CHAPTER XIII
THE GREYHOUND OF THE SEA
The finback whale is the greyhound of the sea, and well deserves the name, for its beautiful, slender body is built like a racing yacht and the animal can surpass the speed of the fastest ocean steamship.
It is a hard whale to kill and trouble can always be expected if the iron strikes too far back. The first one I ever hunted gave us a four hours’ fight, with two harpoons in its body, and furnished abundant proof of what a truly magnificent creature the finback is.
It was while I was with Captain Charles Grahame on the Tyee in Alaska. We had had an exciting experience with a humpback whale which rose under the ship (described in Chapter III), and after killing it had steamed toward several finbacks which were spouting far away near the coast. The huge brutes were feeding and lying on the surface rolling from side to side, thrusting their fins and flukes into the air. I could see, with the glass, that always when taking a mouthful of shrimps they turned on their sides, letting the great under jaws close over the upper, the water spurting out in streams from between the plates of baleen.
“The finback whale is the greyhound of the sea ... for its beautiful slender body is built like a racing yacht and the animal can surpass the speed of the fastest ocean steamship.”
As the vessel neared the whales the signal was sounded for half speed, and quietly she slid through the water toward two big finbacks which were leisurely swimming along close together. Intent on the feed which floated in patches at the surface and stained the water a light pink, the whales paid not the slightest attention to the steamer which was creeping so slowly and quietly near them. They went down in front of the bow, just out of range, but without arching their backs, showing that the dive would be a short one; and so it proved, for they reappeared only ten fathoms away on the port bow.
“I was standing on the bridge with the camera focused and pressed the button as they rose to the surface.”
I was standing on the bridge with the camera focused and pressed the button as they rose to the surface. An instant later came the crash of the harpoon-gun and the nearest whale, throwing its flukes and half its body out of the water, turned head down in a long dive.
“You got him,” yelled the Captain, and it was evident that Sorenson had hit, for the heavy rope was running out at a tremendous rate. Fifty, seventy-five, one hundred fathoms were taken almost before we knew it. The man at the winch tried to check the hissing line but the brake could not hold. Half a mile of cable was gone before the rush ended and the Captain rang for half speed astern. When the whale felt the heavy drag of the vessel he stopped and sounded, sulked on the bottom for nearly half an hour, and finally reappeared in front of the boat, about three hundred fathoms away, blowing strongly.
The steamer was sent astern at half speed and the line held by the winch. The steady, relentless pull was too much for even his wonderful strength, and slowly we neared the whale. Back and forth he dived across our bows, tugging at the line and sometimes gaining a few fathoms from the grinding wheels. At last he rose directly in front of the ship and Sorenson sent a second harpoon crashing into his side.
Stung to renewed efforts by the biting steel, the whale dove at right angles to the vessel’s course, keeling the boat far over to port. I was standing on the wing of the bridge waiting to get a picture when the Captain shouted:
“An instant later came the crash of the harpoon-gun and the nearest whale, throwing its flukes and half its body out of the water, turned head down in a long dive.” The cloud of smoke, the rope and wads from the gun are shown; the harpoon has buried itself in the whale.
“Quick! Give me a hand, sir, or he’ll cut the line on our bow!”
I dropped my camera and jumped to the wheel which the Captain was whirling frantically to port. Bracing ourselves, we held it hard over and the vessel responded almost instantly, relieving the strain on the rope, which was sawing back and forth across the bow.
The finback whale reaches a length of about seventy-five feet. The left side of the throat is dark slate while the right side is pure white.
The whale now began a series of dashes and deep sounds which dragged the lines from the winch in spite of both brakes and kept the little vessel dodging from side to side to avoid his blind rushes. For an hour and a half the magnificent animal carried on the fight, although slowly becoming weaker and weaker from exhaustion and the loss of blood. Finally he lay almost motionless on the surface about fifty fathoms away, blowing frequently, great patches of blood staining the foam about his beautiful gray body.
After waiting fifteen or twenty minutes the Captain ordered a boat lowered and Sorenson, with two sailors, rowed out to finish the whale with the long killing lance. I had climbed to the barrel at the masthead, glass and camera slung at my side, and was watching the little pram as it neared the dying finback. After circling around the animal the boat was slowly backed toward it, the Gunner standing erect in the stern with lance ready, awaiting his opportunity. Suddenly he leaned forward and thrust the steel with all his strength deep into the whale’s side. At the same instant the boat was pulled away, and the beast sank in a mass of red foam. A few seconds later he reappeared, sending from the blowhole a thin stream of blood which floated off on the wind.
Again and again Sorenson lanced him, each time remaining a little longer and jabbing the lance deeper into his body. At last the gallant animal threw his fin into the air, rolled on his side, and sank, the taut lines proclaiming that the fight was ended.
I had hardly climbed down the rope ladder to the deck when Sorenson’s face, flecked with blood and streaming with perspiration, appeared over the side. Laying the long lance on deck, he said:
“I had climbed to the barrel at the masthead ... and was watching the little pram as it neared the dying finback. After circling around the animal the boat was slowly backed toward it, the Gunner standing erect in the stern with lance ready, awaiting his opportunity. Suddenly he leaned forward and thrust the steel with all his strength deep into the whale’s side.”
“That was the toughest whale I ever killed. Not many fight like that.”
