'l bull make the purtiest fight I ever hearn tell ov--a fight thet lasted twenty hours, stove three boats, 'n killed two men.Then, again, I've seen a hundred 'n fifty bar'l whale lay 'n take his grooel 'thout hardly wunkin 'n eyelid--never moved ten fathom from fust iron till fin eout.So yew may say, boy, that they're like peepul--got thair iudividooal pekyewlyarities, an' thars no countin' on 'em for sartin nary time." I was in great hopes of getting some useful information while his mood lasted; but it was over, and silence reigned.Nor did I dare to ask any more questions; he looked so stern and fierce.The scene was very striking.Overhead, a bright blue sky just fringed with fleecy little clouds; beneath, a deep blue sea with innumerable tiny wavelets dancing and glittering in the blaze of the sun; but all swayed in one direction by a great, solemn swell that slowly rolled from east to west, like the measured breathing of some world-supporting monster.Four little craft in a group, with twenty-four men in them, silently waiting for battle with one of the mightiest of God's creatures--one that was indeed a terrible foe to encounter were he but wise enough to make the best use of his opportunities.Against him we came with our puny weapons, of which I could not help reminding myself that "he laugheth at the shaking of a spear." But when the man's brain was thrown into the scale against the instinct of the brute, the contest looked less unequal than at first sight, for THERE is the secret of success.My musings were very suddenly interrupted.Whether we had overrun our distance, or the whale, who was not "making a passage," but feeding, had changed his course, I do not know;but, anyhow, he broke water close ahead, coming straight for our boat.His great black head, like the broad bow of a dumb barge, driving the waves before it, loomed high and menacing to me, for I was not forbidden to look ahead now.But coolly, as if coming alongside the ship, the mate bent to the big steer-oar, and swung the boat off at right angles to her course, bringing her back again with another broad sheer as the whale passed foaming.This manoeuvre brought us side by side with him before he had time to realize that we were there.Up till that instant he had evidently not seen us, and his surprise was correspondingly great.To see Louis raise his harpoon high above his head, and with a hoarse grunt of satisfaction plunge it into the black, shining mass beside him up to the hitches, was indeed a sight to be remembered.Quick as thought he snatched up a second harpoon, and as the whale rolled from us it flew from his hands, burying itself like the former one, but lower down the body.The great impetus we had when we reached the whale carried us a long way past him, out of all danger from his struggles.No hindrance was experienced from the line by which we were connected with the whale, for it was loosely coiled in a space for the purpose in the boat's bow to the extent of two hundred feet, and this was cast overboard by the harpooner as soon as the fish was fast.He made a fearful.to-do over it, rolling completely over several times backward and forward, at the same time smiting the sea with his mighty tail, making an almost deafening noise and pother.
But we were comfortable enough, while we unshipped the mast and made ready for action, being sufficiently far away from him to escape the full effect of his gambols.It was impossible to avoid reflecting, however, upon what WOULD happen if, in our unprepared and so far helpless state, he were, instead of simply tumbling about in an aimless, blind sort of fury, to rush at the boat and try to destroy it.Very few indeed would survive such an attack, unless the tactics were radically altered.No doubt they would be, for practices grow up in consequence of the circumstances with which they have to deal.
After the usual time spent in furious attempts to free himself from our annoyance, he betook himself below, leaving us to await his return, and hasten it as much as possible by keeping a severe strain upon the line.Our efforts in this direction, however, did not seem to have any effect upon him at all.Flake after flake ran out of the tubs, until we were compelled to hand the end of our line to the second mate to splice his own on to.
Still it slipped away, and at last it was handed to the third mate, whose two tubs met the same fate.It was now Mistah Jones'
turn to "bend on," which he did with many chuckles as of a man who was the last resource of the unfortunate.But his face grew longer and longer as the never-resting line continued to disappear.Soon he signalled us that he was nearly out of line, and two or three minutes after he bent on his "drogue" (a square piece of plank with a rope tail spliced into its centre, and considered to hinder a whale's progress at least as much as four boats), and let go the end.We had each bent on our drogues in the same way, when we passed our ends to one another.So now our friend was getting along somewhere below with 7200 feet of l 1/2-inch rope, and weight additional equal to the drag of sixteen 30-feet boats.
Of course we knew that, unless he were dead and sinking, he could not possibly remain much longer beneath the surface.The exhibition of endurance we had just been favoured with was a very unusual one, I was told, it being a rare thing for a cachalot to take out two boats' lines before returning to the surface to spout.
