Archy wishing to be present when a whale is struck, against orders goes off in one of the boats.—Attack a whale and her calf, but lose both, and the boat’s bows are stove against a floe.—The crew escape by landing on it, and dragging the boat after them. Preparations made to wait for the arrival of the ship in search of them.
The ship had for some time been off the western shore of the bay, and several whales had been taken—every one was actively engaged, for when the operation of flensing was not going on, the boats were generally away in chase of their prey.
Archy had hitherto always remained on board. He had long wished, however, to be present at one of the exciting scenes he had only witnessed from a distance. How to manage it was the difficulty. He knew that it would be of no use asking leave from the captain, or any of the boat-steerers, for idlers were not allowed in the boats. He had thought that he should at once engage in all the adventures described by Max, and was one day expressing his disappointment in his presence.
“They will come time enough,” observed Max. “But if you have a fancy to see some sport, and may be to get tossed in the air, or drowned, or have to spend a night on a floe, and be well nigh frozen, as I have more than once, I’ll give you a chance. You know that I am your friend, or I would not do it. Now, the next time a fall is called, do you tumble into my boat; I’ll rail away if old Andrew sees you, but pretend you have hurt your leg and lie still, and depend upon it he will be in too great a hurry to shove off to put you on board again, and as the captain did not punish you for hiding away, he will not say much to you on that account.”
Archy knew very well that he ought to have suspected Max’s advice, but he was so eager to see a whale struck, that he forgot all other considerations. Hoping therefore that he might soon have the opportunity he desired, he turned into his bunk with his clothes on, ready to slip into the boat at a moment’s notice. The ship was standing some distance off the land, and though the sea was generally open, here and there masses of ice were to be seen floating about from enormous icebergs down to small pieces of a few feet in diameter. Archy hoped that before long the boats would be lowered to go in chase of a whale. He tried to keep awake, but sleep soon overpowered him. He was aroused by hearing the sound of stamping overhead, and the looked for cry of “a fall, a fall.” He sprang on deck, and without waiting to see whether he was observed, slipped into old Andrew’s boat, in which Max pulled one of the oars, and throwing himself down in the bottom, remained perfectly still. The rest of the crew followed. Old Andrew was the last, having been detained longer than usual. The boat shoved off, and only then Max pretended to have discovered him. Andrew, on seeing the lad, was about to put back, but at that moment the spout of another whale was observed at no great distance. The crew, bending to their oars, pulled towards it; and Andrew, in the excitement of the moment, forgot all about Archy. The boat dashed on. A sucking whale was seen playing near the old one.
“We shall have her boys, we shall have her,” shouted Andrew.
The whale discerned the approach of her foes, and diving down with her calf, disappeared.
“Give way lads, give way,” cried Andrew, “she will not desert the young one.”
He was right, though had the old whale been alone, she would soon have been miles away. The boat continued in the direction the whale had been seen to take, and in a short time the small animal again came to the surface to breathe. The boat was soon up to the animal, when its faithful mother rose also to afford it protection. The boat dashed up to it, and Andrew, going forward, plunged his unerring harpoon deep into its side. No sooner did the monster feel the wound than away she darted, towing the boat, the young whale keeping up with her. The crew pulled with might and main, hoping to get up alongside again in order to fix another harpoon, and to pierce her with their lances. They had nearly succeeded, when up went her tail in the air, and down she dived into the depths of ocean, her calf following her example. Immediately the whale line was allowed to run out; and, as the end was approached, another was fastened on. That too had nearly been drawn out, when the crew, lifting up their oars, made a signal for assistance from their companions, but they were already too far off to be seen, indeed the other boats were engaged with the whale first attacked.
“Hold on,” shouted Andrew. “Though she might not come up by herself, the young one will, and she will follow.”
He was right; for at the moment that the bow of the boat seemed about to be drawn under water, and the knife was lifted to cut the line, it slackened, and the young whale came to the surface some way ahead, followed immediately afterwards by its mother. Remaining stationary a short time to breathe, during which a portion of the line was hauled in, the monster again began to make her way along the surface.
“Rare fun!” exclaimed Archy, who was sitting near Max. “I would not have missed this on any account.”
