Whaling for Bread 63 



clamouring for bread. Briefly, small steamers, like 

 the 'jackal' tug-boats of the Thames, of full power 

 and good sea-endurance, are fitted out. In the bows 

 they carry a cannon designed to fire a massive harpoon 

 instead of a shot or shell. To the harpoon is attached 

 a stout rope, far stouter than ordinary whale-line, 

 which is one and a half inches in girth. A powerful 

 steam windlass is fitted in the bows also. When the 

 signal comes from the watchers on the hills that whales 

 are near, the steamer slips her moorings, where she has 

 been lying with banked fires, and puts out to sea, 

 guided by certain flag directions from the headland 

 where the look-out is stationed. Presently coming 

 up with the whale, who is quietly gulping down a 

 multitude of cod and other succulent dainties of a 

 fishy nature, the gun is fired, the great harpoon buries 

 itself in the quivering body of the monster, sometimes 

 indeed with a small bomb in its head. He plunges 

 seaward, dragging the steamer after him and severely 

 testing the value of harpoon and line. But, as a rule, 

 with scarcely any exception, once the harpoon has 

 found its mark the fate of that Rorqual is sealed. The 

 wound is so deep, the strain is so great, that in a short 

 time he succumbs and sinks dead. 



The water is not very deep, so, although he must 

 needs be allowed to sink while he is sinking, he is no 

 sooner at the bottom than the windlass is started and 

 the great body begins to rise again. As soon as it is 

 at the surface, measures are taken to secure it by the 

 head for towing, and off goes the steamer harbourwards, 

 dragging her giant quarry. Arriving at her station, 

 the huge carcase is handed over to eager butchers and 

 boilers, who not only strip off the blubber, rip out the 

 scanty baleen, and tear every vestige of fat from within 

 to swell the tale of oil barrels, but even chop up the 



