05 Whale Adventure (3 page)

That’s the place for you,’ he laughed savagely. ‘Up in the rings, and be quick about it. Jiggs is up the foremast. You shinny up the main. All the way to the peak. And you’re not going up there to look at the view. Watch for whales, and if you see a spout sing out. Let’s see how sharp your eyes are. If you spot a whale before Jiggs does I’ll let you come down. If you don’t, you’ll stay there until you do, and I don’t care if it takes a week. Got no use for babes on deck. Get up there into your cradle, and I hope it rocks you sick.’

Roger was half-way up the ratlines to the first platform before this speech was finished. He had never climbed anything so unsteady as this wobbling rope ladder. He would be glad to reach the solid safety of the first platform, or ‘top’, as it was called.

He was about to go through the opening in the platform when another bellow came from below.

‘Not through the lubber’s hole,’ roared the captain. I’ll have no lubbers on this ship. Up around by the futtock shrouds.’

Perhaps he hoped to confuse the boy. But Roger knew that the hole he had been about to pass through was called the lubber’s hole. And he knew the futtock shrouds were those iron rods fastened at one end to the mast and at the other to the outer edge of the platform. To climb them he must leave the rope ladder and go up hand over hand with the skill of a monkey, while his feet dangled in space.

Half-way up a lurch of the vessel loosened his grip and he hung suspended by one hand, swinging like a pendulum in a grandfather’s clock.

A roar of laughter came from below. The captain was thoroughly enjoying himself. Several of the crew had gathered now, but they did not join in the laughter. Hal started up the ratlines to the relief of his brother. A sharp order from the captain stopped him.

Every time the windjammer swayed to starboard Roger was directly over the try-pots in which blubber from the last whale catch was still boiling. If he fell into one of these great steaming vats the comedy would turn to tragedy. But it would still be comedy to the warped mind of Captain Grindle. A wide grin made the porcupine bristles on his chin and cheeks stand out like spears as his eyes passed from the clinging figure to the try-pots and back again. The steam curled up like a snake around the hanging body. Hal edged close to the pots. If the boy fell he might catch him, or at least yank him from the boiling oil in time to save his life.

There came a gasp of relief from the crew and a disappointed grunt from the captain when a list to port swung Roger against the shroud, which he was now able to grip with both hands and his feet as well. He clung there trembling for an instant, then slowly inched his way up over the edge of the top and collapsed on the platform.

A cheer rose from the crew. It was checked at once by the harsh voice of Captain Grindle.

‘You varmint! Is this a time to take a nap? I’ll wake you up.’

He seized a belaying-pin and flung it upward with all his great strength. It struck the underside of the top with a resounding whack.

Roger struggled to his feet. He stood swaying dizzily, one arm round the mast.

The crash of the belaying-pin had brought Mr Scott up from his cabin. He turned to Hal.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Just a big bully having some fun,’ said Hal bitterly. ‘Grindle ordered Roger into the rings. Wouldn’t let him go through the lubber’s hole. Nothing would have pleased the brute better than to see him drop into the try-pots and get boiled in oil.’

The captain, cursing, grabbed another belaying-pin and hurled it aloft. His aim was good. The heavy wooden club passed through the lubber’s hole and struck Roger on the elbow.

Hal and Mr Scott at once began to force their way through the crowd, determined to overpower the captain. The men opened a path to let them through. They were eager to see someone challenge the authority of the master.

The captain saw the two men coming. His eyes shone with evil pleasure and his hand went back to his hip where a revolver rested in its holster.

Then the way was suddenly blocked by the sailor called Jimson. Hal and Scott found themselves held firmly in the grip of the big seaman.

‘Stop it, you fools!’ said Jimson in a voice just above a rasping, whisper. ‘You’ll get yourselves killed. You’ll only make it worse for the kid.’ Then he leaned close to Hal’s ear, making sure that the captain should not overhear him. ‘This ain’t the time. The time is coming, but it ain’t now.’

Captain Grindle, seeing that he was not to be attacked, roared with laughter.