“We shall not be merry long if that bank of clouds to the north brings a gale with it,” growled out Max.
Archy looked around; the sea, hitherto calm, was already ruffled with waves, and an icy breeze swept over the surface. Still no whaler, with a fish fast, would have thought of giving up the pursuit. Already the monster, wearied by its exertions, was slackening its speed; the crew began to haul in the line, the first was got in. They were already in the hopes of again wounding the animal mortally before she could once more sound, when inspired with a mother’s instinct to do her utmost for the preservation of her young one, she again darted forward. A large floe appeared ahead, out of which arose several hummocks. The whale made rapid way towards it. The crew pulled with might and main, still hoping to reach her before she could dive below the ice. In vain were all their efforts. Still she went on. She reached the edge of the floe. It was possible she might turn or make her way along it, rather than venture with her young one below its surface, where they might be unable to find an opening for breathing. Again she stopped; as Andrew had expected. The crew continued to haul in the line, when once more she moved on, and it was necessary to secure it round the bollard.
“She is ours,” cried Andrew; “she will not venture under the ice.” The crew bent to their oars, hoping in another instant to be up with her, when, with a sudden start, she dashed forward. With great presence of mind Andrew cut the line, just in time to prevent the boat from being dragged under the floe, but not sufficiently soon to save her bows from being stove. The water came rushing in through the fearful rent that had been made. The crew leaped out on the ice, old Andrew seizing Archy, who, bewildered at the occurrence, had sat still. Already the boat was half full of water, and not without great difficulty she was hauled up on the ice, against which the sea was beating violently, and several articles were washed out of her. Archy had instinctively clutched a bucket by his side, to which he held when he was dragged out. It contained a tinder-box and powder flask.
There the whole party stood on the exposed floe by the side of their shattered boat. They looked around. Neither the ship nor the boats were to be seen, while the thick mist, which came driving over the ocean, concealed even some of the nearest icebergs from view. Two or three of the men loudly expressed their anxiety. Max’s countenance exhibited the alarm he felt. Old Andrew alone preserved his usual equanimity.
“My lads,” he said, “I’ll allow we are in bad case, but don’t let us give way to despair. We must do our best to repair the boat; and if the ship does not come to look for us, we must set out to look for her.”
The injuries, however, that the boat had received were very severe, and it was evident that no means they had at their disposal were sufficient to repair her. Even a piece of canvas would have been of value, but they had no canvas and no nails. The sea, too, which had rapidly got up, now dashed furiously against the sides of the floe, threatening to sweep over it, and break it to pieces beneath their feet. Andrew looked around, and observing a large hummock at some distance, urged his companions to drag the boat towards it.
“Yonder ice hill will afford us some shelter,” he said. “And if we make a signal from the top, it will be more readily seen than one down on the level.”
The men exerting all their strength dragged the boat along, Archy helping, till they reached the hummock, she was then turned bottom uppermost under its lee. An axe having been saved, one of the oars was cut into lengths, which served to prop her up and afford them some shelter from the freezing wind. Two oars were also lashed together to serve as a flagstaff, and all the handkerchiefs that could be mustered were joined to form a flag. A hole, after much labour, was dug with the axe in the top of the hummock, and the flagstaff was planted, but the furious wind threatened every moment to blow it down again. The gale was increasing, and already they felt almost perished, but their great want was food. They had come away without breakfast, and no provisions had been put in the boat. Even should they be able to resist the gale, and should the floe continue together, they ran a fearful risk of perishing of hunger. The snow falling heavily formed a bank round the boat, and assisted to keep out the wind,—here they all collected, crouching down as close together as possible, for the sake of obtaining warmth from each other.
“If we had but a fire we might do pretty well till the ship comes to take us off,” observed Max. “We have got some wood, at all events, and when that’s gone we must burn the boat and form a roof of snow over our heads instead, after Esquimaux fashion.”
No sooner was the proposal made than the remaining oars, boat-stretchers, and every piece of wood that could be found was cut up. Archy produced the tinder-box from the bucket, and in a short time a fire was blazing up, which served to warm their chilled limbs, and slightly to raise their spirits. Few of them, however, were disposed to talk much.