by Farley Mowat
By 1905, twelve Norwegian/Newfoundland factories were engaged in the ever-escalating butchery. By 1911, twenty-six were or had been operating in the Gulf of St. Lawrence and along the Atlantic coast from south Labrador to Nova Scotia. The massacre of whales by swarms of killer boats was on a scale that makes the earlier slaughter in the Sea of Whales by Basques, French, and Americans pale before it.
In August of 1905, J.G. Millais, an English naturalist, artist, and self-styled sportsman, was invited to be the guest of the St. Lawrence Whaling Company’s factory on Newfoundland’s Burin Peninsula.
“The hunting steamer was to leave in the evening for a cruise so I made a few preparations and went aboard. The little steamers used in the pursuit of the Rorquals are vessels of about 100 tons burthen and 95 feet in length. They can steam fast—from twelve to fifteen knots—and can turn in their own length. Up in the bows is the heavy swivel gun which has back and front sights. The charge is half a pound of powder. The harpoon is four and a half feet long, furnished with a diamond-shaped head, which flies open when the time-fuse explodes. The main shaft has four iron flukes which are tied with string, and these open and anchor the main shaft in the whale on the explosion. The after part of this iron shaft is divided, and in this opening runs the iron ring to which is attached a strong manilla rope, two or three inches in diameter.
“The crew of the St. Lawrence consisted of—Captain Neilsen, who was also first gunner; a mate, Christian Johanessen; an engineer, and four seamen, each of whom could take any part, from shooting the whales to cooking the dinner. They were all Norwegians, and very cheery, modest fellows. I felt I would like to sail about the world amongst unvisited places, and hunt all kinds of wild beasts, with none but Norwegians as my companions. They are the best of all comrades, always good-natured, loving sport.
“During the night the captain decided to steam right out for the Greenbank [about 120 miles south of St. Lawrence]. The wind had fallen, and I was eating my breakfast and reading Dickens, when at 9 A.M. I heard the engines slow down, and knew that meant whales, so I ran on deck.
“It was a glorious morning, with bright sun and the sea like oil. Far ahead were two spouts of silvery spray, and as we approached I could see they were higher than those of Finbacks.
“‘Yes, those are Blaa-hval’ [Blue Whales], said Johanessen, ‘and we shall kill to-day.’
“We were within three hundred yards of the larger of the two whales when it rolled over, showing its enormous tail, and disappeared for the ‘big’ dive.
“ ‘That’s a ninety-foot bull,’ said the captain, as I stood beside the gun. His eyes glistened as he swayed the swivel to and fro to make sure that the engine of destruction worked well. Both whales were under the sea for a quarter of an hour by my watch, and then burst up about a quarter of a mile ahead, throwing a cloud of spray thirty feet into the air.
“ ‘Full speed ahead and then ‘safte’ ” [slowly], and we ran up to within fifty yards of the rolling slate monsters, which were now travelling fast, though not wild. When a shot seemed imminent they both disappeared from view... The captain and I were gazing fixedly into the green and clear depths when far away down beneath the water I saw a great copper-grey form rising rapidly right underneath the ship. The captain signalled with his hand to the man at the wheel on the bridge, turning the vessel off a point just as the ghostly form of the whale, growing larger and larger every moment until it seemed as big as the ship, burst on the surface beside us, and broke the water within ten yards. In a moment we were drenched in blinding spray as the whale spouted in our faces. I turned my arm to protect my camera and to click the shutter as the captain fired his gun. The latter planted the harpoon fairly in the great creature’s lungs.
“ ‘Fast!’ yelled the cook, who had rushed on deck brandishing a kettle of potatoes in one hand. Crimson flecks of blood floating on the emerald sea alone told us of the success of the shot. There was a lull of silence. Nothing was heard except the flop, flop of the line as it rolled slowly out, and the movement of the men as they ran quietly to their posts beside the steam-winch and the line-coil down below.
“ ‘Was that a death-shot?’ I asked the captain.
“ ‘Don’t know, sir,’ he answered; ‘I think it will run a bit.’
