05 Whale Adventure (12 page)

‘Me sore!’ Grindle laughed. ‘Boy, you don’t know me. Sore? On the contrary, it’s a pleasure to find I’ve a real man on my ship. To show you how I feel about you, I’m going to promote you. From now on you’re master harpooner.’

‘But I’ve never thrown a harpoon,’ Hal protested.

‘Listen, boy,’ said the captain, thrusting his evil-smelling bristles among which bits of blubber still remained close to Hal’s face, ‘anybody who can throw me can throw a harpoon.’ He laughed loudly at his own joke. ‘Yes sir, you’re a harpooner from now on. Shake again! ‘

Hal shook again, but a little uncomfortably. He had the slightest suspicion that the captain was putting on an act. But he brushed it aside, for he was always inclined to believe the best about others and perhaps even the brutal Grindle had a good streak in him.

During the next few days the captain was persistently kind to Hal. This was not easy. Inside the captain’s barrel chest was a churning rage and it was hard to turn this into smiles and pretty talk. The rage had to get out somehow, so he vented it upon other members of the crew. He counted them all as his enemies, for they had laughed at him.

One whose laugh especially stuck in his memory because his cackle was high and shrill was Sails, who looked after the ship’s canvas.

Sails had always been a thorn in his flesh. He was older than the captain and sometimes failed to conceal the fact that he had more sense. Having been at sea most of his sixty years he was weather-beaten and wise and did not hesitate to differ with his chief.

A split developed in the mainsail and the captain ordered Sails to patch it up. ‘No, no,’ said Sails. ‘It would only break again.’ ‘I say patch it up.’

‘And I say not,’ retorted Sails testily. ‘That sail is old and rotten. It’s done its duty. I’ll chuck it away and put in a new sail.’

‘You’ll do as I tell you,’ thundered Grindle. ‘Sailcloth costs money. We’ll have no new sail while the old one can be patched.’

‘But it will only bust -‘

‘If it busts, I’ll bust you - so I will by the Holy Harry!

I know you, you old fossil. You’ll fix it so it will break and then you can say “I told you so”. Well, I’ll tell you something. If that sail breaks, you’ll take a ride.’

To ‘take a ride’ was to be tied to the end of a line like a bundle of dirty clothes, heaved overboard, and dragged behind the ship.

‘You can’t scare me,’ snapped Sails. But he said no more, for he knew the captain was quite capable of carrying out his threat. Muttering, he set to work on the sail, applying the patch with all the skill of long experience. He didn’t want to ‘take a ride’. At last he was satisfied that he could do no more. The patch was strong and was stoutly stitched to the canvas; but the canvas itself was thin and brittle.

‘It ain’t no use,’ he said to himself regretfully. ‘It will break.’

And so it did. The patched sail had not been up for an hour before a sudden burst of wind split it along the line of the stitching. It broke with a sound like a pistol shot. The captain came running. He found Sails mournfully regarding the whipping rage of canvas.

T told you it would bust,’ he said.

‘Yes, you told me,’ sneered the captain. ‘Then you made sure it would do just what you said. All right, I warned you. I told you what I’d do, and I’ll do it. Bruiser! The dragline!’

Angrily Sails turned upon the captain. ‘You dare to lay a hand on me and you’ll be in irons before the day is over.’

The captain’s face burned red. ‘You dare to threaten me? You’ll feel different about it after you’ve had a bath. Bruiser!’

Bruiser hesitated. ‘He’s not as young as he used to be,’ he said. ‘I don’t know that he could stand it’

‘Who asked you for advice?’ stormed the captain. ‘Get a bowline on him.’

‘It could be murder, sir,’ objected Bruiser. ‘I want no part of it.’

‘Whose murder?’ retorted the captain, drawing his gun. ‘Perhaps it will be yours if you don’t carry out my orders. Now will you tie that line?’

Bruiser looked coolly into the barrel of the captain’s revolver. ‘No sir, I won’t.’

The men had gathered solidly around Bruiser; The captain’s angry eyes surveyed them. They said nothing, but he didn’t like the way they looked at him. He realized that there was not a man among them who would put a dragline on the old sailmaker.

He seized Sails by the arm and walked him to the aft rail. Deftly he fitted the loop under Sails’ shoulders. The proud old sailmaker did not struggle or cry out. The men were coming aft.

