The Boy With the U. S. Fisheries Part 4

"She'll come lookin' for her calf," the old whaler answered, "an' as long as we stay near that she'll come up to us. Lots of whalers shoot the calves a-purpose, makin' it easier to get the old whales, but I don't hold with that. I've never done it. Shootin' this one was just an accident, but as long as the little chap is dead anyhow, we might as well make use of him."

Just as the old whaler had predicted, in less than five minutes the mother whale spouted, coming in the direction of the vessel. In less than five minutes more she spouted again, just a little distance from the calf. Not understanding what had happened, she swam around as though to persuade the little one to follow her, and as she circled round the calf she came within range of the harpoon-gun. It was far too dark to see clearly, but Hank chanced a shot. The sudden roar startled Colin.

"Did you get her?" he asked anxiously.

"I hit her, all right," the gunner answered with a dissatisfied air, "but not just where I wanted."

The boy thought it wonderful that he should have been able to hit the monster at all, so small a portion of the body was exposed and so heavily was the _Gull_ pitching. The whale, instead of sounding directly, dived at a sharp angle and the line ran out like lightning.

"What's that, Hank?" asked Colin in a startled voice, pointing over to the water just below the little calf, which had been hauled in by hand alongside the ship.

"Killers, by all that's holy!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the whaler. "They'll get every blessed whale we've landed to-day. Did you ever see such luck!"

"What are they after?" asked Colin, "the calf whale?"

"Yes, or any other of 'em. See, the mother has smelt 'em and knows they mean harm for the baby."

It was growing dark and Colin leaned over the rail to see. Suddenly up from the deep, with a rush as of a pack of maddened hounds, ten or a dozen ferocious creatures, from fifteen to twenty feet in length, s.n.a.t.c.hed and bit and tore at the body of the baby whale. A big white spot behind each eye looked like a fearful organ of vision, their white and yellowish undersides and black backs flashed and gleamed and the big fins cut the water like swords. The huge curved teeth gleamed in the reddened water as the 'tigers of the sea' lashed round, infuriated with l.u.s.t for blood.

Then with a violent gesture of reminder, as though he had forgotten that which was of prime importance, Hank took a few quick steps to the rope that held fast the baby whale to the ship and cut it with his sheath-knife.

"What's that for?" said Colin.

"Let's get away from here," Hank replied, and signaled to go ahead.

As he did so, the mother whale caught sight of the remains of the body of the little one sinking through the water and dashed for it. Colin could have shouted with triumph in the hope that vengeance would be served out upon the orcas, but he was not prepared for the next turn in the tragedy. Like a pack of ravening wolves the killers hurled themselves at the mother whale, three of them at one time fastening themselves with a rending grip upon the soft lower lip, others striking viciously with their rows of sharp teeth at her eyes. The issue was not in doubt for a minute. No creature could endure such savage ferocity and such united attack. The immense whale threshed from side to side, always round the vessel, which seemed still to carry to her the scent of the baby whale.

"Has she any chance?" the boy asked, full of pity for the victim of such rapacity.

"Not the ghost of a chance," the whaler answered.

For a minute or two the whale seemed to have thrown off her demon foes and turned away, but scarcely a moment was she left alone, for up in front of her again charged five or six killers, rending and tearing at her head, and the whale, blinded, gashed in a thousand places and maddened by fear and pain, fled in the opposite direction.

Colin heard the captain give a wild cry from the p.o.o.p and felt the engines stop and reverse beneath him. He cast one glance over the rail and like every man on board was struck motionless and silent. In the phosph.o.r.escent gleams of the waves churned up by the incredible muscular power of the killers, the old whale--sixty feet in length at least, and weighing hundreds of tons--was rushing at a maddened spurt of fifteen or even twenty miles an hour straight for the vessel's side, where a blind instinct made her believe her calf still was to be found. There was a death-like pause and then--a shock.

Almost every man aboard was thrown to the deck, and the vessel heeled over to starboard until it seemed she must turn turtle. But she righted herself, heavily and with a sick lurch that spoke of disaster. The ship's carpenter ran to the pumps and sounded the well.

"Four inches, sir!" he called.

A moment later he dropped the rod again.

"Five and a half inches, sir," he cried, "an' comin' in fast."

It hardly needed the carpenter to tell the story, for the ship had a heavy list to starboard. In a minute or two the stokers came up from below and close upon their heels, the engineer.

"The water is close to the fire-boxes, Captain Murchison," he said.

"I know, Mr. Macdonald," the captain answered. "Boat stations!" he cried.

"I'm thinkin'," the engineer said quietly, looking at the windy sky and stormy sea, the last streaks of twilight disappearing in the west, "I'm thinkin' it may be a wee bit cold. Are we far from land, Captain?"

"We're none too close," the skipper said shortly. "Cook," he called, "are the boats provisioned?"

"Yes, sir," was the reply.

"Water-casks in and filled?"

Every boat reported casks in good condition.

"Sound the well, carpenter."

The sounding-rod was dropped and the wet portion measured.

"Nine inches, sir."

"You've got time to get what you want from below, boys," said the captain, as soon as the boats were all swung out on the davits; "she won't go down all of a hurry. Slide into warm clothes, all of you, and get a move on. Stand by to clear."

He waited a minute or two, then noticed one of the sailors busy on deck.

"What are you doing there, Scotty?" he called out.

"Putting a buoy on the line, sir; she's our whale."

"Looks to me more as though the whale had us, than we had the whale,"

the captain said grimly. "Are you all ready?" he added as the men came up from the fo'c'sle in oilskins and mittens. "No, there's only fifteen of you!"

"I'm here, Captain Murchison," spoke up Colin, emerging from the companion hatch with a heavy pilot coat. "I thought you'd need something for the boats, too."

The captain nodded his thanks.

"Lower away the whale-boat first," the captain said. "Never mind me, I'll come along presently. Look alive there! That's the idea, Hank! All right? Cast off. Lower away the big pram! All right. Get busy on that small pram, there. Here you, Gloomy, if I have to come down there----!

All ready? Lower away. If you don't manage any better than that you'll never see land, I can tell you. Cast off."

The _Gull_ was rolling heavily with an uneven drunken stagger that told how fast she was filling, and the starboard rail was close to the water's edge. The captain ran his eye over the boats and counted the men to see that all had embarked safely.

"Don't bring her too close, Hank!" he cried warningly, as he saw the old whaler edge the boat toward him, and stepping on the p.o.o.p-rail, he jumped into the sea. But the gunner, judging accurately the swell of the waves, brought the boat to the very spot where the captain had struck the water and hoisted him on board. Without a word he made his way to the stern and took the tiller.

The boat pulled away a score of strokes or so and then the men rested on their oars. The sunset colors had faded utterly but a dim after-glow remained, and overhead a young moon shone wanly through black wisps of scudding cloud. The _Gull_ sank slowly by the bow.

"She's one of the last of the old-timers," said the captain sadly. "This was her seventieth whaling season and that's old age for ship as well as man. I wish, though----"

"What is it, Captain Murchison?" asked Colin.

"Ah, it's nothing, boy," was the reply. "Only we're foolish over things we love, and the _Gull_ was all that I had left. It's a dark and lonely death she's having there. I wish----"

"Yes, sir?" the boy whispered.

"I wish she'd had her lights," the captain said, and his hands were trembling on the tiller, "it's hard to die in the dark."