Chapter 63 - A Story of Adventure on Land and Sea by Mayne Reid
A Harpoon well handled
It was some time before either his breath or the tranquillity of his spirits was restored to the Coromantee.
The sailor was equally suffering from the loss of the former; and both remained for a good many minutes without taking any further steps towards the accomplishment of the design which had brought them on the back of the whale.
As soon, however, as Snowball could find wind enough for a few words, they were uttered in a tone of gratitude,—first to Ben, who had hindered him from sinking down into something worse than a watery grave; and then to little William, who had aided in raising him up from it.
Ben less regarded the old comrade whom he had rescued than the young one who had been instrumental in aiding him.
He stood gazing upon the youth with eyes that expressed a lively satisfaction.
The promptitude and prowess which his protégé had exhibited in the affair was to him a source of the greatest gratification.
Many a boy old as he,—ay, older, thought Ben Brace,—instead of having the sense shown by the lad in promptly running to the rescue, would have remained upon the raft in mute surprise; or, at the best, have evinced his sympathy by a series of unserviceable shouts, or a continued and idle screaming.
Ben did not wish to spoil his protégé by any spoken formula of praise, and therefore he said nothing: though, from his glances directed towards little William, it was easy to see that the bosom of the brave tar was swelling with a fond pride in the youth, for whom he had long felt an affection almost equalling that of a father.
After indulging a short while in the mutual congratulations that naturally follow such a crisis of danger, all three proceeded to the execution of the duty so unexpectedly interrupted.
William had succeeded Snowball in that simple culinary operation which the latter, commanded by his captain, had so suddenly relinquished.
The lad now returned to the raft, partly to complete the process of broiling the fish; but perhaps with a greater desire to tranquillise the fears of Lilly Lalee,—who, ignorant of the exact upshot of what had transpired, was yet in a state of unpleasant agitation.
Ben only waited for the return of his breath; and as soon as that was fairly restored to him, he once more set about the design that had caused him for the second time to climb upon the back of the cachalot.
Taking the harpoon from the hands of the Coromantee,—who still kept clutching it, as if there was danger in letting it go,—the sailor proceeded to draw up the drogue. Assisted by Snowball, he soon raised it out of the water, and hoisted it to the horizontal platform, on which they had placed themselves.
He did not want the block of wood just then,—only the line tied to it; and this having been detached, the drogue was left lying upon the carcass.
Armed with the harpoon, the ci-devant whaleman now took a survey,—not of the land, but of the sea around him.
There was an assemblage of sharks close in to the body of the whale,—at the spot where they had so lately threatened Snowball.
Some of them had since scattered away, with a full consciousness of their disappointment; but the greater number had stayed, as if unsatisfied, or expecting that the banquet that had been so near their noses might be brought back to them.
Ben’s purpose was to harpoon some half-dozen of these ill-featured denizens of the deep, and with their flesh replenish the stores of the Catamaran; for repulsive as the brutes may appear to the eye, and repugnant to the thoughts, they nevertheless,—that is, certain species of them, and certain parts of these species,—afford excellent food: such as an epicure,—to say nothing of a man half-famished,—may eat with sufficient relish.
There could have been no difficulty in destroying any of the sharks so late threatening to swallow Snowball, had the harpooner been able to get within striking distance of them. But the slippery skin of the whale deterred the sailor from trusting himself on that dangerous incline; and he determined, therefore, to try elsewhere.
In the direction of the cachalot’s tail the descent was gradual. Scarcely perceptible was its declination towards the water, upon which lay the two great flukes, slightly sunk below the surface, and extending on each side to a breadth of many yards.
There were several sharks playing around the tail of the cachalot. They might come within the pitch of a harpoon. If not, the old whaleman knew how to attract them within easy reach of that formidable weapon.
Directing Snowball to bring after him some of the pieces of blubber,—which, in cutting out the harpoon, had been detached from the carcass,—Ben proceeded towards the tail. Here and there as he advanced, with the sharp edge of the harpoon blade; he cut out a number of holes in the spongy skin, in order to give both himself and his follower a more sure footing on the slimy surface.
At the point where he intended to take his stand,—close in by the “crutch” of the cachalot’s tail-fin,—he made three excavations with more care. At length, satisfied with his preparations, he stood, with pointed harpoon, waiting for we of the sharks to come within striking distance. They “fought shy” at first; but the old whaleman knew a way of overcoming their shyness. It only required that “chunk” of blubber, held in the hands of Snowball, to be thrown into the water, and simultaneous with the plunge a score of sharks would be seen rushing, open-mouthed, to seize upon it.
This in effect was precisely what transpired.
The blubber was dropped into the sea, close as possible to the carcass of the whale,—the sharks came charging towards it,—nearly twenty of them. The same number, however, did not go back as they had come; for one of them, impaled by the harpoon of Ben Brace, was dragged out of his native element, and hauled up the well-greased incline towards the highest point on the carcass of the cachalot.
There, notwithstanding his struggles and the desperate as well as dangerous fluking of his posterior fins, he was soon despatched by the axe, wielded with all the might and dexterity which the Coromantee could command.
Another shark was “hooked,” and then despatched in a similar fashion; and then another and another, until Ben Brace believed that enough shark-flesh had been obtained to furnish the Catamaran with stores for the most prolonged voyage.
At all events, they would now have food—such as it was—to last as long as the water with which the hand of Providence alone seemed to have provided them.