‘What’s the matter, gents?’ he cried scornfully. ‘Why don’t you come on? The welcome mat is out. Reception committee is waiting. Step right up, gents - tea will be served.’ He spun his revolver around two fingers. ‘Pink tea. Will you have lemon or cream? I’ll send a cup aloft to your baby brother.’

He fired a shot into the air, not directly at Roger but close enough so that the boy, who was once more climbing the ratlines, heard the whistle of the bullet.

Again Hal and Scott struggled to get at the captain, but several of the crew held them back. Again Jimson whispered harshly: ‘This ain’t the time. The time is coming, but this ain’t it.’

‘Cowards and softies!’ cried the captain. T got nothing but cowards and softies on my ship. The whole pack o’ ye wouldn’t dare face up to a real man. Now get for’ard and be quick about it.’ He fired two shots over their heads. The men retired sullenly towards the fo’c’sle.

Roger, leaving the top behind him, was climbing higher. For the platform called the ‘top’ is not the top. It is only the head of the lower section of the mast. Two-thirds of the mast rise above it.

Roger thought the mast would never end. He felt like Jack climbing the beanstalk that reached all the way up to another world. He could not use his right arm. The blow from the belaying-pin had not broken any bones, but it had so bruised the elbow that he could not straighten or flex the arm without acute pain.

He tacked the hand within his belt and held to the ratlines with his left hand only. At every rise he must release his grip and transfer his hand to the next higher rung. This might have been easy to do on a wooden ladder, but on a ladder of rope that swung here and there like a loose cobweb at every motion of the ship he was in constant danger of clutching at a rung which was no longer where he had just seen it.

Every near-miss brought a snort of laughter from Captain Grindle, who was now Roger’s sole audience. Nothing would so tickle the captain’s distorted sense of humour as to see the young ‘gent’ come to grief.

Roger was determined not to give him that satisfaction. He would not fall, and he would not fail. He was going to reach the rings.

Every time he looked up at them they seemed as far away as ever. It was as if the more he climbed the more an invisible hand drew them a bit higher. At times he must stop and do nothing but cling for his life, as a gust of wind caught his cobweb and whipped it about.

At last he crawled up into the rings, and felt as if he had returned to a solid world when he gripped the iron hoop tightly bolted to the mast. True, the whole basket made dizzy circles in the sky, but it was firm ground compared with the rope ladder.

He looked down at the disappointed master, now almost completely hidden from view by the sails. Captain Grindle shook his fist as if Roger had deliberately offended him by arriving safely in the rings.

‘Remember,’ yelled the captain, ‘you’ll sight first, or stay there till you do.’

Of course, that was not fair. Sighting the spout of & whale is not easy. Experience helps, and Jiggs had had experience, plenty of it.

The beginner is apt to think he sees the spout of a whale when it is only the spume of a breaking wave. Later he gets to know the difference. The spray from a wave-crest is irregular and quickly loses its force. The spout of a whale is like the^spurt of water from a high-pressure hose.

And yet it doesn’t quite look like water, because it isn’t water. Whalers of the nineteenth century supposed it to be water. They supposed the whale to be spitting out water it had taken in by mouth while under the sea.

Now we know that the column of white is steam, not water. The giant of the deeps is letting off steam. The air that he has held in his lungs during his half-hour or more beneath the sea is forcibly expelled. Having been retained so long within the warm body of the whale the air is at the blood temperature of whales and humans, about 98-6 degrees Fahrenheit. It is full of moisture because it has been inside a moist body.

When the whale blows out the warm wet air it condenses to form a mist, just as a man’s breath does when exhaled on a frosty morning. So a whale’s spout is just a magnificent column of mist rising twenty, thirty, forty feet high. From the rings or crow’s-nest of a whaler it can be seen as far as seven miles away.

The spout comes from the whalers nose, located on top of his head. Roger, clutching the rail and looking out to sea, tried to remember some things Mr Scott had told him about whales. Mr Scott had for many years made a scientific study of whales and their habits.

‘If you ever have to watch for whales,’ he said to Roger, ‘keep your eye out for a white palm tree. That’s what it looks like, the whale’s spout. It goes up in a column and then branches out at the top. And it isn’t straight up and down. It leans a little. When you see the spout you can tell which way the whale is going, because the spout always leans forward.’

