But the sound of the oars and the creaking oarlocks made it easier for the creature to locate them.
The men on the mother ship watched in anguish as the creature lifted the whaleboat high. A harpoon bomb went off as the detonator hit the gunwale and many of the screams the watchers heard came from seamen wounded by splinters.
The screaming ended quickly.
"Did you see that!" Lead Foot shouted with unexpected exultation. Belying his name, he beat everyone to the armory. With William's help, he hauled out one of the grenade cases and broke it open. Bombs were passed out.
Arms laden, they ran to the starboard rail. William felt more comfortable with the grenades. While no safer than a rusty rifle, he could at least pitch them overboard if anything went wrong.
The two smaller creatures had reduced the dead whale to a skeleton and now they were gnawing on it. The snapping bones sounded like ice breaking.
Bombs cascaded down the side of the Lydia Bailey, raising violent plumes as they exploded on and around the beasts. Wood and bone splinters flew up, tagging a few of the sailors through the weather rail. Rolling and squirming amid the explosions, the animals churned the water into froth.
They pulled away from the ship in a burst of speed that astonished the crew. In mere seconds their long brown necks popped out of the water a hundred yards away. The creatures seemed perplexed as they stared back at the ship.
They also appeared unhurt.
"At least we chased them off," William said, his voice quaking like a stay line in a storm.
When the purser heard the boy's words he lifted his head. Each time a bomb had gone off he'd shouted hysterically from the niche he'd made for himself next to the deck house. Even as he battled to stay on his feet, William was stung by sympathy for the small man who had stolen his books. The theft seemed such a pitifully minor transgression that he could no longer understand his thirst for revenge.
Eyes red, but with a hopeful expression, the purser began pulling himself to his feet. "They're gone? You chased them--"
Wham!
The crew was knocked flat when something--
Wham!
Knocked down again as they tried to rise.
Lead Foot grasped the weather rail. He caught a glimpse of the largest of the creatures on the starboard beam.
"It's trying to roll us!"
Gear, tackle and men slammed into the main cabin and deck house as the ship leaned wildly to port, then fell forward as it abruptly righted itself. The process was repeated several times. The purser screeched. William reached out for him, but the man rolled out of sight. The Lydia Bailey lurched back to starboard and the boy was knocked dizzy when his head struck a loose barrel.
When his vision cleared, he was astonished to find Lead Foot grinning at him. The old man's head was bloody--not whale blood, but his own. It contrasted wickedly with the grin on his face. "It can't swamp us! We're fitted with an accumulator!"
His words pierced William's despair. The Lydia Bailey was one of the few wooden steamships outfitted with the series of powerful volute springs collectively known as an accumulator. Running along the ship's keelson from the aft stokehold to the forward collision bulkhead, the system was necessary on all modern steel-hulled whalers. When a whale was winched in on the cutting stage, there was a risk of foundering in the steep Arctic swells and accumulators prevented steamers from rolling over onto their smokestacks. The owners of the Lydia Bailey, anticipating their prayers for a lucrative voyage would be answered, had a similar series of springs installed while the ship was being overhauled in New York.
The accumulator! The ship would lean only so far before the volute springs pushed back. The result was that the monster could only shove the Lydia Bailey flush on the beam. The harsh backlash was the accumulator's abrupt assertion that the ship could not be tipped over.
Lead Foot clapped wildly. "Ol' Lydia's no pushover, that's a fact!"
Their relief turned to horror when a dreadfully burned head appeared at the top of the aft companionway. One of the stokers. The boiler grate must have popped open, burying the man in a small mountain of searing coal. They had not heard his screams over the pounding and it seemed a miracle that he had lived this long. The ship rocked again and the stoker disappeared. He did not come up again.
Lead Foot gripped the handle of the lazaret door and wiped his chin, the way he did after drinking rum. The sight of the burned man woke him to the fact that the monster might not be able to capsize them, but it could certainly batter the whaler into a sieve.
"Why does it keep coming at us?" William shouted.
"Maybe she's a mother. Maybe we bombed her sprats."
Wham!