“It was so. The line at first slowly dribbled out, and then it began to go faster and faster, until it rushed from the bow at such speed that I thought it would catch fire.
“ ‘He’s going to travel now,’ said Neilsen, pulling me away from the smoking rope. ‘You must not stand there. If the rope breaks you might get killed.’
“We repaired to the bridge to get a better view.
“ ‘Two lines gone now’ [about 500 yards], said my companion. ‘I fear I hit him too far back.’
“At this moment all eyes were riveted on a great commotion in the sea about 500 yards away. The next instant the whale appeared, rolling and fighting on the surface. It lashed the sea into white spume with its flippers and raised its head frequently right out of the water, opening its immense jaws. The leviathan of the deep was fighting hard with death, but the harpoon had penetrated its vitals, and its struggles only lasted about two minutes. Soon it grew weaker and weaker, until, casting forth a thin spout of red blood, it threw up its tail and sank in one mighty swirl.
“The first operation in raising the dead whale from the bottom is to take in the slack line. This is done by one man mounting the rigging and placing the rope over a strong running pulley, which receives play by means of a powerful spring concealed in the hold of the ship. At first all is easy, and then the line receives a tremendous strain as it lifts the carcase from the depths.
“The winch is set in motion, and with each rise of the ship we notice the ‘give’ of the line and the utility of the spring which prevents the strain being either sudden or excessive.
“For half-an-hour the powerful steam reel goes pounding on until the finer line of the gun rope comes up over the side. Then looking down you see the yellow grey ghost appear far below in the limpid depths. In another moment the mystery has developed into form, and the great Blue Whale comes floating to the surface, with the hilt of the harpoon buried in its side.
“Johanessen now passes a rope over the tail whilst I make some colour sketches and notes immediately after death—an important point for the artist, as whales lose their rich colour very rapidly.
“The rope on the tail is attached to a strong chain which loops round the huge member and fastens it securely to the bows of the ship. The flukes of the tail are now cut off. We decide to look for another whale, so the carcase must be set afloat. To achieve this it is necessary to blow it up with steam. This is effected by driving a sharp hollow spear into the stomach; to this is attached a long rubber hose pipe which connects with the engines of the ship. The whale is then blown up with steam. As soon as a sufficient quantity has entered the iron pipe is withdrawn and the hole plugged with tow.
“A long harpoon, on the top of which floats the Norwegian flag, is now fixed to the carcase, and the floating whale is cut adrift. The ensign can be seen twenty miles away on a fine day.”
Millais also gives us the only contemporary account of the blue whale in life, as well as death, in the eastern approaches to America.
“It is distinguished from other Rorquals by its superior size and rich colour. All the upper part is a rich zinc-blue, the lower a dark blue-gray... in March and April large numbers approach the [southern entrance to the] Gulf of St. Lawrence just keeping outside the drifting ice. Here the main body separates, one gathering going right up the [St. Lawrence] estuary as the ice breaks up, the other turning east along the south coast of Newfoundland.
“The Blue Whale travels in search of food at the rate of about eight miles an hour, but when frightened, travelling, or struck by a harpoon, it can go at twenty knots, a speed which it can maintain for a long period.
In feeding on a bank of ‘kril’, it swims on its side, erects a fin, and gives a sudden movement of ‘full-speed ahead’; at the same moment the vast mouth is opened and slowly closed, encompassing about twenty barrels of shrimps. As the mouth closes the water is forced outwards, and may be seen rushing in a white stream from the sides of the baleen, whilst the food remains resting on the inside of the ‘plates’, to be swallowed at leisure. All the Rorquals feed in this manner, and I have seen a large Finback rolling round and round the steamer, taking in its huge mouthfuls with evident satisfaction, and caring as little for our presence as if we were not there at all—in fact it seemed a miracle that he could avoid striking the vessel with his great jaws.