‘Do all whales have the same kind of spout?’ Roger had asked.

‘No. The palm-tree spout is made by the sperm-whale. His nose has only one nostril, so his tree of steam has only one trunk. If you see two trunks you are probably looking at a rorqual. They have two nostrils and send up twin jets that divide at the top and fall over in two branches like the boughs of a willow. And this twin willow doesn’t lean forward, it stands straight up.’

Roger now scanned the sea, looking for a white palm with a single trunk, or a willow with two.

He knew he was more likely to see the palm than the willow. The two-nostril whales were best hunted far down in the seas of snow and ice near the South Pole. But the sperm-whale is a tropical animal and loves the warm waters near the Equator.

Whalers of the past hunted it there so relentlessly that it became scarce. Now, after a half-century of rest, sperm-whales were once more fairly plentiful in the warm seas between Hawaii and Tahiti.

And so many new uses have been found for all the parts of this great animal that no richer treasure can be discovered in the sea than a big sperm-whale. So Roger felt a thrill of importance at the thought that the winning of such a treasure might depend upon him.

Of course, Jiggs would probably sight one first. But just now Roger noticed that Jiggs was not looking out to sea. He was looking at Roger. Presently he called across to the boy:

‘Cap was a bit rough on ye.’ Is he always so mean?’

‘You haven’t seen the half of it yet. My advice to you is, keep your eyes skinned for a whale.’

For an hour, and then for another hour, Roger searched the sea. What a hopeless task it seemed. You couldn’t look everywhere at once. While you were staring in one direction a whale might be spouting to high heaven behind you.

He revolved like a radar screen trying to cover the whole circle of the sea every ten seconds. His own revolving, plus the wheeling of his high basket, did not help that uneasy feeling at the pit of his stomach. His eyes became tired and blurred. When he closed them for a moment he could still see nothing but leaping blue waves. His nerves were tight and his arm pained badly. What was so hard for him seemed to be easy for Jiggs. The sailor had had long practice. A quick glance about him every few seconds was all he needed.

He looked at the boy with sympathy, remembering his own hard experiences as a lad on a whaling ship. He had heard the captain’s threat - that if Roger did not sight a whale he would stay there until he did.

They had been watching for three hours when Jiggs, in one of his quick surveys, caught sight of a white jet rising from the sea on the starboard bow.

He was about to sing out when he remembered Roger. The boy did not see the spout. He was looking in exactly the opposite direction, but he was turning and soon would be facing towards the whale.

Jiggs still had a chance to make the first call. There was always keen competition between Lookouts. Jiggs was not used to letting any lookout beat him, if he could help it. But now, sympathy for the greenhorn held his tongue.

The whale spouted again. It was barely two miles off. Someone on deck might see it. In that case both lookouts would be disgraced, and might even be in for a flogging.

Jiggs could have told Roger where to look. He did not, because he had already seen enough of the boy’s courage to know that he would refuse to sing out for a whale if he knew that Jiggs had seen it first. No, the lad must discover it for himself.

Roger was now facing directly forward. Now his eyes, turned to starboard. He was looking straight towards the whale, but that beast, hidden in the waves, chose this instant to be contrary and was sending up no spout. Roger’s gaze turned farther to starboard. Jiggs gave up his generous plan and opened his mouth to call “Thar she blows’ as the whale sent up another white palm tree.

He never did let out that call. Roger, though not looking directly towards the whale, saw the jet from the corner of his eye.

He had known for years that the lookout sighting a whale is supposed to call ‘Thar she blows!’ But now he was so excited that he could not think of the words. He jumped up and down and yelled: ‘Whale! Whale!’

The captain came running from the afterdeck calling:

‘Where away?’

‘Over there,’ yelled Roger, forgetful that the canvas between him and the deck would prevent the captain from seeing where he was pointing.

‘Where, you young fool? Weather or lee?’

Roger tried to collect his wits. ‘Four points on the weather-bow, sir. About two miles off.’

‘What kind?’

‘Sperm-whale.’

Captain Grindle came swarming up the ratlines. When a whale is sighted the captain belongs in the rings. In an amazingly short time Grindle made the masthead and stood beside Roger.