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Authors: Willard Price
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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.
And the crew could not look forward to soap and a hot shower when the job was finished. Water was too precious to be used to clean bodies that would only become dirty again. Most of the mess could be scraped off with the back edge of a knife, and the rest would wear off.
No, trying-out was not a pleasant job on an old-fashioned whaler. Yet the men went at it with a will, because every additional pint of oil meant more money in their pockets at the end of the voyage.
Hal, slipping on the fat-slimy deck, hacking at the blubber blanket with a long knife, shutting his eyes when the stuff spurted into his face, coughing in the oily smoke, was as grey, greasy, and grubby as anyone else on board.
This was not his idea of a good time. How delighted he and his brother had been when their father proposed to let them go on a number of scientific expeditions, skipping a year of school because they were both too young for their classes. They were thrilled with the prospect of a whole year of hunting, fishing, and exploring. And a lot of it so far had been great fun. But Hal had not looked forward to anything like this - drowning in a sea of oil and blood and smoke, with nothing to look forward to when the job was finished but a cat-o’-nine-tails.
Any hope that the captain had forgotten about the flogging was dispelled when Hal heard Grindle say to the mate: ‘What man o’ yours has the strongest right arm?’ ‘Well, Bruiser throws the hardest harpoon.’ Bruiser was a great brute with the strength of a gorilla. The mate might have made a different answer if he had known that the captain was not thinking of harpooning. ‘Good,’ said Grindle. ‘He’s the one to swing the cat.’ ‘You mean, you still aim to string up Hunt?’ ‘Of course!’ snapped Grindle. ‘Did you ever know me to go back on a promise?’
The mate felt like saying: You never go back on a bad promise. Just on good ones. He did not say it. He only thought it. ‘I’ll tell Bruiser,’ he said.
Chapter 11
The great bull
A cry came from the masthead.
‘Whale away! Sperms on the lee bow! They blow! They blow!’
The captain went up the mainmast like an electrified monkey. He had no time now to think of ‘the Gent’. Hal must wait for his flogging. Hal was almost sorry. He would rather have had it over and done with than be for ever looking forward to it.
The men piled into the boats. The tackle creaked and groaned as the boats descended from the davits and struck the bouncing waves.
‘Cast off!’ came the call. ‘Oars - all together! Jump to it! Stroke - stroke - stroke!’
The spouts could be plainly seen. It was not just one whale this time, but a whole pod.
Funny, the names we give to various groups of animals. We speak of a flock of sheep, a herd of cattle, a gaggle of geese, a pride of lions, a school of fish - and a pod of whales.
It was hard to tell how many whales were in this pod.
Perhaps half a dozen. Two of the spouts were very short, indicating that they came from babies. Possibly all the animals in the group were of one family.
In Hal’s boat the third mate, a small man named Brown, stood at the steering-sweep. At the bow-oar was the big, gorilla-like fellow, once a boxer, whom the men called Bruiser. When the time came he would rise from his seat and throw the harpoon. ^
Brown was small, but he had courage. He steered the boat into the very centre of the pod of whales.
‘Steady now,’ he said. ‘Quiet with those oars. Don’t alarm the beasties.’
The
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.
And the crew could not look forward to soap and a hot shower when the job was finished. Water was too precious to be used to clean bodies that would only become dirty again. Most of the mess could be scraped off with the back edge of a knife, and the rest would wear off.
No, trying-out was not a pleasant job on an old-fashioned whaler. Yet the men went at it with a will, because every additional pint of oil meant more money in their pockets at the end of the voyage.
Hal, slipping on the fat-slimy deck, hacking at the blubber blanket with a long knife, shutting his eyes when the stuff spurted into his face, coughing in the oily smoke, was as grey, greasy, and grubby as anyone else on board.
This was not his idea of a good time. How delighted he and his brother had been when their father proposed to let them go on a number of scientific expeditions, skipping a year of school because they were both too young for their classes. They were thrilled with the prospect of a whole year of hunting, fishing, and exploring. And a lot of it so far had been great fun. But Hal had not looked forward to anything like this - drowning in a sea of oil and blood and smoke, with nothing to look forward to when the job was finished but a cat-o’-nine-tails.
Any hope that the captain had forgotten about the flogging was dispelled when Hal heard Grindle say to the mate: ‘What man o’ yours has the strongest right arm?’ ‘Well, Bruiser throws the hardest harpoon.’ Bruiser was a great brute with the strength of a gorilla. The mate might have made a different answer if he had known that the captain was not thinking of harpooning. ‘Good,’ said Grindle. ‘He’s the one to swing the cat.’ ‘You mean, you still aim to string up Hunt?’ ‘Of course!’ snapped Grindle. ‘Did you ever know me to go back on a promise?’
The mate felt like saying: You never go back on a bad promise. Just on good ones. He did not say it. He only thought it. ‘I’ll tell Bruiser,’ he said.
Chapter 11
The great bull
A cry came from the masthead.
‘Whale away! Sperms on the lee bow! They blow! They blow!’
The captain went up the mainmast like an electrified monkey. He had no time now to think of ‘the Gent’. Hal must wait for his flogging. Hal was almost sorry. He would rather have had it over and done with than be for ever looking forward to it.
The men piled into the boats. The tackle creaked and groaned as the boats descended from the davits and struck the bouncing waves.
‘Cast off!’ came the call. ‘Oars - all together! Jump to it! Stroke - stroke - stroke!’
The spouts could be plainly seen. It was not just one whale this time, but a whole pod.
Funny, the names we give to various groups of animals. We speak of a flock of sheep, a herd of cattle, a gaggle of geese, a pride of lions, a school of fish - and a pod of whales.
It was hard to tell how many whales were in this pod.
Perhaps half a dozen. Two of the spouts were very short, indicating that they came from babies. Possibly all the animals in the group were of one family.
In Hal’s boat the third mate, a small man named Brown, stood at the steering-sweep. At the bow-oar was the big, gorilla-like fellow, once a boxer, whom the men called Bruiser. When the time came he would rise from his seat and throw the harpoon. ^
Brown was small, but he had courage. He steered the boat into the very centre of the pod of whales.
‘Steady now,’ he said. ‘Quiet with those oars. Don’t alarm the beasties.’
The
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