"It'll break its head open if it keeps up," the boy reasoned hopefully.
"Don't bet your cockles on it." Lead Foot twisted his head, desperate thoughts in his eyes. The ship was too unstable to build up steam. Besides, the tubes were undoubtedly cracked after the severe pounding. Any high pressure run through them would result in an explosion.
Set the sails? Not feasible, so long as the creature kept hammering at them. The sudden tilts and jars made going aloft riskier than hauling sheets in a full-blown gale.
Fight back? The grenades did no more than annoy them.
The harpoon cannon, then. Increasing the charge might result in the gun blowing up in someone's face. But it might also give a harpoon punch enough to penetrate the damn hides of the brutes. They could multiply the odds in their favor by attaching a foreganger.
"Pegg! Breathe! Come with me!"
Grasping rails, lines and the few things still lashed down, he followed Lead Foot forward.
"We'll blow him to hell, Pegg. We'll take the steam saw and filet that big bastard and when we cut the vent we'll find ol' Chandry standing up."
Their wet hands slipped over the equipment in the harpoon chest. It seemed incredible the monster had not killed itself pounding the stout hull, but it was still hitting strong and the violent movements made it nearly impossible to perform the delicate task of inserting the harpoon charges. Once he'd managed to screw them in tight and set the prongs, Lead Foot adjusted the steel rings that comprised the foreganger.
"Lead Foot...."
"I'm getting it, I'm getting it...."
"Up behind the capstan...."
Lead Foot looked up for an instant. One of the smaller creatures was peering through the rail at them. Its attention was captured by an interesting odor and it sniffed up and down the weather rail a few moments--after which it returned to the bow.
"We've got this to do," said Lead Foot, bending over the chest. "We lance the big one, the other two won't matter."
Half walking and half crawling across the foredeck, they dragged the harpoons along as carefully as possible. Lead Foot reached up and swung the muzzle of the cannon inboard. As the boy looked on worriedly, he slammed two of the pre-made fourteen-ounce charges down the barrel.
Bracketing the gun between them, they lifted the first harpoon and fitted it into the muzzle. Then, paying out the foreganger line slowly to avoid kinks, they loaded the four attached harpoons into the exchange box next to the gun. The box was tilted, open at one end, providing a launch ramp.
"It's not going to work, Lead Foot," William gasped. "Even with the extra charge... it's too far away."
The old man gave him a hard look. "I know."
"What?" William shouted over the din as the creature gave the ship a particularly hard punch. The two had to grab the rail hard to keep from being flung over the martingale.
"There's only one way, William. We have to get the beastie up to the cannon."
"How?"
"I'm going to draw her to you, boy. You'll have to fire the cannon. Give me a hand...." They shoved the exchange box to the other side of the cannon, pointing aft. "I'll get that thing to come up the starboard beam--I think I can--and when you get a clear shot, do it!"
"What are you going to do?"
"I'll tag it with a few bomb
s. When it comes after me--" He slapped his hands together as he pushed off the rail and struggled aft, dodging the chaos multiplying on the deck.
Taking hold of the hand-grips, William stared at the cannon in his grasp. The trigger mechanism was similar to a musket's and Lead Foot had primed the cap before leaving. The big difference, outside of its greater size and charge, was that the gunner had to lean over the breech in order to peer through the sights. There was a good chance the double charge would explode the barrel--and take William's head in the process.
A plume of seawater fell off to starboard. Lead Foot was dropping grenades over the side.
The hammering at the hull ceased. The huge head that had roared years off their lives lifted majestically over Lead Foot--who did not back off, but chucked a grenade right in its face.
A bright flash and a steel-like clap. The next thing William knew, Lead Foot was hobbling out of the smoke. Blood gushed from his leg.
"Pegg!" he cried. "Pegg! Breathe! "
"Behind you!"
A dark shadow burst through the grenade smoke. The Lydia Bailey shuddered as the creature pressed the hull in its pursuit.
"Get out of the way!"
"Fire, Pegg!"
"Lead Foot!" William sobbed.
"Breathe, Pegg! Shoot!"
