I am above my own miseries, aware only of the tension and the sense of death that prevails in the air about us, though whether it is ours or the old bull's, I cannot say. Judging from the expression on Hammerhead Jack's face I know that we are in mortal danger from this monarch of the deep. The sun, now out again, is warm enough, yet suddenly I am cold and a shiver passes down my spine.
We approach the bull from its windward side and from behind, keeping as quiet as possible so as not to alarm him. He seems unaware of our presence, his head facing away from our boat. He moves along slowly, spouting the rosy water we have seen at a distance. Under sail, we are well able to keep up with him, moving ever closer to the point where we might fasten. We are fifty yards away when Nestbyte pulls down the sail and instructs us to take up the paddles for a silent approach. We have only the three lances to make our kill, then we must ride it out or cut loose.
Now the whale turns on his side as though he is waiting for us, and all the while our boat draws closer and closer. Its left side is facing us, the side much favoured by the harpooner as it gives him a better chance to reach the aorta valve within the heart. The first mate turns the line in readiness about the samson post.
'Right up! We probe!'
Hammerhead Jack, who has taken up a lance, shakes his head vigorously. 'More blood! We wait some!' I take him to mean that the whale must lose more blood, that it is too soon to fasten.
'What have we here, a coward?' Nestbyte says.
I do not know how much of this Hammerhead Jack comprehends but he is plainly furious. We stop paddling and Nestbyte screams, 'Paddle, ye bastards! We must go close, ye damned cowards!'
For a moment it seems as if Hammerhead Jack will fight Nestbyte, for he has taken up the razor-sharp lance and they stand glaring. Each has his eyes locked to the other's in rage, Nestbyte with one hand on the bowie knife at the side of his belt.
'Coward!' Nestbyte taunts and spits over the side.
It is this single word which seems to defeat Hammerhead Jack and with a shrug he turns away. By now, we are but thirty yards away. I cannot believe what is unfolding before my eyes. Nestbyte has chosen to take us right up to the whale so that Hammerhead Jack might use the lance as a deep probing blade.
The lance is not a natural spear, but a razor-sharp two-sided blade, more like a surgeon's scalpel, spliced to a long wooden handle. It is best used once the whale is substantially weakened through loss of blood. Only then will a whaleboat fasten to the whale. The harpooner's task is to insert the lance and probe for a vital spot, seeking the heart or lungs or major artery to start the final massive haemorrhage.
Not only are we on the windward side, but rowing right up to a whale that, far from giving up the fight, is more dangerous now than ever before. It can only be concluded that Nestbyte has gone stark mad, for he is taking us right into the jaws of death!
'Ship paddles on the whale side!' Nestbyte commands. This is my side and I am sweating with fear.
'Stand off!' Nestbyte cries, meaning that I and the young Maori behind me should stop the boat from bumping the whale by means of our paddles held against its great carcass.
I have never touched a whale before, leastways one which may kill me for being so bold as to dare. My hands go out at one point when we go closer to the great sea beast and I feel its wet hide, soft to the touch under my palms.
Hammerhead Jack turns quietly to me and motions that I should take up a lance. I do so, but I am shaking like a leaf and he can see the fear in my eyes. 'Good Ork,' he says quietly.
He seems calm as he makes his inspection of the whale's flank. Then he indicates a place on its side and points to me and to the lance I am holding. Moving a foot or so away, he swiftly inserts his own lance, which seems to cut through the beast's flesh like a hot knife through
We approach the bull from its windward side and from behind, keeping as quiet as possible so as not to alarm him. He seems unaware of our presence, his head facing away from our boat. He moves along slowly, spouting the rosy water we have seen at a distance. Under sail, we are well able to keep up with him, moving ever closer to the point where we might fasten. We are fifty yards away when Nestbyte pulls down the sail and instructs us to take up the paddles for a silent approach. We have only the three lances to make our kill, then we must ride it out or cut loose.
Now the whale turns on his side as though he is waiting for us, and all the while our boat draws closer and closer. Its left side is facing us, the side much favoured by the harpooner as it gives him a better chance to reach the aorta valve within the heart. The first mate turns the line in readiness about the samson post.
'Right up! We probe!'
Hammerhead Jack, who has taken up a lance, shakes his head vigorously. 'More blood! We wait some!' I take him to mean that the whale must lose more blood, that it is too soon to fasten.
'What have we here, a coward?' Nestbyte says.
I do not know how much of this Hammerhead Jack comprehends but he is plainly furious. We stop paddling and Nestbyte screams, 'Paddle, ye bastards! We must go close, ye damned cowards!'
For a moment it seems as if Hammerhead Jack will fight Nestbyte, for he has taken up the razor-sharp lance and they stand glaring. Each has his eyes locked to the other's in rage, Nestbyte with one hand on the bowie knife at the side of his belt.
'Coward!' Nestbyte taunts and spits over the side.
It is this single word which seems to defeat Hammerhead Jack and with a shrug he turns away. By now, we are but thirty yards away. I cannot believe what is unfolding before my eyes. Nestbyte has chosen to take us right up to the whale so that Hammerhead Jack might use the lance as a deep probing blade.
The lance is not a natural spear, but a razor-sharp two-sided blade, more like a surgeon's scalpel, spliced to a long wooden handle. It is best used once the whale is substantially weakened through loss of blood. Only then will a whaleboat fasten to the whale. The harpooner's task is to insert the lance and probe for a vital spot, seeking the heart or lungs or major artery to start the final massive haemorrhage.
Not only are we on the windward side, but rowing right up to a whale that, far from giving up the fight, is more dangerous now than ever before. It can only be concluded that Nestbyte has gone stark mad, for he is taking us right into the jaws of death!
'Ship paddles on the whale side!' Nestbyte commands. This is my side and I am sweating with fear.
'Stand off!' Nestbyte cries, meaning that I and the young Maori behind me should stop the boat from bumping the whale by means of our paddles held against its great carcass.
I have never touched a whale before, leastways one which may kill me for being so bold as to dare. My hands go out at one point when we go closer to the great sea beast and I feel its wet hide, soft to the touch under my palms.
Hammerhead Jack turns quietly to me and motions that I should take up a lance. I do so, but I am shaking like a leaf and he can see the fear in my eyes. 'Good Ork,' he says quietly.
He seems calm as he makes his inspection of the whale's flank. Then he indicates a place on its side and points to me and to the lance I am holding. Moving a foot or so away, he swiftly inserts his own lance, which seems to cut through the beast's flesh like a hot knife through
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