05 Whale Adventure

by Willard Price

  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.

  Chapter 21

  Mutiny

  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.

  ‘It would be great if we could get aboard a factory ship or catcher,’ he said, ‘and see how the new way compares with the old.’

  ‘Perhaps with good luck, you will,’ said Scott.

  Hal was to remember that remark. ‘With good luck,’ Scott had said. It was to be bad luck, not good, that would introduce the boys to modern whaling.

&n
bsp; Chapter 22

  Escape - almost

  Night closed in over the ship of the mutineers.

  The breeze held steady, the sails needed no trimming, the men were idle. Down in the fo’c’sle they ate and talked over the events of the day.

  On deck all was quiet. The helmsman dozed over the wheel. The caged captain tried the four-foot bed of slats that he had designed for the discomfort of his men. He gave it up and lay on the deck. The deck was wet with spray, and cold. His dinner had been bread and water.

  Grindle was sorry for himself. It did not occur to him to be sorry for all the others he had put into this wretched little prison.

  Outside of the brig stood a guard. This was the seaman Brad.

  Brad spent half his time watching his prisoner and half regarding the lights of the catcher that had stopped sailing for the night and lay hove to a few miles off.

  ‘Brad,’ whispered the captain hoarsely.

  Brad came close to the bars,

  ‘Listen,’ Grindle whispered, ‘how about getting me out of here?’

  ‘Me, get you out? Shut up and go to sleep.’

  ‘It would be worth your while.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It would save your neck.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Heavens, man, don’t you know what happens to mutineers? Every man will be hanged by the neck until dead. All except you. If you stick with me I’ll see that you get off scot free. Besides, there’ll be some cash in it for you. Say two hundred pounds. How does that sound?’

  ‘It sounds crazy,’ said Brad. ‘Suppose I let you out of there - what would they do to me? They’d slaughter me.’

  ‘They won’t have a chance. We’ll be off the ship and away before they know what’s going on. We’ll slip the dory into the water and row over to that catcher.’

  ‘Mmm,’ hesitated Brad. T dunno. I’ll have to think it over.’

  ‘You haven’t time to think it over,’ urgently whispered Grindle. ‘We’ll be leaving the catcher astern. You gotta act now, or never. Never mind thinking it over. Just think of your neck.’

  Brad felt a noose tightening round his throat. Yes, anything was better than that.

  ‘I’ll get the key,’ he said.

  He slipped aft and down the companion to the supply-room.

  At the other end of the ship Roger looked over the edge of his bunk. Hal in the bunk below was fast asleep. The other men had turned in. Only one sputtering, smoking whale-oil lamp had been left burning. Dark shadows crept about the room.

  Roger had something on his mind. He would have liked to talk to his brother about it, but didn’t want to wake him. Probably everything was all right. But he couldn’t help wondering about Brad.

  Brad had been posted to guard the brig. Roger had reason to distrust Brad. Brad was the one who had been detailed to hold the lifeline when Roger had spent the night on the dead whale, fighting off the sharks. Brad had gone to sleep on the job. It was no thanks to him that Roger had come out of that night alive. Could such a man be depended upon to guard the brig?

  ‘It’s none of my business,’ said Roger to himself. The mate had picked Brad, and what the mate did was usually right. Roger turned over and tried to go to sleep. He found himself more awake than ever. Tt won’t hurt just to take a look.’ He slid down from his bunk, pulled on his trousers, and, without bothering to put on his sea-boots, slipped quietly up the companion to the deck.

  Hiding behind anything that came handy, the galley, the capstan, the masts, Roger crept close to the brig.

  He could make out a black shadow. That must be Brad. He could hear a slight scraping sound as of metal against metal. A key was being slowly turned in the lock. Then the barred door of the brig was being opened very gradually so that it might not squeak. Another shadow appeared. That must be the captain.

  What should Roger do? He must slip back and rouse the mate.

  He left his hiding-place, but before he could gain another he found himself gripped firmly from behind and a great hand clapped over his mouth.

  my fine lad,’ it was Grindle’s hoarse whisper,

  ‘you’d spy on us, would you?’

  Brad was already regretting what he had done. ‘I told you it wasn’t safe. We’ll have the whole pack of them on us in a minute. You better get back in the brig.’

  ‘Don’t lose your nerve,’ retorted the captain. ‘As for this young sneak, he won’t trouble us long. Ill hold him while you slip your knife into him. A little higher - just, over the heart. That will do it.’

  Roger felt the prick of the steel point on his bare chest.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Grindle. T have a better idea. He can help row us to the catcher. Keep your knife out. If he hollers, let him have it. Now listen, young fella. I’m going to take my hand off your mouth. If you make a squawk, it’ll be your last. Got that clear?’

  Roger managed to nod his head.

  The hand over his mouth fell away. Grindle pushed him towards the dory. Brad kept close, the point of his knife tickling Roger’s back.