William pulled the trigger the instant the giant jaws came down on his friend.
The harpoon cannon tore out at the base, exploding into a dozen deadly chunks that shrieked through the wheelhouse. William was hit by a concussive fist that nearly knocked him off the bowsprit. Flung painfully against the masthead, he fell to the deck. From there, he gained a kaleidoscopic impression of what followed.
The creature was raising its head with its latest victim when the lead harpoon caught its massive brow. There was no penetration. The hard impact detonated the whale bomb prematurely. Recoiling violently, the creature hit the main cabin with its head, caving it in. In sequence, the armed harpoons on the foreganger glanced off its thick neck. Three of them landed among the men abovedecks, the fourth breaking through the deckhouse porthole. William saw the flash of the bomb inside, but could not hear the blast. Neither could he hear the other explosions nor the screams of the wounded men.
Above the smoke and chaos the huge beast rose higher and higher. The ship lurched wildly.
It was climbing on board!
Ignoring his pain, William leapt to his feet--only to fall hard and roll into the wheelhouse as the ship lifted at the bow. "Lead Foot!" he cried, hauling himself up by the rail bolted to the wheelhouse. Steadying himself on the angle between the deck and the cabin, he rounded the wall.
The purser was working frantically at one of the whaleboat davits.
"You'll tip it over!" William shouted. Struggling forward, he grasped the weather rail and worked over to the whaleboat platform. "You'll tip it over!" The noise of the bombs and the din of the beast had deafened them both. William thought if he repeated himself enough times, the purser would finally hear him.
The ship jumped like a derailed car and William and the purser fell against the whaleboat. Regaining his feet, the purser again set himself against the lashing.
"Both sides at once!"
The purser looked as though he was about to strike William, but he was getting nowhere with the falls. Reluctantly, he accepted the boy's help.
"We'll work them loose, then go back for the wounded. Once we get them in--" And then he caught a glimpse inside the boat. It was loaded with a breaker and several lengths of duff dough.
"You were loading the boat the whole time! You were going alone!"
The purser mouthed some words, then hand-signaled for William to loosen his end. It took only seconds. Had the purser known anything about gravity davits, he would have been long gone.
"You bastard! Lead Foot would've--"
The stern dipped. Whirling, William saw the remains of the deckhouse covered by a tremendous flipper. The creature was only half on board, yet with its chest out of the water its neck rose as high as the mizzen mast. Legs stuck like toothpicks from its mouth.
Glancing back, he saw many of the crew had rolled against the taffrail in a terrible, wounded mass. There had to be a way to get back and save them--to at least bring the whaleboat around so they'd have a chance to jump in.
There was a shocking uplift as the beast slipped off the ship with a tremendous splash. Keeping his grip on the boatfall, William just managed to stay in place.
The purser was not so lucky. Catapulted over the larboard rail he fell precisely into the mouth of the creature that had watched William and Lead Foot load the harpoon cannon. Swishing up and down the port beam, it had been observing the frantic goings-on of the odd two-legged creatures. Its jaws seemed agape in curiosity and fascination, not voraciousness. When it heard the purser shout, it darted aft to investigate--and abruptly found a man in its mouth.
It was taken completely by surprise. Before it could contract its throat muscles, the hapless purser was halfway down. The monster rolled its neck, thrashed and sputtered wildly, then vanished below the bulwarks.
The ship warped down like dropped lead. Falling, William's face struck the gunwale. He felt as if his skull had turned to mush, yet he did not lose consciousness. Instead, a red fog descended before his eyes. Red water rushed up. The largest monster, luridly red, came up full-body upon the Lydia Bailey. It worked its flippers over the ruined main cabin and deckhouse, its massive chest heaving like a building in an earthquake. Its eyes were incarnadine, like the sky.
The whaleboat, loosened from the cables, skittered into the water, the ropes spinning off like red pythons. Stumbling over the holding blocks, William dropped into the boat even as water crashed into the whaling ship's forecastle.
The red ocean swelled up. The Lydia Bailey was going under. If he didn't pay out some distance, the whaleboat would be sucked under with her.