‘Stop where you are,’ commanded the captain. ‘I’ll shoot the man who takes another step.’

The men stood still, growling, irresolute. Before they could decide what to do the captain stooped, threw his arm round Sails’ legs, and heaved him over the rail. There was a dull splash as the sailmaker, still silent, dropped into the sea.

Like so many of the older seamen Sails could not swim. His body at once sank out of sight. The line ran out fifty, sixty, seventy feet and then snapped taut on the bitts.

The drag on the line yanked Sails to the surface and fee was hauled along through the wave-tops at a speed of about four knots. He choked and gasped for air but did

not cry for help. The captain watched him with grim satisfaction.

‘That will teach the stubborn old fool.’

The men anxiously watched the sea for sharks and killer-whales. There was no sign of the two-foot triangle of a shark’s fin, nor the man-high fin of the killer. But just when they began to believe that this part of the sea was free of dangerous fish the surface exploded close to the unfortunate man and up went something blue and white like a fountain, on up twenty feet high, then turned and dived into the sea.

‘Mako!’ yelled the mate, and the men made a rush to the after rail in defiance of the captain’s gun. They seized the line and began to haul it in.

There are sharks and sharks. Many of them are quite harmless. People who have gone in swimming among harmless sharks without being attacked may foolishly believe that all sharks are harmless.

But there are three kinds that are man-eaters. They are the mako, the white shark, and the tiger-shark.

The white shark is the largest, reaching a length of forty feet. The tiger-shark is the smallest, about twelve feet long. The mako is the worst and best of the three.

The best because of bis blue and white beauty, his amazing speed because he is the swiftest of all fishes, and his spectacular habit of leaping twenty feet into the air (twice as high as the tarpon).

The worst because of his enormous, razor-edged teeth and his utterly savage nature. He is afraid of nothing, always hungry, and always spoiling for a fight.

Twice more the man-eater soared into the sky. He seemed to be playing with his victim as a cat plays with the mouse that it intends to devour. If he would only continue playing for a few moments the man could be hauled to safety.

The thousand-pound fish went up as if he were as light as a balloon. He was as big round as a barrel, and as long as three men laid end to end. Each time he came down he dived into the water a little closer to Sails. The sailmaker uttered no cry and now could not, for the battering waves had shut off his breathing and he was unconscious.

‘Pull boys, pull!’ yelled Durkins. ‘Break your backs!’

A few more pulls and the man would be safe. Now he was actually being lifted out of the water.

But the wily fish knew when to stop playing. Again it leaped, so high that the men had to look up to see it. Gracefully it turned in the air and headed downward. Its great jaws opened. Its huge teeth flashed like ivory in the sun. The jaws closed upon Sails. The line snapped. The shark, with its victim in its teeth, dived deep and was seen no more.

The men hauled in the line and looked at the broken end.

Then they turned upon the captain. They were no longer afraid of his gun.

Grindle tried to back away. His face was an ashen grey behind the black bristles. His eyes which usually bulged in anger now bulged with fear. He waved his revolver.

‘I’ll blast you if you come closer! Get forward, every man of you. It’s an order.’

‘You’ll give no more orders,’ said the mate. ‘I’m taking your place as master of this ship.’

‘That’s mutiny,’ shouted Grindle.

‘It’s mutiny,’ agreed Durkins, and took another step forward.

‘Get back. I’m warning you. I’ll report you. I’ll have you all hanged.’

‘Go ahead and report. And suppose we report what you’ve just done. Murder, that’s what it was.’

‘Murder, nothing! Just discipline. He had to be taught a lesson.’

‘It was murder. You knew Sails couldn’t swim. You knew he was too old for that sort of treatment.. You knew there were sharks about. You threw him out to drown or be killed by sharks. That’s the last brute trick you’ll ever pull.’ ‘Mutiny!’ again cried Grindle. ‘Sure! But any court will say we done right - to arrest a killer. You’re under arrest, Grindle.’ Hie crowd roared its approval.

‘Grab him!’

‘Clap him in irons!’

‘Throw him to the sharks!’

‘Tear him apart!’

‘Boil him in oil!’

‘Give him eighty lashes!’

Every man had some punishment to suggest, each worse than the last.

