boat!”
That does seem to make sense , he thought. “All right.” Said Black Jack. “I’ll give it a go.”
“Great, now listen closely.”
Suddenly, from up on the hill, the loud cry came: “Thar she blows! And close ... one mile! Two spouts! Thar she blows!”
Sam’s face had frozen as he heard the Lookout’s shout, and he listened for the vital, subtle clues laced throughout the report such as type of whale, number, and distance. Sam yelled to Black Jack, “C’mon, then! Follow me and do everything I tell you.” Sam scrambled for the gear, shoving items into Jack’s arms and running for the water. As they reached the water, he shouted, “Now, Jack, grab the aft. Let’s turn her right. That’s it, now into the waves. Chuck the gear in. Here come the rest of the boys!”
Men came sprinting from all points on the beach, sand flying behind them as they pumped their arms and legs. They bounded into the waves and dashed into the skiff, splashing Sam and Black Jack as they stood waist deep in the waves steadying the boat. The oars seemed to mechanically rise out of the bottom of the boat and set themselves in the rings as the two men on either end hoisted themselves in. The boat cleared the waves and it was away.
“Dig in, boys! I’ve got the sights on her!” Sam shouted as he slapped the steering oar into the salty spray.
Black Jack scarcely had time to consider the fantastic speed of the boat, as he was soon racked with searing pain and gasping for breath from rowing. The other men rowed methodically and swiftly, tight-lipped and silent with stone faces in their precise motion. Their steely-eyed glint reflected determination as they pounded incessantly and efficiently on the blurred surface of the sea, all in perfect unison as the boat picked up tremendous speed. The fury of their stroke combined with the barking of the Headsman to create a hypnotic marine opera that held the aching aft-oarsman spellbound. Before the entire effect of the rapidly unfolding scene could settle completely upon Black Jack, the boat glanced off the back of the whale. The oarsmen stopped and the boat fell silent, save for its gurgling wake.
“Alongside, boys!” Sam yelled. The whale floated calmly in the water. It seemed to be resting, almost waiting for its hunters; not at all like the frenzied beast that Arthur had imagined. Sam parked his oar and picked up the harpoon. He looked around to see the other boat still struggling to reach its catch, about a half mile away. He slowly swung the heavy harpoon above the heads of the crew.
To Black Jack, the great animal seemed docile: Much like the cows back home. The whale did not seem anything like the great beast that Sam had used so many choice words to describe.
“She’s got a calf! Stand by!” shouted Sam.
Black Jack thought about the cows with calves back home, and how easy it was to lead the mother once the calf was in tow. That did not seem to be the case here. Still, he thought, there had to be an easier way than attacking the whale head on: Even a gentle cow will turn into a raging banshee if you run it through with a sharp stick , he thought.
Suddenly, the Headsman tensed his grip on the cumbersome harpoon. Sam said, “All right, it’s on! Ready!” He leveraged his weapon into position, the attached line trailing behind to its coil sitting just in front of Black Jack. The oarsmen simultaneously brought in their paddles with the synchronized execution of gunmen in a firing squad. They grabbed the rail tightly just inside the gunwale, and braced their feet against the cross boards on the floor of the boat. Black Jack sensed their urgency
That does seem to make sense , he thought. “All right.” Said Black Jack. “I’ll give it a go.”
“Great, now listen closely.”
Suddenly, from up on the hill, the loud cry came: “Thar she blows! And close ... one mile! Two spouts! Thar she blows!”
Sam’s face had frozen as he heard the Lookout’s shout, and he listened for the vital, subtle clues laced throughout the report such as type of whale, number, and distance. Sam yelled to Black Jack, “C’mon, then! Follow me and do everything I tell you.” Sam scrambled for the gear, shoving items into Jack’s arms and running for the water. As they reached the water, he shouted, “Now, Jack, grab the aft. Let’s turn her right. That’s it, now into the waves. Chuck the gear in. Here come the rest of the boys!”
Men came sprinting from all points on the beach, sand flying behind them as they pumped their arms and legs. They bounded into the waves and dashed into the skiff, splashing Sam and Black Jack as they stood waist deep in the waves steadying the boat. The oars seemed to mechanically rise out of the bottom of the boat and set themselves in the rings as the two men on either end hoisted themselves in. The boat cleared the waves and it was away.
“Dig in, boys! I’ve got the sights on her!” Sam shouted as he slapped the steering oar into the salty spray.
Black Jack scarcely had time to consider the fantastic speed of the boat, as he was soon racked with searing pain and gasping for breath from rowing. The other men rowed methodically and swiftly, tight-lipped and silent with stone faces in their precise motion. Their steely-eyed glint reflected determination as they pounded incessantly and efficiently on the blurred surface of the sea, all in perfect unison as the boat picked up tremendous speed. The fury of their stroke combined with the barking of the Headsman to create a hypnotic marine opera that held the aching aft-oarsman spellbound. Before the entire effect of the rapidly unfolding scene could settle completely upon Black Jack, the boat glanced off the back of the whale. The oarsmen stopped and the boat fell silent, save for its gurgling wake.
“Alongside, boys!” Sam yelled. The whale floated calmly in the water. It seemed to be resting, almost waiting for its hunters; not at all like the frenzied beast that Arthur had imagined. Sam parked his oar and picked up the harpoon. He looked around to see the other boat still struggling to reach its catch, about a half mile away. He slowly swung the heavy harpoon above the heads of the crew.
To Black Jack, the great animal seemed docile: Much like the cows back home. The whale did not seem anything like the great beast that Sam had used so many choice words to describe.
“She’s got a calf! Stand by!” shouted Sam.
Black Jack thought about the cows with calves back home, and how easy it was to lead the mother once the calf was in tow. That did not seem to be the case here. Still, he thought, there had to be an easier way than attacking the whale head on: Even a gentle cow will turn into a raging banshee if you run it through with a sharp stick , he thought.
Suddenly, the Headsman tensed his grip on the cumbersome harpoon. Sam said, “All right, it’s on! Ready!” He leveraged his weapon into position, the attached line trailing behind to its coil sitting just in front of Black Jack. The oarsmen simultaneously brought in their paddles with the synchronized execution of gunmen in a firing squad. They grabbed the rail tightly just inside the gunwale, and braced their feet against the cross boards on the floor of the boat. Black Jack sensed their urgency
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