Rush Oh!

by Shirley Barrett

  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.

  The Sermon Notes

  In the meantime, whilst all this was happening out at sea, we had changed out of our good Sunday clothes and resumed our chores. I was in the process of turning over an area of soil in preparation for planting a new crop of celery and parsnips, and as I tilled the soil, I mulled over the various interesting insights that had arisen during John Beck’s sermon. Suddenly a thought occurred to me. As he dashed for the boat, John Beck had tossed aside his sermon notes along with his coat; perhaps if I was to find these notes, they might prove to be edifying
in both the personal and the spiritual sense. Abandoning my shovel, I hastened down to the beach and, after some little difficulty, eventually managed to locate the notes floating face down in a small rock pool some distance from where he had discarded them. With great care, I retrieved the sodden, solitary page and took it back to the house, where I allowed it to dry in the sunlight in a sheltered position on the verandah. In fact, I have this same page beside me now as I write; it is the only example I have of his handwriting, which alone affords it enormous value to me. But more than this, the words that I found there on the page – words that were left unsaid owing to Tom’s unexpected appearance, and yet give proof positive of the direction in which John Beck’s thoughts veered – these have ensured that this tattered, yellowing scrap remains for me one of my dearest personal possessions. It is a simple piece of lined paper, nothing more, seemingly torn in haste from a notebook, on which his thoughts are marked out in pencil, in a neat, forward-sloping hand:

  ‘Dangers of Temptation to God-fearing life.

  Talk about own exp. & where it has brought me

  Matt 26:14 spirit indeed willing but flesh weak etc.

  Benefits of marriage in this regard (1 Corinthians 7) let every man have his wife

  In conclusion, poss. humorous remark whaling vs marriage? Both fearsome adversary?

  (NB pray for whale.)’

  Once again, it is tempting to lay the blame on Tom, for had he only delayed his call to arms by ten to fifteen minutes, then perhaps John Beck might have finally been permitted to get to his point. For close study of his sermon notes seems to make clear: here was a man who had grown weary of temptation, and saw that his salvation could be found within the blessed confines of matrimony. ‘Let every man have his own wife, and every woman her own husband’: these were the words he intended, and perhaps his glance would have fallen upon me just as the words fell from his lips, for I have little reason to doubt that his thoughts were beginning to settle in my direction. However, Tom had his business to attend to, and therein lay my misfortune. That, and the blow to the head that John Beck received in the subsequent whale chase, whereby any further thoughts along these lines seem to have been summarily knocked out of him.

  Repercussions

  We made up a bed for John Beck in the front room, and there I devoted myself to the task of nursing him back to health. He was still in a stupefied state when they brought him up and not conscious of his surroundings; I sent everybody away, drew the curtains and set about bathing his forehead where it had been gashed. My tender ministering did not rouse him; occasionally his eyes stirred behind his lids if a drop of water trickled from his brow, but that was all. At one point, he murmured something I could not make out. I leaned in more closely to hear it and felt his soft breath upon my cheek, but he soon lapsed back into unconsciousness. I gazed down at his fine battered features – his blackened eyes, his bruised cheek – and a rush of intense feeling overwhelmed me. How grateful I was that he had been spared, and not banished to the dismal depths like poor Shankly, but oh! how anxious I was that he now pull through.

  Louisa entered quietly with some clean rags for the purposes of bandaging his head wound. She placed them on the table, then hesitated a moment to watch me.

  ‘Well, you seem to be enjoying yourself,’ she said, with an unpleasant smirk.

  ‘How dare you,’ I retorted hotly, though still keeping my voice modulated to a whisper. ‘The man is gravely injured, and yet you consider it appropriate to make improper suggestions.’

  ‘All I am saying is I have difficulty imagining you tending to the other whale men in this doting fashion.’

  Whereupon I pinched her hard on the fleshy part of her arm, so hard that she squealed. Then I instructed her to prepare the supper for the whalers, and to make it a good one, for they had had a bad day. At this she baulked, but I insisted, for I could not be pulled away from my present duties. Amidst vigorous protests and more pinches, she finally submitted and left the room to attend to the evening meal.

  Returning my attention to my patient, I found that his eyes were now open and he was gazing at me in a puzzled way. It seemed that our heated discussion had roused him.

  ‘Rest now,’ I said softly. ‘Do not worry; I have sent her away.’

  Thus reassured, his eyes drifted shut again, and I returned to the task of bathing his forehead.

  Of this most difficult season, this day – 18 October 1908 – marked the nadir. The experience had shaken the men badly. Morale was at its lowest ebb. To add to their woes, provisions had almost completely run out and Louisa was in charge of the kitchen.