Whaleboats were not made to be rowed by a lone man, but William's thoughts were not clear enough to recognize this as an obstacle. He clamped two oars into a pair of oarlocks. Straddling the centerboard, feet propped against the thwarts, he raised the large oars and rowed with all his might. By the time salt water hit the Lydia Bailey's boilers, he was well away.
His hearing had recovered enough to detect the terrific explosion belowdecks. Looking up, he discovered the world had regained its normal color. But the thing on top of the Lydia Bailey destroyed all sense of reality. Rising like God's own pylon, it literally shoved the whaler underwater. When the second boiler blew, the coal hatch flew up like a rocket and bounced off the creature's head. Loose ratlines coiled around it like a hoary wig.
A hump of water approached the whaleboat. Shipping the oars, William slipped down against a bench and closed his eyes.
There was an ever-so-faint swish, then a bump at the gunwale. A strange tweaky sound came close, then receded--came close again, receded again. Slowly, William opened his eyes.
He thought it was one of the smaller creatures, but at such close proximity it was hard to tell. At three yards away, it was stupendous.
The portal of Hell--only three yards away.
The huge, black, billiard-ball eyes stared at him.
Three yards away.
Yet it seemed disinclined to come closer.
William heard a deep inrush of air and his sticky shirt tugged up a little as if being pulled off. The creature was sniffing him.
It drew back a little, then came forward again. Its jaw unhinged just enough for the boy to glimpse its huge teeth. An odd, fecal stink emerged from lungs that were underwater. William cowered against the far side of the boat, his knees drawn up to his chest.
Yet the beast stopped once more, seemingly unable to come closer. It sniffed, wobbled its head stiffly, pulled back.
It hit William like a blow from an angel: the duff sauce! It couldn't stand the smell of the duff sauce!
Tossing its long neck in revulsion and frustration, the creature announced its annoyance with a
wide yawn.
From the side of its mouth the purser gazed out at William. The boy's laugh became a scream.
The purser's body--the half that was left--was impaled on the serpent's lower jaw, his head jammed neatly between two teeth, chin down, the beard touching black gums. One of the purser's hands was up against his head, palm out. A thin line of human entrails wormed in and out of the creature's rear teeth. What was left of the purser seemed to be marveling at what was gone. His face was covered with viscous fluid from the creature's throat. Before being coughed up and chewed, he had been thoroughly coated. The gleam made it seem he was crying. Or perhaps the tears were real. William met his sweet gape of amazement with scream after scream.
The purser blinked.
Then the creature slipped away.
In the distance, the largest creature swooped and dipped gracefully as a swan through the floating debris as it scooped up floundering seamen. William did not have to watch long to realize he was the last crewman alive.
In turn, the other two creatures closed on the lonely whaleboat. The one with green stripes took one whiff at the boy and flashed the water so hard the boat nearly capsized.
When the largest of the three sculled up, William could see clearly the shallow furrow his harpoon had made. It came so close William could smell its seal-like odor, oily and cold. There were odd patches on the skin similar to the discolorations around hair follicles on some whales.
The boy was so numbed by the approach and reapproach of death that a certain objectivity set in. As the largest of the creatures sniffed one final time, then turned away, William vaguely thought:
Well... I'm still alive….
And I'm hungry.
XII
April - May, 1908 37°49'N, 122°27'W
From the Deck Log of the USS Florida:
Mess Att. S. Thuesen, Oiler C. Waak, 1/c Fireman Newman, C. Yeo Maxwell, Cabin Cook Egan, 2/c Firemen Forrester, Haassengier, Lowman, 1/c Mach. Ohst, 2/c QM Risenberger, Lds Roberts (English), O.S. Ridley, W. O. Cook Smith etc (see attached for complete list) declared deserters; Mast gave Ship's cook 1/c 2 weeks restriction for drunkenness; tours conducted for citizens of S.F.; Lieut. Brian H. Coverlick joined as watch officer; Mast warned 3 seamen for being out of uniform; Ship Surg. lectured on perils of drunkenness and lewd women.
At the Midway Page 15