by Zane Grey
It became apparent then that the orca would require the help of the whalers to finish the humpback. Davidson sent out his son and a crew of four, also a second boat with four more men. The men were still afraid of the orca, but there did not seem to be any reason for this. The orca, with the exception of Old Tom and Humpy, kept away from the boats. And it was astonishing and incredible to see their renewed ferocity when the whalers came upon the scene. Young Davidson soon harpooned the whale, which lunged out and then tried to burrow in the mud at the bottom in its mad endeavor to sound. But the whale was prevented from going any distance in a straight line. He was driven around to where a harpooner in the second boat soon made fast to him. They had him from two sides now. When the second harpoon went home, it struck a vital place, for it energized the whale to a tremendous rolling and heaving and a mighty buffeting of the water with his great tail. Out the long black head came again with the white smoke from the blowhole accompanied by a strangling whistle. Three of the orca were now hanging onto his lips, wiggling their shiny bodies with fierce and tenacious energy. Old Tom cut the water in a grand leap to alight fairly on the side of the whale’s head and slip off, raising a great splash. That appeared to be a signal for the remaining orca to charge in close. In a maëlstrom of white and bloody water, the whale and his attackers fought a few moments in a most ferocious manner. At the end of this attack, the whale heaved up with his great jaws spread, and, as he sank back, the orca in a solid mass tore at the enormous tongue.
Not long after the carnage had settled, several huge triangular-shaped Sns were seen headed out to sea. So far as the orca were concerned, the engagement was ended. They swam away, leaving the whalers with a seventy-foot humpback, and establishing the fact for all who had seen the incident that they had leagued themselves with the whalers.
Then began a strenuous season for the whalers and all who were concerned in the disposition of the great carcasses. The inhabitants of Eden labored early and late. Seldom did they have a whale cut up and his carcass towed away to the other side of the bay before the orca would drive in another victim.
All through June the partnership between the whalers and the orca grew more successful. The news had long since traveled all over Australia, and many visitors made the long journey to the little hamlet to verify the strange and romantic tale. During July the whalers processed seven whales, which was about all they could handle with their limited equipment. Then toward the close of that month, the whales passed by in fewer numbers until only a stray was seen, here and there. When at last they were gone, the orca were seen no more. The whalers speculated upon what had become of them and concluded that they had followed the whales. They were all sorry to see the orca go, hardly hoping that they would ever turn up again. But on the first of June the next year, on the very first day the whalers went out, they were amazed and delighted to see the orca patrolling the mouth of the bay. Old Barkley expressed the opinion that he thought they were as glad to see the whalers as the whalers were to see the orca. He proved his point when Old Tom, Humpy, and another orca they had dubbed Hooker, deliberately swam close to the boat to look them over—as if to identify them.
The orca were back, and it was certain that the well-known leader of the pack and others that had been named the summer before had returned to Two-Fold Bay. Barkley identified Big Ben and Typee, while the elder Davidson recognized Big Jack and Little Jack and an enormous lean orca without any white marks they called Blacky. In less than two hours from the time the orca showed themselves to the whalers, they had a humpback headed into the bay. In due course they drove it into shallow water where the combined energies of whalers and orca soon added another humpback to their list.
There were more whales that summer and more orca to help in the pursuit of them. When that season ended, it was an established fact that a crew of whalers had enlisted a school of whale killers to help them in their work.
Even more remarkable, on at least two occasions the orca had driven in a whale and helped to kill it, but made absolutely no attempt to tear at the tongue, the juicy morsel that attracted them so powerfully. After the kill had been executed and the whale had sunk to the bottom, the orca had left without further molestation.
Davidson had done a good deal of thinking about this and had talked to his comrade Barkley about it. They decided that if the whale killers did not tear out the tongue of a crippled whale and otherwise chew him up, it meant that they were not hungry. The deduction to be made, then, was that this intelligent school of orca, or at least the leaders, Old Tom, Humpy, Hooker, and one or two others, cut a whale adrift from its herd, chased him inland, and deliberately helped kill him for no other reason than to maintain their partnership with the whalers.
One night Davidson saw his conclusion borne out in a startling manner. Shortly after he had gone to bed, he was awakened by a succession of loud rapid reports almost like pistol shots. He listened wonderingly. His house was some distance from the bay, but he had often heard the splashing of great sharks or the blowing of porpoises and other marine sounds that went on in the dead of night. When it occurred again, somewhat more clearly, he decided it was a fish of some kind.
Davidson called to his son, who slept in the next room: “George, slip on some clothes and grab a lantern and go down to the wharf and see what’s making that noise.”
“What noise?” asked George sleepily.
“Don’t you hear it? Listen.”
Again the sound rang out—short, sharp, powerful smacks on the water. George let out a whoop, and his bare feet thudded on the floor. “Sure, I hear that,” he answered. “Something’s up for sure.” He dressed, lighted a lantern, and rushed out.
He was gone so long that the elder Davidson nearly fell asleep waiting for him. But at last a light gleamed through the murky darkness, accompanied by the rapid tread of bare feet. George entered, letting the cool misty air in with him.