I was surprised to find, on looking at my watch, that it was already nine o’clock, the struggle having lasted nearly four hours. The excitement of the day had been intense and I was too tired to remain on deck while the big finback was made fast to the bow, and the floating whale picked up. Saying good night to Captain Grahame, I went below, climbed into the narrow bunk in the little cabin, and was asleep even before the noise above had ceased.
Marked with a flag and left to float until the end of the day’s hunt.
The night was anything but a dreamless one to me and in the morning when I heard the sudden roar of the harpoon-gun and felt the vessel tremble under the shock I started up hardly knowing whether I was awake or not. But the rattling winch and the thumping of the line made certain that it was no dream.
The whale is made fast to the bow by a heavy chain and the ship starts on the long tow to the station.
Catching up camera and plate holders, I scrambled through the companionway, forgetting in my haste that I was without coat or shoes. Sure enough, we were fast to a humpback which was visible about one hundred fathoms away, swimming high out of water and blowing frequently. When I reached the bridge, the Mate, who was at the wheel, said:
“Yes, he came up suddenly right under the bow; but you’ll have plenty of chances today if the wind keeps down. Look at those birds; there must be lots of feed.”
I was shivering in the raw morning air and ran back to the cabin to get into a coat and shoes. I found Captain Grahame about to come on deck. He laughed when he saw my scanty dress, saying:
“You camera fellows would rather run the risk of catching your death of cold than miss a picture, wouldn’t you!”
I assured him, through chattering teeth, that pneumonia had no terrors when whales were in sight, but made haste to pull on my heavy varsity sweater and high boots. Sorenson was leisurely reloading the gun when I went forward and the humpback, blowing every few seconds, could be seen far ahead.
When the bomb had been filled with powder and the fuse string adjusted, the Engineer started the winch and the line was reeled slowly in. The animal resisted in a half-hearted way at first, but soon gave up and was drawn close to the ship. I stood just back of the harpoon platform, with camera focused, waiting to see Sorenson whirl the gun about for the second shot, but instead of doing so he called for the lance and made ready to kill the whale from the bow.
Leaning far out over the side, the Gunner watched his opportunity and plunged the slender rod of steel deep into the lungs, stabbing again and again with all his strength. The animal gave a hoarse, coughing blow and tried to dive, the blood welling in great red bubbles from his spout holes. It was a pitiful sight as the poor brute fought gamely for life with the odds all against him, and I turned away with a sigh of relief when he rolled over and sank to the bottom.
While the whale was being lifted to the surface and inflated, I breakfasted with the Captain in the little galley, doing justice to Billy’s excellent porridge and coffee. In half an hour we went to the bridge to relieve the mate, and found the vessel headed to the eastward where a number of spouts were just visible far over toward the shore. With the glasses we could see that they were finbacks, and the thin columns of vapor shooting up every few seconds indicated that the animals must be feeding.
The success of the morning and the prospects of a good day’s hunting had put every man on board in the best of humor. Captain Grahame paced back and forth beside me, telling of his experiences while cruising in Australian waters and describing wild nights at sea as only a deep-water sailor can, meanwhile watching the whales ahead.
In half an hour we were near them, and the vessel was swung toward two finbacks which were separated from the rest of the school and were swimming side by side. As they dived we could see that one was very small, a calf; the larger was probably its mother.
The engines were at dead slow and the little steamer slipped quietly through the water in a long circle about the “slick” where the whales went down. In a low voice Captain Grahame called to the Gunner, telling him to shoot the big one first, and at almost the same instant I saw the telltale patch of smooth water just in front of the bow.
“Sorenson hesitated, swung the gun a little to one side and fired. The great cloud of smoke blown backward in our faces shut out the water ahead, but in a few moments it lifted and I was surprised to see the whale lying on its side at the surface, apparently dead.”
Bringing in a finback. The harpoon rope is being cut from the iron in the whale.
I shouted to Sorenson and jumped to the starboard side where, by leaning far out, I could see the swirling green spot in the mirror of my camera. With a rush the mother whale came to the surface, followed a second later by her calf. Sorenson hesitated, swung the gun a little to one side and fired. The great cloud of smoke blown backward in our faces shut out the water ahead, but in a few moments it lifted and I was surprised to see the whale lying on its side at the surface, apparently dead. It was the first time I had ever seen a finback float, although I had been told that occasionally they did not sink when killed.
While the animal was being secured and the air pump started, I climbed to the barrel to watch the movements of the calf. The little fellow refused to leave his dead mother and circled around and around the boat within easy gunshot. Although he was swimming low in the water, showing only a small part of his back above the surface, I exposed a plate each time he came near, until the stock of negatives had been exhausted.
A finback lying in the water at Aikawa just before it is “cut in.”
In a short time Sorenson had the gun reloaded and stood ready for a shot at the calf when next he came within range. From the masthead I could look far down into the clear water and once saw the little finback rising almost under the vessel. I shouted a warning to the men below and as he reached the surface the harpoon crashed into his side, going almost through him.
Drawing up a finback at Aikawa, Japan.
When I had descended to the deck and stood beside Captain Grahame on the bridge his face was beaming with smiles. Pulling out his watch, he said:
“It’s only ten o’clock and I think we will tow these three in. The rest of the bunch are scattered now, but maybe they will come together this afternoon, and we can get back in time for the evening hunting.”
In half an hour all the whales had been made fast to the bow and the engines were throbbing monotonously as the sturdy little vessel plowed her way through the water toward the station, leaving a long black trail across the blue sky behind.