CHAPTER XIV
SHIPS ATTACKED BY WHALES
After I left Alaska the Tyee Company put into service a wooden whale ship called the Sorenson, which in 1910 was sunk by a finback. The animal had been struck by one iron and, suddenly going into its death flurry, began charging madly in every direction.
The long slender body of a finback lying on its side; the outer edges of the whalebone plates in the mouth are well shown.
In one of its wild dashes the sixty-ton whale, coming at a speed of probably twenty-five knots per hour, drove straight into the ship, crushing her side like an eggshell and tearing her almost apart. The vessel filled so rapidly that the crew were hardly able to get a small boat over before she went down. Later the men were all rescued.
J. G. Millais, Esq., says of the finback:
Space will not allow me to give any of the numerous stories of the exciting hunts to which one listens in the galley and the cabin of the Atlantic Finwhalers, but they prove that the chase of this great Whale calls for the sternest courage and readiest resource.
To stand up in a tiny “pram” amidst a whirl of waters and lance a fighting Finback is no child’s play, and requires that six o’clock in the morning pluck that the Norsemen possess in a high degree. Many accidents have occurred to the boat crews when engaged in “lancing,” and one or two to the steamers themselves.
The whaler Gracia, belonging to Vadso, was sunk by a Finner in 1894 in the Varanger Fjord. In 1896 the Jarfjord was sunk in ten minutes by one of these Whales charging it, when about sixty miles north of the North Cape. A heavy sea was running at the time, and the crew crowded into two small prams, which would probably have been overwhelmed had not Captain Castberg, hunting in another steamer, come to their rescue.[7]
Without doubt practically all ships which have been injured or sunk by whales have been struck by accident. Just before a whale dies it goes into what is called the death flurry and dashes wildly about in every direction. If a ship or boat happens to be near it stands an excellent chance of being rammed, for the animal is utterly blind in its rushes.
The sperm is an exception to the rule of purely accidental attacks, however, for there are many well authenticated instances of whales of this species, while only slightly wounded and not in the death flurry, deliberately sinking boats and even three-hundred- or four-hundred-ton vessels.
The spout of a finback whale. The column of vapor rises to a height of about twenty feet.
Almost every deep-sea whaleman has stories to tell of “rogue” sperms, which are usually old bulls that have sought a solitary life either from choice or ostracism from the main herd. Such animals are often vicious and sometimes turn furiously upon the boats when struck with an iron.
The “devilfish,” or California gray whale, had a bad reputation among the whalers of fifty years ago, for when attacked upon its breeding grounds it is said to have fought fiercely for the protection of its young. Under such circumstances its actions would undoubtedly be very different from what I have observed when gray whales were killed near Korea, where we had no more trouble than with other species.
At sea it is often impossible to distinguish the blue and finback whales by the way they blow. The columns of vapor are much alike under ordinary circumstances, except that the spout of the blue whale is usually somewhat higher than is the finback’s. However, much depends upon the size of the animal, since a large finback will often blow as strongly as a small blue whale. But if not far away the blue whale may be easily known by the light gray-blue color of its body, for it contrasts strongly with the dark slate upper parts of the finback which, when dripping with water, often look almost purplish. The Norwegian name blahval was given to the greatest of all living creatures because of the distinctly bluish color of its body. The Newfoundland and American whalemen call the animal “sulphur-bottom,” a most inappropriate name, for there is no suggestion of yellow on its body. The Japanese know it as shiro-nagasu (the white finback).
The diving movements of the two species are also similar except that in rare instances a blue whale will draw out its flukes when sounding, while a finback never does. Each one ascends obliquely, delivering the spout as soon as its head appears at the surface, and each slowly revolves, lifting its body high out of the water as it goes down. But the finback is more regular in its movements when traveling than is its larger relative. Then it will swim as straight as an arrow, not varying a quarter of a point from its course, and blow at regular intervals.
A finback whale “sounding” or taking the “big dive.”
The blue whale, even when not frightened, spouts very irregularly. Under ordinary circumstances it will blow from eight to fifteen times at a rising and always with a tremendous noise. The sound is a metallic, whistling roar which can be heard at a distance of three or four miles if there is a fog or the sea is calm. I always have a feeling of admiration when watching either a blue or finback whale, for the magnificent brutes move in a slow and dignified way as though conscious that they are the largest and most imposing animals of ancient or modern times.
When sounding the finback sinks lower and lower until the dorsal fin disappears; this is the last part of the body to leave the surface. This species never draws out the flukes as do the humpback, sperm and right whales.
As a supplement to my own experiences while hunting finbacks in Alaska, I have taken the liberty of quoting a portion of J. G. Millais’ description of killing a whale of this species off the Shetland coast, for it shows most admirably what real excitement one can have even in modern whaling:
At 7:30 it was bitterly cold, when Captain Stokken again stood beside the gun, and we were in full pursuit of a large female Finback that seemed tamer than the rest. Eventually, in its final “roll,” the Whale raised itself about ten yards from the gun, and the whaler tipping the muzzle downwards, fired and struck the quarry under the backbone.
