STEEL SHIPS AND HELICOPTERS 1 79 



whale as such had reached the end of its journey. This 

 was the meat plane and no place for the squeamish. 

 Flesh, intestines, heart, liver, everything was separated. 

 The dark figures of the high-booted men moved like an 

 army of ants among the huge, dripping, shapeless masses of 

 red and white. Mechanical saws hummed as they cut 

 through the bones. Winches rattled and white vapour 

 floated like smoke over the scene of a bloody battle. 



The littered pieces that less than an hour ago had been 

 whale No. i were gradually swallowed through the 

 factory's gaping mouths that lay in rows along the deck. 

 Whale No. 2 was a white ghost of its former self and No. 3 

 was on its way up the slip. Twenty whales a day and 

 every one worth an average of £1,500. 



Yes, like all great industries whaling has been mechan- 

 ised. No longer is the whale the enemy as it was in the 

 times of Jonathan and Thomas. It is only the weather 

 that the modern whaleman has to fight; especially in the 

 catchers. 



Carl would sight whales in a flat calm and an hour later 

 would be chasing them in a roaring gale. He would run 

 his ship to the shelter of a berg and curse the wasted days 

 that the catcher lay there waiting for the wind to stop 

 screaming. Sometimes fog would lay a veil over the sea 

 and make it impossible to sight whale, or ice would cover 

 the catcher with a coat of white that jammed the whaling 

 gear. No wonder that men like Carl had to be tough and 

 materialistic. 



Yet in Carl there was also the rare quality of imagin- 

 ation just as there had been in old Svend Foyn. Perhaps 

 it was the blood of Jonathan in his veins. 



One day far out of sight of the Wanderer he pointed his 

 catcher's bows towards a spot where seabirds were wheel- 

 ing over the water. It was a sign that often revealed the 



