Barney and the Secret of the Whales (5 page)

I waited till the sailor who had been up the foremast reached the deck, jumping the last four feet. His pants were frayed, and his eyes were as red-rimmed as everyone else's, the irises a faded blue, like the weather had washed out most of the colour.

‘Nothin' to be seen,' he said, to everyone else, not me. He grinned at me, showing three long yellow teeth and black gums. ‘Up wit' you then, little chicken. Will we hear you cry for mother? Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck?'

I glanced around at the grinning faces. They think I can't climb the mast, I realised. They think they're going to have the fun of teasing me, seeing me cry.

I glanced up at Captain Melvill. He looked amused. He, at least, knew what I could do.

I grabbed the mast with my hands, and then my knees. Then I scooted up there as though I were a caterpillar finding my way across a cabbage leaf.

I didn't stop till I was at the cross-yard. For a moment I was terrified, swaying with the wind and sea. But then I got my legs hooked around the yard. There was a leather
belt there too, with two buckles that I fastened around me. I wouldn't fall now, I hoped, no matter how much the ship lurched below.

I looked down. The faces still peered up at me. I thought they'd be sorry not to see me burst into tears, or fall. But instead a few clapped. Even Peg-Leg Tom stamped his peg on the deck in approval.

I looked out at the ocean, the waves curling and threading their way to the horizon, then at the land, its black cliffs with fringes of bright sand at the bays. The sky, so clear and blue. A few gulls wheeled and cried above me.

A laugh bubbled out of me. Only minutes earlier I'd been almost crying. But up here I was king of the ocean, just as Captain Melvill had promised. No one would cuff my ear up here. I could watch and think and watch some more. I might even see a whale . . . or at least a puff of vapour that said that a whale had come to the surface to breathe.

A whole silver dollar. I wasn't sure how much a silver dollar would buy — I'd never handled money in my life — didn't even know if we had coins in the colony. Food and tools came from the government storehouse, or sometimes you might swap a cabbage for a fish. But
a silver dollar sounded like a lot. The men had cheered when they'd heard Captain Melvill's promise.

I looked at the blue sea more carefully. The day was growing hotter. Too hot — we'd have a wind from the south by the afternoon, a thunderstorm maybe. I hoped I wasn't still up there then, with lightning crashing about me.

I knew what a whale looked like close up, half a mile away in the harbour. But what would one look like at a distance? The one I'd seen had been a bit like a giant boat, sailing on top of the water. But what if whales swam deep down when they were out at sea? How did I even know what I was looking for? A whale might pass right nearby and I wouldn't even know . . .

And then I saw them. Couldn't miss them, even if they were so close to the horizon it looked like they might swim up into the sky. A giant black head and then what looked like a fountain shot into the sky, and then another, and another . . .

‘Whales!' I screamed.

I didn't think anyone would have heard me, not from right up there. But they must have been listening. At once the foot of the mast was surrounded by men.

‘Where?' yelled one of them.

I pointed.

‘How many?'

I held up five fingers, then shrugged, to show I didn't know if there were more than that.

The sailors rushed to the gunwales, shielding their eyes. I could tell from the shaking of their heads they couldn't see anything. One of them ran to the quarterdeck.

Captain Melvill listened, then looked up at me. Even from here I could see the grin on his face. The others might not believe I'd seen whales so far away, but he did.

Suddenly the deck looked like ants were scuttling all over it. Men ran to the ropes. Timbers creaked, sails billowed and cracked. The ship changed course, angling itself so the wind took us where we wanted to go.

And I saw it all, like I was an eagle, high above. And not having anyone trip over me and cuff my ear either, as I had no idea what to do. So I sat there. Now and then Captain Melvill sent a sailor to yell up at me. ‘Are they still there, boy?'

I nodded and pointed, my eyes fixed on the black humps growing clearer and closer.

Suddenly there was a yell below me. ‘There she blows! There! There!' A sailor on the deck pointed towards the whales.

‘Where away?' yelled Captain Melvill.

‘About three miles off lee beam.'

The commotion below me changed. The ship's course shifted again. Sailors climbed the masts to furl the sails. Our ship seemed to hang between the sea and the sky, letting the waves toss it at will.

The sailors lowered two boats over the side. Almost before they hit the water some of the men jumped over the side, not using the ladder, just leaping like they were grasshoppers on the hillside.

I peered down as the boats pulled away, the sailors straining at the oars. ‘Pull, you living hearts! Pull! A thousand pounds is waiting for us! Pull!'

I wondered if I should climb down from the foremast. But no one had told me to, and I still didn't know what to do on deck, so I just kept watching. The boats sped even faster now, but not fast enough for the men who stood at each prow. ‘Come on, ye rapscallions! Are you all asleep? Quit snoring! Pull! Pull!'

Up and down the boats went, climbing the waves then swinging down them, surging through the smaller ones.

And the whales had seen them! The black heads parted, going in all directions. The sailors up on the masts unfurled the sails. The
Britannia
began to move
again. The boats' course changed too, heading for the nearest.

Around me the positions of the sails changed yet again. The
Britannia
began to chase both whales and boats now, her sails full and taut, her timbers creaking, Captain Melvill cheering from the quarterdeck, and me clinging like an o'possum up above and in front of him.

The boats were closer to one of the whales now. They looked tiny compared to its black bulk. The great beasts of the ocean, I thought, remembering Captain Melvill's words. Suddenly I could feel it too — the thrill of being part of this great chase.

Those small open boats were going to capture that monster there and bring it back to the ship, so small compared to the whale's vastness. Us, against the kings of the ocean. And we would win!