At first the Finback was rather quiet, and then it began to run, the strong line rushing out at a speed of about fifteen knots. When some two miles of rope had gone over the bow I turned to Captain Stokken and said, “How much line have you got?”
“About three mile,” was the curt reply.
“But when that three mile goes, what then?”
“Oh, well,” was the imperturbable answer, “then I check line, and we see which is strongest, Whale or rope. Perhaps harpoon draws out.”
In the course of a minute the Captain gave the order to check the line. The strain now became terrific, the two-inch rope straining and groaning as if it would burst. At the same moment the little steamer leaped forward and raced over the seas at about twelve miles an hour. There was a feeling of intense exhilaration as we rushed northwards, the spray flying from our bows as the ship leaped from crest to crest in the heavy swell.
I have enjoyed the rushes of gallant thirty- and even forty-pound salmon in heavy water on the Tay—the supreme moments in an angler’s life—but that was mere child’s play to the intense excitement which we experienced during the next three hours. To be in tow of a wild Whale is something to remember to one’s dying day. You feel that you are alive and that you are there with the sport of kings. No wonder the Norwegians are full of life; the men, from the captain to the cook, run to their several tasks with eyes and hearts aflame. This is a calling which will stir the blood of the dullest clod, and to men who are one and all the finest seamen in the world is the very life and essence of the Viking nature.
Three hours of this fierce race went on, and the Whale seemed as if it would take us to Iceland. The gallant Finback was as fresh as ever when the captain gave the order, “Quarter speed astern.” With a tremendous strain on the rope and the churning of the backward driving screw our speed was at once reduced to ten knots. It was marvelous, the strength of that animal. The minutes and even the hours fled by, still the great Cetacean held on its northward course without a check.
Three hours passed; then came the order “Half speed astern,” and we were down to six knots, the vessel and the Whale still fighting the battle for the mastery.
In another hour the Whale showed visible signs of weakening when “Full speed astern” brought matters to a standstill. The machinery of man and the natural strength of the beast still worried on for another hour, and then we saw the steamer moving backwards, the Whale was done, and could pull no more.[8]
A finback taking an “intermediate” or “surface” dive.
Although the blue and finback whales of the Atlantic and Pacific have been given different names, yet there is little doubt but that each is represented in all oceans by a single cosmopolitan species.
Apparently no definite barriers exist to curtail the wanderings of the fin whales (Balænopterinæ), for they seem to be indifferent alike to tropic or Arctic temperatures and travel where they will. Probably the presence or absence of the little shrimp which forms their food is one of the greatest determining factors of their movements.
In most oceans whales live under very similar conditions and naturalists are gradually coming to recognize that the laws of geographical separation which hold universally good for land mammals are not equally true in the case of cetaceans. In other words, if any group of land mammals is separated from others of its kind by impassable barriers such as water, mountains, deserts, etc., it will gradually develop changes in structure or external appearance due to differences of climate, food, or other conditions of environment.
But this is not true of the fin whales for the conditions under which they live in the North Pacific are very similar to those in the North Atlantic; consequently, even if the animals of the two oceans never mingled, they could probably continue to reproduce themselves without material change for an almost indefinite period. But there is strong evidence to show that all the fin whales do travel from one ocean to another by way of Capes Horn and Good Hope and, since the tropic waters of the Equator are not an effective barrier, wander from the borders of the Antarctic far up into the North Pacific and Atlantic, or vice versa.
The sperm whale is also a cosmopolitan wanderer, but the right whales apparently do not cross the Equator which, as Lieutenant Maury remarks, acts to them like a “belt of fire.” The bowhead is found only in the Arctic regions.
The upper jaw of a finback whale, showing the bristles on the inner edges of the baleen plates.
Strangely enough, if whales are driven away from inland waters they seldom return, and others will not take the places of those which have been killed. This has been demonstrated on the American west coast to the considerable financial loss of both the Tyee Company of Alaska and the (former) Pacific Whaling Company of Victoria, British Columbia.
The Tyee Company erected a station on the southern end of Admiralty Island, sixty miles from the open sea, and although when operations were first begun finback and humpback whales were there in hundreds, they were soon all killed and the vessels had to hunt “outside.”
The Pacific Whaling Company spent many thousands of dollars building a station at Nannaimo, on the east coast of Vancouver Island, expecting to capture a sufficient number of whales in the bay and straits to supply their factory. Their hopes were not realized, however, for after two or three seasons’ work there were no more whales to kill and the station had to be moved near the open sea.
It seems to be true that in all parts of the world the blue and humpback whales first leave the feeding grounds and that the finback and sei whales will remain longer than any other, even when persistently hunted.