  ‘Mind you move quiet,’ ordered Grindle. ‘And keep outa sight o’ the wheel.’

  The dory hung from the davits. It was a light cedar craft, half the size of a whaleboat. The two men and the boy climbed aboard. The falls were released and the boat was eased down slowly and noiselessly to the sea.

  The surface was smooth. The wind had dropped and the ship was barely moving. The boat did not slap and bump - all was quiet, and Grindle could congratulate himself on a perfect getaway.

  ‘Cast off!’ he whispered.

  The boat floated free. Roger stooped to find the oars. His hand touched the plug.

  Each of the ship’s boats had a hole in the bottom. It was a round hole about two inches in diameter. It was not meant to let water in, it was there to let water out. The hole was filled by a round wooden plug, like a large cork. When water washed into the boat it was bailed out, but it was impossible to get rid of all of it in this way. So when the boat returned to the ship and was hauled up to the davits the plug was removed from the hole to allow the rest of the water to drain out. Then the plug was replaced.

  Roger pretended to be still groping for the oars. His fingers were working to loosen the plug. Finally with a twist and a pull he got it out of the hole and slipped it into his pocket. Then he unshipped his oats and prepared to row.

  Water was boiling up into the boat. Roger could already feel it up to his ankles.

  ‘What the Holy Harry!’ came Grindle’s harsh whisper. ‘Where’s the water coming from? Those all-fired deck-hands musta forgot to put in the plug. Find it, quick!’

  He and Brad searched the boat’s bottom for the missing plug. Roger seized a leather bucket and pretended to bail. The boat was now half full.

  Scrambling about between the thwarts the men could not avoid making considerable noise. They bumped into oars and gear. Roger could hear running feet on the ship’s deck, then the voice of the helmsman rousing the mate.

  The boat was now completely awash. Slowly it rolled over and its occupants were spilled into the sea. They clung to the overturned boat. Grindle obstinately remained silent, but Brad began to yell.

  ‘Help! Help! Help!’

  The ship was slowly passing. Soon they would be left behind in the great silent waste of waters. Brad yelled again.

  There was a commotion on deck. Men were running, shouting. A whaleboat hit the water.

  ‘Where away?’ came a voice.

  ‘Over here,’ screamed Brad.

  Grindle proudly held his tongue. He held it until he felt a nudging against his leg. A shark? All at once his pride left him and he yelled bloody murder. He kicked and splashed and bellowed. He seemed to go crazy with fear.

  Roger watched him with a sly grin. For it was Roger, not a shark, that had nudged him. Again Roger gave him a poke. Again the big bully exploded with terror. Grindle would have been very happy at that moment to be back in his sa
fe little jail.

  He began to sob and wail like an oversized baby. His behaviour showed Roger once and for all that a ‘tough guy’s‘ bold front may have nothing but jelly behind it. He was seeing Grindle in his true colours - several shades of yellow.

  The whaleboat came alongside and the three were hauled aboard. The dory was taken in tow and the whaleboat started back to the ship.

  ‘Who was doing all that blubbering?’ asked the mate.

  Tt was the kid,’ said Grindle. ‘Scared out of his wits.’

  Roger opened his mouth to speak, but decided to say nothing.

  Grindle was tempted to make a bigger story out of it.

  ‘We were attacked by sharks,’ he said. ‘Must have been a dozen of them. I beat them off with my bare fists. Punched them right in the nose. That’s a shark’s most sensitive point you know - the nose. Lucky for these fellows that they had me along.’

  The mate was not fooled. ‘Sounds too good to be true,’ he said sarcastically. Back on deck, Grindle was marched to his cage. ‘Now you’re not going to put me back in there,’ complained Grindle. ‘Not after me savin’ the lives of two men!’

  ‘Not only you,’ said the mate, ‘but Brad also.’ He turned to Roger. ‘And I’m afraid we’ll have to lock you up too.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For desertion. And for helping a prisoner to escape. I never would have thought it of you, kid.’ ‘Will you let me tell you just what happened?’ ‘Yes, but you’d better make it good.’ ‘I saw Brad unlock the brig and let the Captain out. I started to get you, but they grabbed me. They made me help row the boat. I pulled out the plug so the boat filled with water.’

  Grindle laughed. ‘The young rascal - he’s just trying to save his own skin. Now you’d better let me tell you the truth. The kid was in it with us from the start. He sneaked down and got the key and let me out.’

  ‘Then what did he do with the key?’ demanded the mate. ‘I don’t know - put it in his pocket, I suppose.’ ‘Search them,’ the mate said to Jimson. Before Jimson could move to do so, Brad was seen to draw something from his pocket and throw it away. He had meant to cast it into the sea, but it struck the rail and bounced back on deck. The mate picked it up. It was the key to the brig.