As a rule, whales are distinctly bovine in temperament. If they lived in a paddock, they would stand about chewing their cud and staring into the middle distance. If they saw another whale sitting down under a tree, they would think to themselves, ‘Maybe I will sit down under the tree also.’ Then, when they got to the tree, they would think, ‘Why did I come over to the tree again? I can’t remember.’ And they would start to wander off again. And then they would think, ‘Oh, look at that whale sitting under a tree. Maybe I will sit under a tree also.’ (I will desist from this allegory now as I feel it is becoming rather strained.) Suffice to say, whales are placid, dull creatures and mean no harm. But every now and then comes a whale different to other whales, and that whale is known as a boat-breaker.
Such was the whale to whose tail, by means of harpoon, my father’s boat had just attached itself. As mentioned previously, the harpooner Arthur Ashby was an excellent aim, but so fast was this whale and so erratic its movements that on this occasion his harpoon fell short and found purchase on that narrowing section between the whale’s flukes and body. This is perhaps the least desirable part of a whale’s anatomy to which to attach oneself, for it seems to be extremely sensitive, as was demonstrated by such wild thrashings on the part of the whale that my father had no choice but to cut loose for fear of damaging his boat. The second boat, in close attendance, was then ordered to fasten on, and here my brother Harry did himself credit by landing his harpoon just at the back of the whale’s blowholes. So stunned was he at his success that he forgot that it was now necessary to change positions with Salty.
‘Change over, boy, change over!’ cried Salty. ‘Oars up, men! Let’s let the old girl run!’
The men lifted their oars up high out of the water, locked their handles into the peak chocks and braced themselves for the wild ride. Doing their utmost not to become entangled in this lethal line, the two men scrambled over the oarsmen to assume their new positions. Reaching the bow now and jamming his thigh in the clumsy cleat, Salty took a good look at their adversary. ‘Damn it to hell! White spots! Say your prayers, men!’
For sure enough, the monster had two distinct white spots – old harpoon scars – clearly visible on its back. The Killers were doing their utmost to contain the whale’s flight, but the canny whale embarked on a series of sharp zigzags in a bid to throw them off. Finally, in desperation, it dived. The Killers dived as well, and for several frightening moments it appeared that the whale might travel down so deep as to pull the entire whaleboat down with it. But the Killers drove it up again and as it broke the surface of the water, it suddenly came to a complete standstill; the second boat, still attached to it and compelled by forward momentum, headed straight for it.
‘Stern all, boys! Hard astern!’ cried Salty.
The men scrabbled to get their oars back into the water, but it was too late; they collided, the boat sliding onto the whale’s vast back. Infuriated, it reared out of the water, lifting the boat up with it. There the boat floundered sickeningly, oars flailing, before sliding down the ridge of its back and smashing into the water.
At once the great flukes rose up and, with a vicious swipe, knocked Harry clean out of the boat. At this, young Robert panicked, and endeavoured to jump out of the boat to avoid being struck himself, but as he did so, the flukes pinned him down on the gunwale, half in and half out of the boat. As he squealed and squirmed, the flukes rose up again and released him; he at once effected his escape into the boiling seas. Only John Beck, Shankly and Salty remained in the boat now, and they stared transfixed as the giant flukes rose with majestic stateliness to a height of twenty feet above them, harpoon and line still dangling.
‘Father,’ said Shankly, turning suddenly towards John Beck.
‘Yes?’ said John Beck, feeling a wave of irritation. What in God’s name did Shankly want of him now?
‘Is it too late to ask for forgiveness?’
As if by way of answer, and with only the subtlest quiver to warn of its impending action, the tail slammed down upon John Beck and Shankly, pinning them to the bottom of the boat. With great presence of mind, Salty set to beating the weighty tail muscle with an oar in a bid to free the men, and at this the enraged creature tipped the entire boat over into the water.
It seems John Beck may have lost consciousness with the first impact of the flukes, but the sudden immersion in freezing water revived him and he opened his eyes to glimpse a flurry of black and white amidst the blood and foam and bubbles. Propelled towards the surface, he came up beneath the overturned boat, so was at once forced to dive again and this time, with the last bit of oxygen in his lungs, came up beneath the whale itself. But the capsizing of the boat had released the tub containing the whale line, and the whale, sensing its chance, gave a last mighty flick of its tail and headed for the open sea, bearing two harpoons, eighty fathom of line (much of it coiled around its girth), and even the tub itself, tumbling along the wave tops in its wake.
Once the whale escaped for deeper waters, the Killers called a meeting amongst themselves and voted to ‘down tools’; whales can dive deeper and stay under longer in the ocean and this puts the Killers at a disadvantage. One or two of their number saw the whale off with a nip or two to remember them by, but most of them elected to stay close by the men in the water, both solicitous and curious about their predicament. My father, of course, was wasting no time in effecting their rescue – most of the men wore heavy coats and sea boots, and were in grave danger of drowning.
John Beck was in particular strife; barely conscious, he clung feebly to the upturned hull. Feeling a powerful nudge to the small of his back, he opened his eyes blearily to see Tom’s beknobbed dorsal fin close by. A black snub-nosed snout rose out of the water and the famous orca surveyed my battered paramour in evident amusement, for he seemed to be grinning, and he waved a stumpy side fin at him as if by way of greeting. He then opened his mouth to reveal his sharp teeth and made a strange noise as if clearing his throat in preparation for a speech.
John Beck panicked now, for a glimpse of those pointy white teeth brought back memories of the hapless finback he had witnessed torn apart at Leatherjacket Bay. In desperation, he tried to scramble onto the hull, but in his weakened state only slid back into the water. This prompted Tom to embark upon a series of high-pitched squeals, as if sharing a joke with his friends; they responded in a similar vein, and several swam over as if to observe John Beck for themselves. It was at this point that John Beck began to make preparations to die, for he could not seem to keep his head above water; his last conscious thought was that if the Killer whales were laughing at him, then they would surely soon commence to eat him.
Fortunately, my father and his whale men were at once by his side, and pulled him out of the water. Even in his unconscious state, his limbs were still futilely scrabbling, as if trying to get away from the Killers.
Yet he did not need to fear. On past occasions where boats had overturned and whalers had found themselves in the water, the Killers had been known to act with the greatest concern and solicitude, to the extent of propping one drowning whaler up with a side fin till help arrived. According to our Aboriginal whalers, some of their people, in finding themselves in a similar situation, had been towed ashore by hanging on to the dorsal fins of these good Samaritans of the deep. I have no doubt that in this instance Tom was simply keeping a friendly eye on John Beck, ready to offer his assistance the moment it should be required.
It now became apparent to my father that of the five men in the second whaleboat, only four remained; there was no sign at all of the Scotsman Shankly. It was concluded that he had been knocked unconscious by the impact of the flukes, and then drowned amidst the general turmoil of the boat overturning. The men scoured the sea calling for him till such time as it was decided that the surviving whaleboat was in danger of sinking if they dallied further; also, John Beck was injured and in need of first aid. After much time, with the sun sinking low in the sky, they made the sad journey home – eleven men in one boat, the gunwale almost level with the water; the stove-in hull of the second boat towed behind; an escort of Killer whales swimming alongside.