  ‘What is this? Dishwater?’ asked Arthur Ashby, gazing down at his soup. A good-natured chap as a rule, he was not normally one of our complainers.

  ‘No, it is soup,’ said Louisa crisply.

  ‘What sort of soup?’

  ‘Larder beetle soup.’

  At this, young Robert Heffernan, who had just taken a mouthful, spat it out violently.

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ said Louisa. ‘I was only joking.’

  Darcy was the only one who chuckled; then again, he always seemed to find Louisa amusing.

  ‘I wish it was made of larder beetles,’ muttered Bastable. ‘If it was made of larder beetles, then it might offer us some nourishment. Expecting us to catch whales on a diet of dishwater.’

  ‘Well, if you would only catch a whale instead of letting them get away all the time, we might be able to think of offering you some nourishment,’ said Louisa, turning upon him. ‘Heavens, we might even be able to think of offering ourselves some nourishment!’

  ‘Louisa . . .' said Dan anxiously. She was known for her hot temper, and once unleashed, it could not easily be reined in.

  ‘I never met such a collection of whining, lily-livered namby-pambies!’ she continued. ‘We’d do a better job if it was me and Violet and Annie out there! I tell you what, we’d have better sense than to let a piddling thirty-foot humpback get away!’

  And with that, she threw down her soup ladle and stormed back up to the house, leaving the whalers to stare after her in dismay. A sense of shame overcame them. The young mistress had described them as namby-pambies.

  ‘It’s all very well for her to say,’ offered Albert Thomas Senior. ‘That humpback was at least thirty-five, maybe forty feet. And it was cranky.’

  The others said nothing, however, but meekly supped their soup. It was Darcy who later gathered the pots and plates and carried them up to the house.

  The Trees They Do Grow High

  That evening, after the men had eaten, my father took himself down to talk to them. ‘Men, I just wanted to say a few words about Shankly,’ he said.

  ‘Aye, poor old Shankly,’ murmured the men, and some of them lowered their heads out of respect.

  ‘We none of us knew him very well, I know, but I want to pay him tribute nonetheless,’ my father continued. ‘He proved himself to be a decent oarsman and pulled hard when it counted.’

  ‘Nonetheless, he was a strange one, if you ask me,’ said Uncle Aleck. ‘There was something about him that made me uneasy. I cannot put my finger on it.’

  ‘He owed me a shilling,’ said Percy Madigan. ‘I daresay I have no chance of seeing it now.’

  ‘Anyway, he is gone,’ said my father, wishing to discourage the direction in which the conversation was veering. ‘And, men, I wouldn’t blame any of you if you decided you’d had enough. We are having a bad season, and no mistake.’

  ‘This was the last straw, boss, what happened to Shankly,’ said Bastable, and some of the men muttered in agreement.

  ‘I realise that, Bastable. We haven’t lost a man in thirty-five years. It weighs heavily upon me.’

  There was an uncomfortable silence. My father was a retiring man, and speaking to the men in this fashion did not come easily to him. He stuck his thumbs behind his braces a
nd stared fixedly at the ground.

  ‘Men, I wanted to say this to you. I reckon we should be able to get the second boat back in the water in a day or so – and if you’d consider seeing the season out with me till the end of November, or at least for as long as the Killers stay, then, well, I’d appreciate it. November is usually a pretty good month for whales –'

  ‘Not last November it wasn’t,’ said Bastable.

  ‘Well, you’re right, Bastable, I can’t argue with you there. But if November doesn’t bring us a whale, then I’ll sell the boats and the harpoons and lances, and we’ll divide the proceeds up between us. You’re good men, all of you, and I feel you should have something for your efforts.’

  ‘You’ll not sell the whaling station!’ cried Salty.

  ‘I may have to, Salty, if it comes to it.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to sell me with it. For I will not be leaving!’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ said Arthur Ashby, and several of the other men concurred.

  ‘I appreciate the sentiment, men. But I want you to consider the matter carefully. As I say, I’ll not think the worse of any man for quitting, given the circumstances . . . ’

  And here his voice trembled, so he turned abruptly and marched back up the hill to the house.

  Having bandaged John Beck’s forehead as best I could, I settled down to watch over my patient. He seemed to be resting more comfortably now and, in the lamplight, I took the opportunity to gaze at him fully. His chest rose and fell as he dozed; a lock of unruly dark hair fell across his brow. One arm rested on the blanket, his calloused palm lying upwards as if in expectation of something being placed in it. Without thinking, I slipped my own hand into his, and his fingers closed reflexively around mine. I sat there for several moments like this, then I leaned forward and kissed his cheek tenderly. He responded with a sigh. Emboldened, I then kissed him full on the mouth – once, twice, and as I kissed him a third time, his eyes flickered open and he looked at me.