The captain could not retreat farther; his back was against the rail. Desperately he looked about for a way of escape. His eye caught sight of a vessel on the horizon.

A plan formed swiftly in his mind. He would leap into the sea and pretend to drown. After the Killer had gone he would come to the surface. The ship was coming this way. He was a good swimmer and could last out until it picked him up.

But first he must get these hounds back so they would not catch him as he went over the rail.

‘Stand back!’ he roared. I’ll count three. If you’re not out of the way by that time, I’ll fire.’

He counted three. The men kept closing in.

Grindle fired. Bruiser went through the rest of his life with one ear. Grindle fired again. The bullet lodged in the mate’s arm. Once more Grindle pulled the trigger. Nothing came from the gun but a futile click.

He hurled the gun with all his might. It caught Jimson a stunning blow on the forehead. Grindle tried to leap the rail, but hands, many hands, were already upon him. He struggled and bit like a wildcat.

Soon he was held so tightly that he could not move a muscle. He could still roar, and roar he did while they dragged him forward and pushed him into the brig.

The door clanged shut and the key turned in the lock. He gripped the bars and looked out between them, raging and roaring like a captured gorilla.

The brig was a miniature jail. Many a ship had a brig, but surely there was no other quite like this one. It looked like a cage intended for a wild animal.

Grindle himself had had it built and had made it as uncomfortable as possible, so that the prisoner would repent of his sins. There were no solid walls, only iron bars all round, and iron bars above. A man could not stand up in it, since it was just four feet high. He must crouch like an animal, or sit.

There was no protection against the weather. The scalding tropical sun beat down upon the inmate during the heat of the day. Cold night winds chilled him and sudden storms soaked every rag on his body.

There was a bunk, but it afforded no rest. The malicious Grindle had ordered that it be made only four feet long. A man could not stretch out on it but must lie humped up in a ball. The men in the fo’c’sle might complain of the boards on which they lay but the prisoner in the brig fared worse. Instead of boards set close together, the bunk was made of slats with three inches between slats. To lie on these slats for an hour was torture, to lie there all night was impossible.

There were no blankets. No food was allowed, except bread and water served once a day.

Grindle had always been extremely proud of Ms brig. He had enjoyed standing on the outside and looking in at the unlucky prisoner. Now he was on the inside, looking out For some reason this did not give him as much pleasure.

‘I’ll have you all hanged, hanged, hanged!’ he screamed through the bars. ‘See that ship coming? The captain is a friend of mine. He’ll come aboard and see what you’ve done. Mark my words, I’ll be out of this thing in an hour. Then I’ll have every blasted one of you logged for mutiny.’

Some of the men half believed him. Nervously, they watched the oncoming ship. Grindle saw that he had them scared. He followed up his advantage.

TB give you one more chance,’ he said. ‘Let me out and I’ll promise to say nothing about this business. It’ll be as if it hadn’t happened.’ The men turned to the mate, Durkins, for advice. ‘Do you think we ought to turn him loose?’ said one. I’m not hankerin’ to be hanged.’

‘Don’ let him fool you,’ said Durkins. ‘He don’t know the captain of that ship from Adam. Besides, they ain’t comin’ to gam with us. See, they’ve already changed course.’

Sure enough, the motor vessel had turned and was now sailing parallel with the Killer, still about three miles off. Durkins studied it through binoculars. ‘It’s a catcher,’ he said.

‘What’s a catcher?’ It was Roger who asked the question, and Mr Scott who answered.

‘A ship sent out to catch whales,’ he said. ‘We do it the old way - they do it the modern way. They kill the whale with a harpoon fired from a cannon. Then they tow it to the factory ship.’

‘Factory ship?’

‘Yes. You can see it - away beyond - just on the horizon.’

Where sea and sky met Roger could make out not one but a number of ships. One was very large, the others much smaller.

‘The small ones are catchers, just like this one,’ said Scott. ‘The big one is the factory ship.’

‘Why do they call it a factory ship?’

‘Because it’s equipped with all kinds of machinery to turn whales into oil. It takes us all day, sometimes two or three days, to process one whale. A factory ship can put through four dozen whales a day. A large factory ship can keep a fleet of eight or ten catchers busy, combing the seas in search of whales.’

Hal, too, was listening and was as interested as his younger brother.