“Dad, what do you think?” he burst out. “Our band of orca have brought in a big whale, and some of them are lobtailing while the others are fighting the whale. Struck me funny. What would they be doing that for?”
“No reason in the world. Son, except to wake us up and tell us to come down and do our part. Go wake up the men and hurry down to the wharf,” he ordered, as he got out of bed. Davidson dressed hurriedly, putting on his great raincoat, and, lighting the lantern, he sallied forth into the black night. Several times before he reached the wharf, he heard loud buffetings on the water. As he drew closer, he also caught the sharp splashes and quick blows that he recognized were made by orca. Then he heard the strangled obstructed puff of a whale trying to breathe. A second later came the unmistakable and fearsome sound of the whale roaring like a wounded bull.
“By Halifax,” Davidson uttered. “I thought I had seen and heard everything before, but this beats me all hollow.” He halted on the wharf and cast the beam of his lantern out upon the dark waters. He could see fifty feet or more from where he stood, and, as he watched, there came a surge of water, a short deep whistle and intake of air, and a huge orca, blacker than the night, with his white spots showing like phosphorescence, plunged in the track of the lantern to show the gleaming eye and the tremendous seven-foot fin of Old Tom. Davidson yelled with all his might. It was as if he were talking to the orca. The orca made a plunging sound and vanished. Then out of the darkness came rapid cracking slaps of the giant tail on the water, loud and sharp as the shots from a rapid-fire gun.
Davidson stood there marveling. The lobtailing ceased. Out there in the bay, a hundred or two hundred yards, resounded the rush and slap and roar of battle between a cornered whale and his enemies. Then lights appeared from all directions, and soon Davidson was joined by a dozen men. They were excited, eager, and curious to know what it was all about.
“Our pet hounds have chased in a whale, and they’re fighting him out there,” replied the chief.
“What can we do?” asked Barkley. “It’s dangerous enough in the daytime, let alone a
t night.”
“There’s no danger for us, if we keep out of the way of the whale.”
“But we ought to wait until more light,” objected Hazelton.
“It’s a long while till dawn. Our orca have brought in a whale, and they have signaled us to come and help. We couldn’t let them down now. We’ll take four boats. I’ll call for volunteers.”
Twelve of the score or more men signified their willingness to take the risk. This was enough to man the boats. When all was in readiness, leader Davidson shouted for them to follow him and headed out over the black waters of the bay. While two of the crew rowed the lead boat, another held the lantern high, and Davidson stood in the bow of his boat with his harpoon in readiness.
“Back water!” he called presently. “Steady. Rest your oars. Now everybody listen. We got to tell by the sound.” From the thrashing and swishing of the water, it appeared that the whale and his attackers were approaching the boats. After an interval of quiet, when undoubtedly the whale and the orca were underwater, there came a break just ahead, and, as the long black snout of the whale appeared, it emitted a resounding blast as loud as a steam whistle. Davidson poised the harpoon aloft. He was a big man, and he easily held the heavy iron. As the whale came sliding by, he cast the harpoon with unerring and tremendous force. In the light of the lantern, it appeared to sink half its length in the side of the whale.
“Get away! Get away!” boomed Davidson as he sank to his knees with the line in his hands.
With a thunderous surge the whale answered the inthrust of the steel. He leaped half out of the water. As he came down, big waves rocked the boat, nearly capsizing it. Then the whole pack of orca were upon their victim. The sounds of watery combat and the frenzied plunging of the whale united in a deafening din. Orca and whale passed out of the lantern’s illumination. Davidson yelled at the top of his lungs, but his words were indistinct. The lights of the other boats came close. The whale sounded with his demons hanging onto him, and in the sudden quiet yells became distinguishable.
“I’m fast, men, good and hard,” called the leader. “The line is going out. He’s circling. Better hang close to me so that, when he comes ‘round, you can get another iron in him. . . . Mike, lend a hand here. They’re blocking him . . . turning him. . . . We can risk a tow. . . . Hey, you all back there, hang close to us, it’s getting hot.”
Davidson’s boat was now being hauled through the water at a considerable rate. The line showed the whale to be circling, but the lantern, that had been set down, cast very little light ahead. However, the lanterns of the crew behind Davidson helped. Suddenly the line slacked, the boat slowed down, the turmoil of orca and whale ceased again. “He’s sounded!” yelled Davidson. “Now look out!” His warning cry was echoed by the men in the nearest boat. They had seen a gleam in the water ahead in time for them to row aside, just missing the blunt nose of the whale as it heaved out. Again that whistling strangled intake of breath, a hollow rumbling roar, then the surge of a tremendous body in friction against the water, and after that the swift cutting splashes of the orca and the dull thuds of their contact with the whale. The second boat did not escape an upset. It capsized, and all the men were thrown into the water. The third boat sped to the rescue, and, just as quickly, young Davidson, in the bow of the fourth boat, with a magnificent throw, made fast to the sliding black flanks of the whale. The two boats towed by the whale passed the others and sped into the night. Soon the orca stopped the crippled whale and killed it. When gray dawn broke soon after, the orca had left the scene of carnage, and the whale had sunk.
