METHOD OF WHALE CATCHING. u 3 



cruise not a single fish is caught — a result equally unfortunate 

 for the ship owner and the crew, who look to a share of the 

 profits for their pay. 



How much the whale fishery depends upon chance is shown 

 by the following facts. In the year 1718 the Dutch Greenland 

 fleet, consisting of 108 ships, captured 1291 fish, worth at least 

 <350,00(M., while in the year 1710, 137 ships took no more than 

 62. Various meteorological circumstances — the prevalence of 

 particular winds, the character of the summer or preceding 

 winter — are probably the causes of the extraordinary failure and ' 

 success of the fishery in different years. The Pacific is as fal- 

 lacious as the Arctic seas. Thus Dumont d'Urville met in the 

 Bay of Talcahuano with several whalers, one of whom had 

 rapidly filled half his ship, while the others had cruised more 

 than a year without having harpooned a single fish. In such 

 cases the captains have the greatest trouble in preventing their 

 men from deserting, who, being disappointed in their hopes, 

 naturally enough look out for a better chance elsewhere. 



The method of whale catching has been so often and so 

 minutely described, that it is doubtless familiar to the reader. 

 As soon as a whale is in sight, boats are got out with all speed, 

 and row or sail as silently and quietly as possible towards the 

 monster. One of the crew — the man of unflinching eye and 

 nervous arm — stands upright, harpoon in hand, ready to hurl 

 the murderous spear into the animal's side, as soon as the 

 proper moment shall have come. When struck the whale dives 

 down perpendicularly with fearful velocity, or goes off hori- 

 zontally with lightning Bpeed, at a short distance from the 

 surface, dragging after him the line to which the barbed instru- 

 ment of his agony is fixed. But soon the necessity of respiration 

 forces him to rise again above the waters, when a second 

 harpoon, followed by a third or fourth at every reappearance, 

 plunges into his flank. Maddened with pain and terror, he 

 lashes the crimsoned waters into foam, but all his efforts to cast 

 off the darts that lacerate his flesh are vain, and his gaping 

 wounds, though not " as deep as wells, nor as wide as church- 

 doors," are still large enough to let out sufficient blood even 

 to exhaust a whale. His movements become more and more 

 languid and slow, his gasping and snorting more and more 

 oppressed, a few convulsive heavings agitate the mighty mass. 



