I’ve never had it happen to me, but I’ve seen it happen to less experienced crews. If the harpoon does not find its mark, then you get a flying fish! The giant turns, and gives chase to its hunters. It bears down like a train on the water, staring straight at the skiff; and just short of the sloop, shoots into the air leaving its prey to pray to that monumental black monolith for a momentous moment. Following this second of silence, the whale falls to the water, like a slick, wet Redwood being felled; and the explosion of wind and sound blasts far harder than any cannon a man could fire. It is then that the men must prove that their intent was to bring the fight to the fish; and not the other way around, as the dying black island furiously flaps her tail and fins, as if unfurling a flag to claim her cemetery plot. Selfish even in death, she fittingly wants to claim the very spot directly beneath the boat that is now painted with her own blood.”
“That is fantastic. And you are quite the poet. Did you know that?”
“I get on a roll, now and then. The chaps all like it. They set the words to song sometimes. Keeps ‘em happy when we’re towing that bloody bitch back in from five miles out! You know, they also call the Right Whale a Black Whale.”
“Well, maybe that is the reason why it is the right whale to hunt!”
Sam laughed hard, and said, “Sharp, Jack, very sharp.”
II
The beach was remarkably quiet for a place so full of people. The bright sun shone down out of a clear sky. Warm breeze blew dry air over the bay and onto the sand littered with marooned kelp. A gull screeched overhead occasionally, accentuating the infrequent clang of men’s tools, and the complete lack of any talking. The whalers had struck a happy, hypnotic medium following the excitement of welcoming the new arrivals and having gotten to know them. Everyone moved about as spirits in their own world, working efficiently and interacting silently with all whom surrounded them. There was no longer any need to speak, so Nature had improvised by playing her beautiful song in the background.
The ships moored in the bay bobbed in order along their row as waves cut across the channel and sprawled out on the shore. The salty, meaty smell of seaweed mingled with the greasy stench of simmering whale oil; and both fragrances sparred in turn with the aroma of the strewn, rotting, rancid flesh which held rank above all others smells on the beach.
“Are you scared?” Sam asked Black Jack out of the blue.
“I don’t know what to be scared of.”
“You’ve never killed a whale, then.”
“I’ve never hunted an animal that large, no.”
“Well, mate, if you’re scared, say you’re scared. There’s no shame in it. That’s part of the game.”
“Like I say, I won’t know if I’m frightened of the whale or killing the whale, until the time comes.”
“Well mate, how about this: When the time comes, go out with me and my crew, and see how it’s done properly. One of my blokes will be happy to trade places with you.”
“I don’t know if that is right. What will my crew think of me then?”
“Jack, it’s like this: Right now, your men are all nubs. They don’t know what they’re doing; and chances are they won’t come anywhere near getting a whale their first time out. Now along comes you after being out with me, with some experience under your belt, and they won’t think twice about it. They’ll make you Headsman, and you’ll be king of your
“That is fantastic. And you are quite the poet. Did you know that?”
“I get on a roll, now and then. The chaps all like it. They set the words to song sometimes. Keeps ‘em happy when we’re towing that bloody bitch back in from five miles out! You know, they also call the Right Whale a Black Whale.”
“Well, maybe that is the reason why it is the right whale to hunt!”
Sam laughed hard, and said, “Sharp, Jack, very sharp.”
II
The beach was remarkably quiet for a place so full of people. The bright sun shone down out of a clear sky. Warm breeze blew dry air over the bay and onto the sand littered with marooned kelp. A gull screeched overhead occasionally, accentuating the infrequent clang of men’s tools, and the complete lack of any talking. The whalers had struck a happy, hypnotic medium following the excitement of welcoming the new arrivals and having gotten to know them. Everyone moved about as spirits in their own world, working efficiently and interacting silently with all whom surrounded them. There was no longer any need to speak, so Nature had improvised by playing her beautiful song in the background.
The ships moored in the bay bobbed in order along their row as waves cut across the channel and sprawled out on the shore. The salty, meaty smell of seaweed mingled with the greasy stench of simmering whale oil; and both fragrances sparred in turn with the aroma of the strewn, rotting, rancid flesh which held rank above all others smells on the beach.
“Are you scared?” Sam asked Black Jack out of the blue.
“I don’t know what to be scared of.”
“You’ve never killed a whale, then.”
“I’ve never hunted an animal that large, no.”
“Well, mate, if you’re scared, say you’re scared. There’s no shame in it. That’s part of the game.”
“Like I say, I won’t know if I’m frightened of the whale or killing the whale, until the time comes.”
“Well mate, how about this: When the time comes, go out with me and my crew, and see how it’s done properly. One of my blokes will be happy to trade places with you.”
“I don’t know if that is right. What will my crew think of me then?”
“Jack, it’s like this: Right now, your men are all nubs. They don’t know what they’re doing; and chances are they won’t come anywhere near getting a whale their first time out. Now along comes you after being out with me, with some experience under your belt, and they won’t think twice about it. They’ll make you Headsman, and you’ll be king of your
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