SHIPS ATTACKED BY WHALES 



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. Eventu- 

 ally, in its final "roll," the Whale raised itself about ten 

 yards from the gun, and the whaler tipping the muzzle down- 

 wards, 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 fif- 

 teen 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 mile goes, what then?" 



"Oh, well," was the imperturbable answer, "then I check 

 line, and we see which is strongest, Whale or rope. Per- 

 haps harpoon draws out." 



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 and 

 raced over the seas at about twelve miles an hour. There 

 was a feeling of intense exhilaration as we rushed north- 

 wards, the spray flying from our bows as the ship leaped 

 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 su- 

 preme moments in an angler's life but that was mere child's 

 play to the intense excitement which we experienced during 

 the next three hours. To be in tow of a wild Whale is some- 

 thing to 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; the men, from 

 the captain to the cook, run to their several tasks with 

 eyes and hearts aflame. This is a calling which will stir the 

 blood of the dullest clod, and to men who are one and all 



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