came a deep watery bellow like the sudden release of a thousand fire hoses.
Philip was afraid to turn and witness the thing that was now reflected in the eyes of both Colin and his father.
As he peeked slowly over his shoulder, he saw the flank of a humpback whale submerge, and the beast’s tail slap the surface of the water like a gunshot.
Part Five
Desperation
21
Jack
February 9, 1910
“I T MUST THINK WE’RE a fish!” Colin shouted.
“It doesn’t think!” Philip shouted. “It’s a beast. It destroys!”
Jack stood at the bow. The fall onto the gunwale had raised a bloody welt on his head, and it throbbed. His bandage was wet and sticky, and his brain felt three sizes too large.
He held the broken mast waist-high, waiting for the whale to emerge. If he struck it, it might turn away from the boat and leave them alone. Or it might be angered into fighting back.
Which?
In an emergency you asked the right question. Every problem yielded somehow. But a whale was different.
A whale decided your fate.
No cleverness, strength, or skill prepared you for its attack. Its victims littered the seafloor. With a shift of its bulk, it could break the hull of a five-masted whaling vessel containing two-score crew. Melville called it the Leviathan, a sea monster conquerable only by God.
The Horace Putney didn’t stand a chance.
Colin rowed with powerful strokes, trying to direct the boat away from the beast.
It was thrashing, kicking up its tail as if the boat had poisoned the water. A plume rose from its back. Water rained down in thick, putrid drops.
Philip sat staring at it, his oar still.
“Row, Philip!” Colin shouted.
The boy was paralyzed. Laying down the mast, Jack took up the oar. He shoved Philip aside and plunged it into the surf.
“It’s … bleeding,” Philip said.
“It must have scraped itself on the hull!” Jack replied.
“No wonder it’s angry!” Colin shouted.
“No,” Philip said. “That’s not why. It has something in its side.”
Jack glanced over his shoulder. “What is it?”
“A harpoon,” Philip said.
“How can it have a harpoon out here in the middle o f—”
Colin was cut off by a high, screaming sound. A long object burst through the clouds.
TTHHHHWUCK!
Jack stopped rowing. “What the —?”
As the whale dived underwater, it rolled over. One long metal spear pierced its flank, another jutted from below its blowhole.
“Father!” Colin cried out.
“You see?” Philip said, leaping to his feet. “We’re saved! Ho, there! Whalermen!”
“Sit down!” Colin admonished.
SHHHHINNNG!
Another harpoon whizzed over the deck of the Horace Putney, narrowly missing Philip.
Philip dropped to the deck. “Just call me Moby.”
“They don’t see us!” Jack exclaimed.
“We can’t survive this far to be speared like animals!” Philip shrieked.
Colin crawled under the deck and came back with a hurricane lamp, filled with seal blubber.
Jack pulled the box of matches from his pocket. Only two left. No time to cut these in half.
He cupped his hand around the match. Colin put a hand overhead as an umbrella. Jack struck the match and held it to the wick.
It blew out.
One left.
“Philip, help!” Jack commanded.
Philip removed his coat. He huddled with Colin and Jack, holding the coat over their heads.
Light. Please. Please, Lord, don’t let this blow out.
He struck again. The match flared.
A gust of wind sneaked under the coat, and the flame blew sideways.
Colin and Philip squeezed closer to Jack, blocking the wind.
Jack thrust the flickering match into the lamp.
It went out again.
But slowly, the seal blubber began to glow. As Colin slammed down the glass housing, the flame rose. And danced.
Colin held it high.
“H-O-O-O-O-O-O-O.’” the three bellowed.
The whale rose again from the depths. Closer now.
TTHHHHHWUCK!
A fourth harpoon grazed its side, opening a long gash. Blood sprayed into the foam. The whale was enraged, desperate. Like a
Philip was afraid to turn and witness the thing that was now reflected in the eyes of both Colin and his father.
As he peeked slowly over his shoulder, he saw the flank of a humpback whale submerge, and the beast’s tail slap the surface of the water like a gunshot.
Part Five
Desperation
21
Jack
February 9, 1910
“I T MUST THINK WE’RE a fish!” Colin shouted.
“It doesn’t think!” Philip shouted. “It’s a beast. It destroys!”
Jack stood at the bow. The fall onto the gunwale had raised a bloody welt on his head, and it throbbed. His bandage was wet and sticky, and his brain felt three sizes too large.
He held the broken mast waist-high, waiting for the whale to emerge. If he struck it, it might turn away from the boat and leave them alone. Or it might be angered into fighting back.
Which?
In an emergency you asked the right question. Every problem yielded somehow. But a whale was different.
A whale decided your fate.
No cleverness, strength, or skill prepared you for its attack. Its victims littered the seafloor. With a shift of its bulk, it could break the hull of a five-masted whaling vessel containing two-score crew. Melville called it the Leviathan, a sea monster conquerable only by God.
The Horace Putney didn’t stand a chance.
Colin rowed with powerful strokes, trying to direct the boat away from the beast.
It was thrashing, kicking up its tail as if the boat had poisoned the water. A plume rose from its back. Water rained down in thick, putrid drops.
Philip sat staring at it, his oar still.
“Row, Philip!” Colin shouted.
The boy was paralyzed. Laying down the mast, Jack took up the oar. He shoved Philip aside and plunged it into the surf.
“It’s … bleeding,” Philip said.
“It must have scraped itself on the hull!” Jack replied.
“No wonder it’s angry!” Colin shouted.
“No,” Philip said. “That’s not why. It has something in its side.”
Jack glanced over his shoulder. “What is it?”
“A harpoon,” Philip said.
“How can it have a harpoon out here in the middle o f—”
Colin was cut off by a high, screaming sound. A long object burst through the clouds.
TTHHHHWUCK!
Jack stopped rowing. “What the —?”
As the whale dived underwater, it rolled over. One long metal spear pierced its flank, another jutted from below its blowhole.
“Father!” Colin cried out.
“You see?” Philip said, leaping to his feet. “We’re saved! Ho, there! Whalermen!”
“Sit down!” Colin admonished.
SHHHHINNNG!
Another harpoon whizzed over the deck of the Horace Putney, narrowly missing Philip.
Philip dropped to the deck. “Just call me Moby.”
“They don’t see us!” Jack exclaimed.
“We can’t survive this far to be speared like animals!” Philip shrieked.
Colin crawled under the deck and came back with a hurricane lamp, filled with seal blubber.
Jack pulled the box of matches from his pocket. Only two left. No time to cut these in half.
He cupped his hand around the match. Colin put a hand overhead as an umbrella. Jack struck the match and held it to the wick.
It blew out.
One left.
“Philip, help!” Jack commanded.
Philip removed his coat. He huddled with Colin and Jack, holding the coat over their heads.
Light. Please. Please, Lord, don’t let this blow out.
He struck again. The match flared.
A gust of wind sneaked under the coat, and the flame blew sideways.
Colin and Philip squeezed closer to Jack, blocking the wind.
Jack thrust the flickering match into the lamp.
It went out again.
But slowly, the seal blubber began to glow. As Colin slammed down the glass housing, the flame rose. And danced.
Colin held it high.
“H-O-O-O-O-O-O-O.’” the three bellowed.
The whale rose again from the depths. Closer now.
TTHHHHHWUCK!
A fourth harpoon grazed its side, opening a long gash. Blood sprayed into the foam. The whale was enraged, desperate. Like a
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