The harpooner in the boat nearest the whale stood, his harpoon in one hand. He didn't throw it though: instead he reached into his pocket, then threw something almost too small to see.

A rock! I saw it bounce off the whale's hide.

That must have been the sign the harpooner wanted. If a stone could hit the whale, so could his harpoon. He raised it high, a rope dangling from the end, and threw!

‘Hurrah!' I yelled as the spear with the rope attached was hurled towards the whale.

It missed. The man began to haul it back.

‘Stand and give it to him!' I heard the words borne faintly on the wind.

The other harpooner stood. He raised his own harpoon. It flew, swifter than a seagull, and more deadly.

Had it hit its target? Suddenly whale and boat alike were swallowed in a foaming, boiling white. The whale had rolled or dived. For a long moment I could see neither boat nor men. Then there they were again, the boat near swamped, half the men bailing out the water, the others still pulling at the oars.

Another throw! I gasped. The whale had been hit! By both boats! The ropes stretched between the monster and the boats.

But the whale still strained to get away. The rowers pulled at their oars, closer, closer. The harpoonists stood back. Two men with giant lances took their places. They speared the whale, hard and deep. Blood spurted. The black whale turned red, and the sea about it too.

But still the men struggled with their lances, forcing them deeper, and deeper still, wriggling them, pushing them, to reach the whale's heart. The blood became a
great fountain. It changed colour, not bright red now, but dark, almost purple. But still that whale lunged for freedom, pulling on the ropes, while the rowers struggled to keep up. The
Britannia
followed them.

We were almost at the whale now. I could see its eyes, massive as a giant in Mr Johnson's storybooks, but looking tiny in its bulk.

But it was not a storybook giant. This was real. A great eye gazed at me as if to say, ‘Why are you doing this?'

Because we want money, I thought. Riches. But Mr Johnson had said that the love of money was the root of all evil. We hunt the kings of the sea for money. And because they are kings, they know what we are doing, and fight us for their lives.

I had killed roosters in the past couple of years, and eaten them too, and felt nothing but the blessing of a good dinner. But this . . .

I had been on my tiptoes in my excitement. Now I sat back down, leaning on the mast, as if it could comfort me, or the whale below. I wanted to shut my eyes. But if I was going to be part of this whale's death, I could at least face its killing. I stared at its eyes again. For the first time I knew another creature felt pain. Not just pain but agony, and the surety of death at the hands of men.

The whale twisted, but the harpoons from each boat held.

The oarsmen backed their oars.

‘Wet the lines! Wet them, ye laggards!' Sailors dashed seawater onto the ropes that stretched between the small boats and the monster. They were pulled tight now.

I think I prayed as men and whale struggled below me. I think what I did then was praying, although I used no words, nor did I even know what I prayed for.

The whale would not give in. A red tide poured across its back. The sea around the boats was red too. But still the whale surged forwards. Now there was no need to row, for the whale dragged the boats with it, four men holding the ropes, the others bailing as waves from the ocean and the great beast's wake filled the little craft.

Our ship followed. The wind howled and licked at us, seeming to grow as the battle below me grew too. Again and again the whale tried to dive, as the boats bucked and heaved above it. The water grew darker with its blood.

Another harpoon struck, another!

The whale slowed. It rolled again, surging back and forth, and turned.

I saw its anguish.

I looked into the eyes of the whale again, and I saw death and majesty. I remembered how that other whale had played in our blue harbour, its beauty, like the beauty of the bush before the convicts had cut it down, to build their feeble stinking huts. I saw no glorious battle here, just pain and yelling men . . .

It was as if the harpoons had ripped inside me as well. For in those eyes I saw no mindless beast. For a moment I was the whale too. I saw the glory of the endless route across the oceans, felt the currents against my hide, heard strange songs deep in the water. And that whale knew all I had suffered too. A ship like this had caught us both. But one of us had the chance to live, to stay in the daylight and be free.

Please, let it escape, I prayed. Let it swim away. For it was still so big, despite the lance holes, and the blood; the boats were so small. Surely it could heave away from those small ropes . . .

The spout hole opened and closed, sending forth dark clotted gushes. And I knew that the men had won, even before another great purple gush fired up forwards and down, onto whale and sea and boats and men.

The water quietened, except for the rolling waves. The whale was dead.

It took the rest of the day to drag the whale to the
Britannia,
even though it was so close. The bell clanged and I came down from the mast. No one climbed up after me; there seemed to be no need for a watch now. Down in the churning water the men in each boat strained and hauled on the oars, while the boat captains screamed encouragement: ‘Row, me hearties! Put your backs into it! Many sons of sea curs! Row, ye mongrels, row!'

Captain Melvill stayed up on his quarterdeck, shouting orders across to the boats and to sailors on the ship. Men hauled chains, dragging them across the deck then down below, pushing them out of the portholes so they hung down into the sea.

No one ordered me to help with the hauling. No one even cuffed me. It was as if I wasn't there. No one had time to teach me what was needed now.

The wind muttered and growled about us. The storm hit, a flash of water, rain as hard as a bucketful thrown against us. The rain was over in five minutes, but the wind stayed, filling the air and making the sea leap and froth.

I gazed out at the two tiny boats, and at the massive prize they hauled. For long minutes the boats would vanish in the waves. Then they would appear again, atop a wave, the men's heads crowned with froth. Seconds later they were gone again.

The wind carried rags of orders: ‘Pull, me valiant hearts! You want Davy Jones to eat us all? Row, you dog-faced sons of monkeys.
Row!'