The successful summer passed, and another followed. The fame of the whale killers continued to spread abroad, bringing many people to the bay, and the little hamlet of Eden grew apace. The whaling business flourished, and there was some talk of installing more modern methods of hunting the leviathans. But nothing ever came of it. The whalers preferred their own method and the help that was given them by the orca. So the years passed, bringing few changes. The older whalers passed on or moved away or gave up their work to sit in the sun and tell tales about their great experiences with the orca. Davidson’s son George became the leader of the whalers, and other young men took the place of the old. For thirty years there was little alteration in the number and actions of the orca. Led by Old Tom and Humpy and Hooker, this pack of sea wolves patrolled the mouth of Two-Fold Bay and hunted within reach of the harpoons. And as they grew more proficient in their attacks, they also grew friendly with their human allies.
It was related of Old Tom that he grew mischievous and liked to play pranks, some of which gave the whalers a great deal of concern. Several times he made off with the anchor of a small boat, dragging the boat behind him. This was play, and after a while the whalers seemed to enjoy the experience as much as the orca. But the first time that Old Tom took the line fastened to a harpooned whale and ran off with it, the whalers were frightened and concerned, and had a difficult time recovering it. There didn’t seem to be any reason for this behavior except playfulness on the part of the big fellow. The remarkable thing was that this trick of Old Tom’s never lost them a whale.
He and old Humpy often swam alongside the small boats with every appearance of friendly interest. The whalers never entirely gave up their fear of falling overboard when orca were around. A heritage of confidence had come down to them from the older whalers, but it applied only to Old Tom and Humpy and Hooker and possibly one or two others. The young whalers were still afraid of the less tame and friendly orca.
Most notable of all stories told by the old whalers, and handed down to their sons, was the time the orca, either by mistake or design, drove a sperm whale into the bay. Sperm and blue whales were rare along the coast, and the whaling men had given the sperms a wide berth. Owing to the superior bulk and speed of this species, and the fact that they have great teeth in the lower jaw, and habitually charge boats when attacked, sperm whales are considered most formidable and dangerous foes.
That day, two boats were out ahead, the crews composed of younger men. Then two other boats, with some experienced whalers among the crews, followed the first two and found them fast to a whale they didn’t know was a sperm. The older men, reluctant to show a shy spirit by cutting this whale loose, came to the assistance of the bold young whalers. They fought the big beast all the way up the bay to the shoal water. Here again the whalers were treated to an exhibition of the amazing intelligence of the orca. When the sperm headed toward one of the skiffs, Old Tom and his partners would lay hold of the whale, carefully avoiding the great jaw, and fight him and nag him until he changed his course. This was one whale Old Tom did not try to stop breathing, for a major reason, the blowhole of the sperm was clear out at the end of his nose and much nearer the formidable jaws and huge teeth than in other species of whale. As a consequence, this fight was a longer one, fiercer and harder than any the whalers had ever seen. It was owing, of course, to the superior strength and stamina of the sperm, and the impossibility of the orca’s interfering with his breathing. But when the whale reached the shallow water, the whole pack attacked him, and they made up in ruthless fury what they had lost in the way of technique. The men now pressed in and tried to get another harpoon in the sperm.
The whalers had noticed a number of huge tiger sharks following in the wake of the bloody mess, and this fact did not lend any pleasure to the thought of a capsized boat. George Davidson’s skiff finally drew in close to the sperm, and George, by a very long throw, got his harpoon into the side of the whale—but it did not hold. Suddenly the sperm turned as on a pivot. The slap of his great tail staggered the boat and threw George into the water. Cries of alarm rose from the other whalers. The boat from which George had fallen passed him with its momentum, and, before the crew could back water, two of the great orca deliberately swam up to Davidson. The sperm whale was still close, rolling and thrashing around, and everywhere were other orca and a number of the big gray tiger sharks. One of the men, standing in the bow of
the skiff with a rope, yelled at the top of his lungs: “It’s Old Tom and Humpy! They’re not going to hurt George!”
And marvelous to relate, that is the way it was. Old Tom and Humpy, who had been friends with the whalers for fifty years, swam on each side of young Davidson and guarded him until his own swimming and a rope tossed from the first boat made his rescue possible. The orca actually followed until George was safely in the boat.
The fight with the sperm was then renewed, and in time, when the whale’s weakening enabled the whalers to get in two more harpoons, the fight eventually ended up with victory for the men from Eden. Orca and sharks chewed up the whale pretty badly, but they could not injure the great head which formed at least a third of this species’ body and which contained the valuable sperm oil. However, several of the orca seemed to have been injured in this fray. One was seen to swim away after the others as if he were crippled.
No yarn handed down from the old whalers to the young compared to this one. And the young whalers made the most of it. From that day, Old Tom and Humpy became heroes. But when Old Tom’s body washed ashore in Two-Fold Bay shortly afterward, the villagers were stunned. Some were in favor of sending the skin to Sydney to be mounted, but the whalers would have none of this. They built a memorial for Old Tom right there in Eden.