“The Blue Whale generally remains under water during his great dive, according to my watch, for ten to twenty minutes. On reaching the surface he ‘blows’, sending up a spout of air and steam to a height of from 20 to 30 feet... Then he makes a series of from eight to twelve short dives on the surface, occupying four minutes... It is during the time the whale is making these short dives on the surface that the steam whaler races in and endeavours to get the shot. When struck by the harpoon and its bursting charge, the great Blue Whale often dives at once and sinks to the bottom of the sea. Frequently it rushes off at high speed, and then, coming to the surface, dies after a short ‘flurry’. Sometimes, however, when the whale is hit too far back or near and under the backbone (in which case the bomb does not explode), a long and difficult chase, protracted for hours, ensues. On the whole this is a fairly tame whale, and not considered dangerous, if ordinary precautions are observed. The value is from £100 to £150.
“This species is possessed of greater strength and staying power than any whale, and some exciting experiences have fallen to the lot of the whalers engaged in its chase. The most remarkable and protracted hunt on record was experienced by the steamer Puma in 1903.
“The Puma spied and ‘struck’ a large Blue Whale, six miles from Placentia, at nine o’clock in the morning. The animal immediately became ‘wild’, and it was found impossible to get near enough to fire another harpoon into it, as it came on to blow hard. For the entire day it towed the steamer, with engines at half-speed astern, at a rate of six knots. Towards evening a second rope was made fast to the stern of the vessel and attached to the first line, now ‘out’ one mile. The steamer then turned about and put on full-speed ahead. This seemed to incense the whale, which put forth all its strength, and dragged the whole of the after part of the vessel under water, flooding the after cabin and part of the engine-room. The stern rope was immediately cut with an axe and the danger averted. All through the night the gallant whale dragged the steamer, with the dead weight of two miles of rope, and the engines going half-speed astern, and at 9 A.M. the following morning the monster seemed to be as lively and powerful as ever. At 10 A.M., however, its strength seemed to decrease, and at 11 it was wallowing on the surface, where, at 12.30, it was finally lanced by the captain. This great fight occupied twenty-eight hours, the whale having dragged the steamer a distance of thirty miles to Cape St. Mary.”
Because of its immense size and the consequent amount of oil that could be extracted from it—a large individual could yield as much as 3,000 gallons—the blue was at first the prime quarry of the Norwegians in the Sea of Whales. They went after it with such ferocious competence that even as late as 1905 their fleet had been able to slaughter 265 blues in a single season, but by 1908 a much larger fleet could only find and kill a mere thirty-six. To all intents and purposes, the blue was commercially extinct in the Sea of Whales by then, so the Norwegians began to hunt finners and what remained of the humpbacks. Millais recorded the following poignant vignette of the Norwegian humpback hunt.
“The whales exhibit unusual attachment to their young, and will stand by and endeavour to defend them even if seriously wounded. This affection is reciprocated by the calf... Captain Neilsen was hunting in Hermitage Bay when he came up to a huge cow Humpback and her calf. After getting ‘fast’ to the mother and seeing that she was exhausted Captain Neilsen gave the order to lower away the boat for the purposes of lancing. However when the boat approached the wounded whale, the young one kept moving around the body of the mother and getting between the boat and its prey. Every time the mate endeavoured to lance, the calf intervened and, by holding its tail toward the boat and smashing it down whenever they approached, kept the stabber at bay for half-an-hour. Finally the boat had to be recalled for fear of an accident, and a fresh harpoon was fired into the mother, causing death. The faithful calf now came and lay alongside the body of its dead mother, where it was badly lanced but not killed. Owing to its position it was found impossible to kill it [with a lance] so a harpoon was fired into it.”
With the blue whale almost gone and the humpback close behind it, the fin whale took the brunt of the ongoing destruction. The indefatigable Millais has left us this account of how the finbacks died.
“About six o’clock in the evening we encountered the fringe of the main herd of Finbacks, which were spouting in all directions. We pursued whale after whale, but all seemed wild except one monster which refused to leave the side of the vessel, and in consequence could not be shot at. At last the mate got a shot at 7 P.M., and missed. He was much crestfallen, and retired to the galley to enjoy the healing balm of coffee and potatoes. At 7.30 it was bitterly cold when Captain Stokken again stood beside the gun, and we were in full pursuit of a large female Finback that seemed tamer than the rest. Eventually in its final ‘roll’ the whale raised itself about ten yards from the gun, and the whaler tipping the muzzle downwards fired and struck the quarry under the backbone.
“At first the Finback was rather quiet, and then it began to run, the strong line rushing out at a speed of about 15 knots. When some two miles of rope had gone over the bow I turned to Captain Stokken, and said:
“ ‘How much line have you got?’
“ ‘About three mile,’ was the curt reply.
“ ‘But when that three miles goes, what then?’
“ ‘Oh, well,’ was the imperturbable answer, ‘then I check line, and we see which is strongest, whale or rope.’
“In the course of a minute the captain gave the order to check the line. The strain now became terrific, the two-inch rope straining and groaning as if it would burst. At the same moment the little steamer leaped forward, pulled over the seas at about twelve miles an hour. There was a feeling of intense exhilaration as we rushed northwards, the spray flying from our bows as the ship leapt from crest to crest in the heavy swell. I have enjoyed the rushes of gallant thirty and even forty-pound salmon in heavy water on the Tay, the supreme moments in an angler’s life, but that was mere child’s play to the intense excitement which we now experienced during the next three hours. To be in tow of a wild whale is something to experience and remember to one’s dying day. You feel that you are alive, and that you are there with the sport of kings. No wonder the Norwegians are full of life, and the men, from the captain to the cook, run to their several tasks with eyes and hearts aflame. This is a trade which will stir the blood of the dullest clod, and to men who are one and all the finest seamen in the world, it is the very life and essence of the Viking nature.
“Three hours of this fierce race went on, and the gallant Finback was as fresh as ever when the captain gave the order, ‘Quarter-speed astern’. Another tremendous strain on the rope, the churning of the backward-driving screw, and our speed was at once reduced to 10 knots. It was marvellous the strength of the animal. The minutes and even the hours fled by, still the great cetacean held on its northward course without a check. Three hours went by; then came the order, ‘Half-speed astern’, and we were down to 6 knots, the vessel and the whale still fighting the battle for the mastery. In another hour the whale showed visible signs of weakening, when ‘Full-speed astern’ brought matters to a standstill. The machinery of man and the natural strength of the beast still worried
on for another hour, and then we saw the steamer moving backwards; the whale was done, and could pull no more.
“The rope was then slackened, hoisted on to a ‘giving’ pulley, and then wound on to the powerful steam winch, which, acting like the fisherman’s reel, at once began to ‘take in’. Nothing was heard for another hour but the monotonous throb of the engine, and grind of the winch, until at last on the crest of a wave, about 300 yards to windward, was seen the great Finback, rolling over and over, spouting continuously, but so tired that it was unable to drag or dive.
“The captain now gave the order, ‘Lower away to lance’. There was a fairly heavy sea running, and yet I never saw anything more smartly done than the way in which those Norwegians flung their light ‘pram’ into the water and jumped in from the bulwarks. Other men were ready with the oars, which they handed to the two rowers, whilst the mate seized the long 15-foot ‘killing’ lance, and the small party rowed rapidly away toward the whale.
“Hans Andersen, the mate, stood up in the stern, holding his long lance, as the men rowed slowly up to the leviathan. Then the rowers turned the boat round, and backed it in towards their prey. At times they were lost in the great swell, and then they would appear apparently beside the sea-monster, whose pathetic rolling was at once changed into spasmodic life. The whale, churning the water, now righted itself, and at once turned on its attackers, who retreated at full-speed. Now on one side and now on another, the plucky mate tried to approach and bring off his death-thrust, but all to no avail. Every time the exhausted cetacean had just enough strength left to carry the war into the enemy’s country, and to turn the tables on its opponents. Mist and darkness were rolling up, the sea was rising, and still the duel of attack and defence went on. At last darkness hid the combatants from view, when Stokken turned to me and said: