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FreeThe Right Whale's Flukes
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In the old whaling museum on Johnny Cake Hill, there is a spacious room with a fireplace where whaling captains like to gather on stormy days. When harsh weather keeps him from his rocking chair on the afterdeck of his Fannie, Captain Mark Brackett climbs the hill to the museum and settles into a chair before the fire. From the windows, one can look down a short, steep street to the piers, where great heaps of empty oil casks, brown with years of service, block the way. Tied to the piers, an old square-rigger might sit, her top hamper removed, riding high and curtseying to each gust. Squat little auxiliary schooners prepare for summer cruising off Hatteras, and beyond, the eye reaches across the lovely harbor to Fair Haven, gleaming in the sun.
The old museum is rich with treasures of the sea. In this room, an enormous secretary of mahogany veneer stands against one wall, and in cases around the room are old ship's papers bearing names of presidents a hundred years dead, pie crimpers carved from whale's teeth, a little chest made by a Pitcairn Island mutineer, canes fashioned from shark's backbone or cachalot jawbone, enormous old locks, and careful models of whaling craft with every rope and spar in place. A famous English frigate rests in its glass case at one side.
I found Captain Brackett there one afternoon, in an old chair before the fire, his black pipe humming like a kettle, his stout body relaxed. He had advised me to read "Moby Dick" and had loaned me the book. When I entered, he looked up with a welcoming twinkle in his keen old eyes, set deep in leathery wrinkles, and saw the book in my hand.
"Read it?" he asked, between puffs.
"End to end," I assured him.
"A great book. A classic, I say."
I nodded, drew up a chair, and opened the volume to glance again across its pages. The old man watched me over his pipe. I looked up and caught his eye.
"He's stretching it a bit, of course," I suggested. "You would never meet the same whale twice in all the wastes of the Seven Seas."
The captain's eyes gleamed faintly. "Why not?" he asked.
"It's too much of a coincidence."
"It happens."
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-68b7dda67f134d30aa840e55931ef61d
# book_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# chapter_id: 1-the-right-whale-s-flukes
# chapter_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# book_page: 1 / 13
# chapter_page: 1
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
In the old whaling museum on Johnny Cake Hill, there is a spacious room with a fireplace where whaling captains like to gather on stormy days. When harsh weather keeps him from his rocking chair on the afterdeck of his Fannie, Captain Mark Brackett climbs the hill to the museum and settles into a chair before the fire. From the windows, one can look down a short, steep street to the piers, where great heaps of empty oil casks, brown with years of service, block the way. Tied to the piers, an old square-rigger might sit, her top hamper removed, riding high and curtseying to each gust. Squat little auxiliary schooners prepare for summer cruising off Hatteras, and beyond, the eye reaches across the lovely harbor to Fair Haven, gleaming in the sun.
The old museum is rich with treasures of the sea. In this room, an enormous secretary of mahogany veneer stands against one wall, and in cases around the room are old ship's papers bearing names of presidents a hundred years dead, pie crimpers carved from whale's teeth, a little chest made by a Pitcairn Island mutineer, canes fashioned from shark's backbone or cachalot jawbone, enormous old locks, and careful models of whaling craft with every rope and spar in place. A famous English frigate rests in its glass case at one side.
I found Captain Brackett there one afternoon, in an old chair before the fire, his black pipe humming like a kettle, his stout body relaxed. He had advised me to read "Moby Dick" and had loaned me the book. When I entered, he looked up with a welcoming twinkle in his keen old eyes, set deep in leathery wrinkles, and saw the book in my hand.
"Read it?" he asked, between puffs.
"End to end," I assured him.
"A great book. A classic, I say."
I nodded, drew up a chair, and opened the volume to glance again across its pages. The old man watched me over his pipe. I looked up and caught his eye.
"He's stretching it a bit, of course," I suggested. "You would never meet the same whale twice in all the wastes of the Seven Seas."
The captain's eyes gleamed faintly. "Why not?" he asked.
"It's too much of a coincidence."
"It happens."One certain method to provoke Captain Brackett to narration is to pretend incredulity. I smiled warily and said nothing.
"There was one whale I saw four times myself," he asserted.
"How do you know it was the same?"
"He was marked... And the hand of Fate was in it, too."
I turned the leaves of the book and chuckled provokingly, watching covertly the captain's countenance. As I expected, he began presently to tell the story that was in his mind. His gruff old voice ran quietly along; the fire puffed and flared as the wind whistled down the chimney, snow flurried past the windows and hid the harbor below. Captain Brackett's voice droned on.
"You never heard of Eric Scarf," the old man began thoughtfully. "Not more than three or four men alive now that knew him.
He was mate of the Thomas Pownal when I knew him; a big, straight, fiery man, powerful and strong. He came of some Northland breed, with a great shock of yellow hair and eyes as blue as the sea; but he was not like most Norsemen in being slow of speech and dull of wit. Quick he was; quick to speak, quick to think, quick to act; quick to anger, quick to take hurt, and quick to know Joan for the one woman when she began that voyage on the Thomas Pownal.
"James Tobbey was the captain of the Pownal; Joan was his daughter. She was a laughing girl, always laughing; a child. Her hair was fine-spun and golden, and it curled. When the fog got into it, it kinked into ringlets as crisp as blubber scraps. You wanted to rub them in your hands and hear them crinkle between your palms. And her voice, when she laughed, was crisp and clean and strong; and her eyes were brown. Give a girl light curly hair and dark brown eyes, and any man's heart will skip a beat or so at seeing her.
"She used to be everywhere about the ship, always laughing, and little Jem Marvel forever hobbling at her heels. Jem was a child, a little crippled child, the son of a sister of Joan's who had died when Jem was born; and Jem's father was dead before that, though no one knew it until the Andrew Thomes came back without him two years after.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-68b7dda67f134d30aa840e55931ef61d
# book_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# chapter_id: 1-the-right-whale-s-flukes
# chapter_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# book_page: 2 / 13
# chapter_page: 2
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
One certain method to provoke Captain Brackett to narration is to pretend incredulity. I smiled warily and said nothing.
"There was one whale I saw four times myself," he asserted.
"How do you know it was the same?"
"He was marked... And the hand of Fate was in it, too."
I turned the leaves of the book and chuckled provokingly, watching covertly the captain's countenance. As I expected, he began presently to tell the story that was in his mind. His gruff old voice ran quietly along; the fire puffed and flared as the wind whistled down the chimney, snow flurried past the windows and hid the harbor below. Captain Brackett's voice droned on.
"You never heard of Eric Scarf," the old man began thoughtfully. "Not more than three or four men alive now that knew him.
He was mate of the Thomas Pownal when I knew him; a big, straight, fiery man, powerful and strong. He came of some Northland breed, with a great shock of yellow hair and eyes as blue as the sea; but he was not like most Norsemen in being slow of speech and dull of wit. Quick he was; quick to speak, quick to think, quick to act; quick to anger, quick to take hurt, and quick to know Joan for the one woman when she began that voyage on the Thomas Pownal.
"James Tobbey was the captain of the Pownal; Joan was his daughter. She was a laughing girl, always laughing; a child. Her hair was fine-spun and golden, and it curled. When the fog got into it, it kinked into ringlets as crisp as blubber scraps. You wanted to rub them in your hands and hear them crinkle between your palms. And her voice, when she laughed, was crisp and clean and strong; and her eyes were brown. Give a girl light curly hair and dark brown eyes, and any man's heart will skip a beat or so at seeing her.
"She used to be everywhere about the ship, always laughing, and little Jem Marvel forever hobbling at her heels. Jem was a child, a little crippled child, the son of a sister of Joan's who had died when Jem was born; and Jem's father was dead before that, though no one knew it until the Andrew Thomes came back without him two years after."Thomes had been a hard, bitter man, and little Jem took after him. The child was black—black hair, black eyes, swarthy skin; and when he dragged his withered leg about the deck at Joan's heels, his face worked with a spleen terrible to watch. He was maybe six or seven then; and for all Joan tended him like a mother, I've known him to rip out black oaths that would rot a grown man's lips.
"Captain Tobbey kept his eyes away from the boy; but Joan loved the little thing. None but her could bear with him.
"Eric Scarf was the only man aboard that ever tried to win the child. I've seen him work for weeks at some gadget he was making for the boy, only to have Jem scorn it when it was done. He put six months of whittling into a little model of the Pownal, with every rope in place; and when he gave it to Jem at last, the boy smashed it on the deck and stamped upon the splinters.
"Eric only laughed. The mate was a hard man with men, quick with them; but with the child he was as gentle as Joan herself.
"He loved Joan. I loved Joan. Every man aboard the Pownal loved the girl; but Eric more than most of us. He sought ways to please her, and when he bungled, it was a fight to hide his grief. One of the greenhands, when the Pownal was only a few days out, bumped against the girl in the waist of the ship at the lurch of a wave; and Eric knocked the man halfway to the forecastle scuttle with one cuff. But while the greenie was scrambling to his feet, nursing his mouth with one tooth gone, Joan flamed at Eric.
"'Why was that?' she demanded, her voice steady and hot.
"'He bumped you!' Eric told her.
"'I did not complain. Only a coward hits men who cannot hit back.'
"Eric's face crimsoned; he whirled to the man. 'Here,' he shouted. 'Forget I'm the mate. Do you want the chance to get even?'
The man stared affrightedly, then ducked down the scuttle like a rabbit, with Eric glaring after him. But when Eric turned, Joan had gone aft without another word, and he was left to grope for understanding of her.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-68b7dda67f134d30aa840e55931ef61d
# book_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# chapter_id: 1-the-right-whale-s-flukes
# chapter_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# book_page: 3 / 13
# chapter_page: 3
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"Thomes had been a hard, bitter man, and little Jem took after him. The child was black—black hair, black eyes, swarthy skin; and when he dragged his withered leg about the deck at Joan's heels, his face worked with a spleen terrible to watch. He was maybe six or seven then; and for all Joan tended him like a mother, I've known him to rip out black oaths that would rot a grown man's lips.
"Captain Tobbey kept his eyes away from the boy; but Joan loved the little thing. None but her could bear with him.
"Eric Scarf was the only man aboard that ever tried to win the child. I've seen him work for weeks at some gadget he was making for the boy, only to have Jem scorn it when it was done. He put six months of whittling into a little model of the Pownal, with every rope in place; and when he gave it to Jem at last, the boy smashed it on the deck and stamped upon the splinters.
"Eric only laughed. The mate was a hard man with men, quick with them; but with the child he was as gentle as Joan herself.
"He loved Joan. I loved Joan. Every man aboard the Pownal loved the girl; but Eric more than most of us. He sought ways to please her, and when he bungled, it was a fight to hide his grief. One of the greenhands, when the Pownal was only a few days out, bumped against the girl in the waist of the ship at the lurch of a wave; and Eric knocked the man halfway to the forecastle scuttle with one cuff. But while the greenie was scrambling to his feet, nursing his mouth with one tooth gone, Joan flamed at Eric.
"'Why was that?' she demanded, her voice steady and hot.
"'He bumped you!' Eric told her.
"'I did not complain. Only a coward hits men who cannot hit back.'
"Eric's face crimsoned; he whirled to the man. 'Here,' he shouted. 'Forget I'm the mate. Do you want the chance to get even?'
The man stared affrightedly, then ducked down the scuttle like a rabbit, with Eric glaring after him. But when Eric turned, Joan had gone aft without another word, and he was left to grope for understanding of her."Scarf was the strongest, quickest man I ever saw. He was tall and powerful, built slim and flat like a whalebone spring. He was boiling with his own strength all the time. He suffered for a vent for it; and he trod the deck on his toes like a tiger, his fists swinging, not from any lust for battle so much as from the excess of his own power and vigor.
"I've seen him set his hands to tackle, brush the foremast hands aside, and do three men's work himself for the peace and joy it gave him to put forth all his strength for a space; his shoulders and back and arms would knot and swell with his efforts, and his lungs would shout with gladness at the task.
"Eric was never still. On deck, where others would lean against the rail with an eye to the ship and their thoughts off across the water, he was always moving, pacing up and down, climbing into the rigging, shifting this and stirring that, restless like a caged beast. Something drove him. He could not rest. The springs of life and energy in the man would have torn him to bits if you had held him motionless for an hour. He had to move, to act, to do; and when he buffeted the men, it was neither native cruelty nor bullying. It was but the outburst of his own impatient, restless power.
"It was a strange thing to see such a man gentling little Jem Marvel, or wooing the boy to a romp about the deck; and it was strange to see Scarf stand near Joan, watching her, the muscles in him twitching with the agony of inaction. Eric worshipped Joan; and she bewildered him. He used to plan little pleasant surprises for her, and watch her joy and take his reward in watching. He never spoke love to her, never so much as touched her hand unless to help her along the deck when the ship was wallowing; and when the things he planned failed to delight her, a man watching could see his very soul writhing.
"I said Scarf was quick, quick of thought and deed. But where Joan was concerned, he was very dull and slow. He never could learn, try as he would, to please her; and his own impotence and his strength combined to drive him to feats which he meant for wooing but which the girl abhorred.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-68b7dda67f134d30aa840e55931ef61d
# book_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# chapter_id: 1-the-right-whale-s-flukes
# chapter_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# book_page: 4 / 13
# chapter_page: 4
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"Scarf was the strongest, quickest man I ever saw. He was tall and powerful, built slim and flat like a whalebone spring. He was boiling with his own strength all the time. He suffered for a vent for it; and he trod the deck on his toes like a tiger, his fists swinging, not from any lust for battle so much as from the excess of his own power and vigor.
"I've seen him set his hands to tackle, brush the foremast hands aside, and do three men's work himself for the peace and joy it gave him to put forth all his strength for a space; his shoulders and back and arms would knot and swell with his efforts, and his lungs would shout with gladness at the task.
"Eric was never still. On deck, where others would lean against the rail with an eye to the ship and their thoughts off across the water, he was always moving, pacing up and down, climbing into the rigging, shifting this and stirring that, restless like a caged beast. Something drove him. He could not rest. The springs of life and energy in the man would have torn him to bits if you had held him motionless for an hour. He had to move, to act, to do; and when he buffeted the men, it was neither native cruelty nor bullying. It was but the outburst of his own impatient, restless power.
"It was a strange thing to see such a man gentling little Jem Marvel, or wooing the boy to a romp about the deck; and it was strange to see Scarf stand near Joan, watching her, the muscles in him twitching with the agony of inaction. Eric worshipped Joan; and she bewildered him. He used to plan little pleasant surprises for her, and watch her joy and take his reward in watching. He never spoke love to her, never so much as touched her hand unless to help her along the deck when the ship was wallowing; and when the things he planned failed to delight her, a man watching could see his very soul writhing.
"I said Scarf was quick, quick of thought and deed. But where Joan was concerned, he was very dull and slow. He never could learn, try as he would, to please her; and his own impotence and his strength combined to drive him to feats which he meant for wooing but which the girl abhorred."He trapped a little sea bird once, made a tiny cage for it, and left it for her to find. When the girl discovered it, she cried out with pity for the captive, ran on deck with the cage, and set the little creature free. Eric Scarf saw her, and she knew it was he who had done it, and pitied him.
"'I'm really grateful,' she said, smiling very gently at the big man, 'but he is so unhappy in a cage.'
"Eric tried to speak, and saw one of the men by the tryworks grinning at him; so he went forward and drove the man with blows to the knight's heads, and Joan scorned him for days thereafter.
"I've seen a cock partridge ruffle his feathers and beat and drum with his wings, all glory and strength and vigor in his wooing; and no doubt the hen liked it. But if the partridge had tried such measures in the courting of a singing thrush, he would only have frightened and dismayed her. It was so with Eric.
His courting would have pleased some women; Joan it but disgusted and disturbed.
"Eric Scarf and I were closer friends than you would think; and I knew the big, strong man to be as shy and as easy to take hurt as a child. But it was his way when he was hurt or shamed to strike out at the nearest, and so to those without understanding he seemed a mere bully, cruel and exultant in his strength.
"Lucky for us on the Pownal, Scarf delighted in the whaling. There was no other task in the world so fitted to the man. So strong he was that nothing short of a whale could give him the fierce joy of battle which soothed him. He drove his men as he drove himself, and they either broke under it or became hard-bitten and enduring hands. His boat was always first away; and he would strike and kill one whale and then another while other officers were content with a single catch. I've known him to do what few attempt: to lower at night when moonlight revealed a spout, make his kill, and tow the fish to the ship by dawn. Captain Tobbey never interfered with Eric, for the mate was too valuable; and when the mate's watch was on deck, he would lower and kill without ever calling the Old Man from his cabin.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-68b7dda67f134d30aa840e55931ef61d
# book_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# chapter_id: 1-the-right-whale-s-flukes
# chapter_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# book_page: 5 / 13
# chapter_page: 5
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"He trapped a little sea bird once, made a tiny cage for it, and left it for her to find. When the girl discovered it, she cried out with pity for the captive, ran on deck with the cage, and set the little creature free. Eric Scarf saw her, and she knew it was he who had done it, and pitied him.
"'I'm really grateful,' she said, smiling very gently at the big man, 'but he is so unhappy in a cage.'
"Eric tried to speak, and saw one of the men by the tryworks grinning at him; so he went forward and drove the man with blows to the knight's heads, and Joan scorned him for days thereafter.
"I've seen a cock partridge ruffle his feathers and beat and drum with his wings, all glory and strength and vigor in his wooing; and no doubt the hen liked it. But if the partridge had tried such measures in the courting of a singing thrush, he would only have frightened and dismayed her. It was so with Eric.
His courting would have pleased some women; Joan it but disgusted and disturbed.
"Eric Scarf and I were closer friends than you would think; and I knew the big, strong man to be as shy and as easy to take hurt as a child. But it was his way when he was hurt or shamed to strike out at the nearest, and so to those without understanding he seemed a mere bully, cruel and exultant in his strength.
"Lucky for us on the Pownal, Scarf delighted in the whaling. There was no other task in the world so fitted to the man. So strong he was that nothing short of a whale could give him the fierce joy of battle which soothed him. He drove his men as he drove himself, and they either broke under it or became hard-bitten and enduring hands. His boat was always first away; and he would strike and kill one whale and then another while other officers were content with a single catch. I've known him to do what few attempt: to lower at night when moonlight revealed a spout, make his kill, and tow the fish to the ship by dawn. Captain Tobbey never interfered with Eric, for the mate was too valuable; and when the mate's watch was on deck, he would lower and kill without ever calling the Old Man from his cabin."I had heard of Scarf before this voyage, but never watched him work before; and many a time I found myself biting my lip and holding my breath at the daring of him. In any weather short of a gale, he would lower; and once two boats were swamped in lowering before he took the third mate's and got away—and got the whale.
"With such an officer, and decent luck, a quick voyage was sure; and so it was this time. Before we'd been out two years, the casks were filled, oil was stored in everything that would hold it, and the Old Man gave the word to fly the Blue Peter and put for home. We threw the bricks of the tryworks overboard to lighten ship, struck across the South Pacific, fought our way around the Horn, and took a long slant northward toward Tristan.
"There was no place to store more oil if we had it, and we could not try out if we had the blubber; so, though we sighted fish now and then, we let them go—though I could see Eric fretting at it, wishing the ship empty again.
"For months now, Eric had been wooing Joan in his own wild, longing way; but the girl would have none of him. He must have known it, and he bridled his tongue as he could. But the word was bound to come some day; and it came at last when we were rocking in a calm, with an island two or three miles to starboard, and the sun hissing on a sea that sighed and swelled like the bosom of a sleeping woman whose dreams are troubled.
"The ship was idle, the men squatting forward in what shade they could find, and the rigging slatting back and forth as the Pownal rocked on the long swells. Eric had the deck, the Old Man was asleep below, and Joan and the boy Jem sat aft, the girl sewing at something she held in her lap.
"Scarf, with nothing to do, fretted and paced about, his eyes never leaving her, worship in them that all could see. The afternoon droned away; the Pownal creaked and swung in the cradle of the sea; the sun burned down endlessly. Scarf could not bear it. He strode across to where the girl sat. She looked up, saw the look in his eyes, and rose quickly to face him, her face setting hard.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-68b7dda67f134d30aa840e55931ef61d
# book_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# chapter_id: 1-the-right-whale-s-flukes
# chapter_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# book_page: 6 / 13
# chapter_page: 6
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"I had heard of Scarf before this voyage, but never watched him work before; and many a time I found myself biting my lip and holding my breath at the daring of him. In any weather short of a gale, he would lower; and once two boats were swamped in lowering before he took the third mate's and got away—and got the whale.
"With such an officer, and decent luck, a quick voyage was sure; and so it was this time. Before we'd been out two years, the casks were filled, oil was stored in everything that would hold it, and the Old Man gave the word to fly the Blue Peter and put for home. We threw the bricks of the tryworks overboard to lighten ship, struck across the South Pacific, fought our way around the Horn, and took a long slant northward toward Tristan.
"There was no place to store more oil if we had it, and we could not try out if we had the blubber; so, though we sighted fish now and then, we let them go—though I could see Eric fretting at it, wishing the ship empty again.
"For months now, Eric had been wooing Joan in his own wild, longing way; but the girl would have none of him. He must have known it, and he bridled his tongue as he could. But the word was bound to come some day; and it came at last when we were rocking in a calm, with an island two or three miles to starboard, and the sun hissing on a sea that sighed and swelled like the bosom of a sleeping woman whose dreams are troubled.
"The ship was idle, the men squatting forward in what shade they could find, and the rigging slatting back and forth as the Pownal rocked on the long swells. Eric had the deck, the Old Man was asleep below, and Joan and the boy Jem sat aft, the girl sewing at something she held in her lap.
"Scarf, with nothing to do, fretted and paced about, his eyes never leaving her, worship in them that all could see. The afternoon droned away; the Pownal creaked and swung in the cradle of the sea; the sun burned down endlessly. Scarf could not bear it. He strode across to where the girl sat. She looked up, saw the look in his eyes, and rose quickly to face him, her face setting hard."Eric must have seen, but he blundered blindly on. The words came awkwardly. He lifted no hand to touch her. 'I love you. I love you,' he said in a dry, husky voice. 'I love you. I want you to marry me.'
"Black little Jem looked up at them and, with the quick perception of the child, grinned malignantly. Joan's face turned white beneath the soft bronze of her cheeks. She could not help pitying the big man, but she could not love him.
"'I'm sorry, Eric,' she said. 'I do not love you.'
"'I love you,' he repeated, as though it were an argument.
"'I'm sorry,' she told him again. 'I don't want to hurt you. But I don't love you.'
"His eyes quivered like raw flesh, but he stood impassively, staring down into her eyes, searching for something he would never find. Little Jem chuckled, and the sound broke the spell. Eric turned rigidly away; and as always when his heart was torn, his great body clamored for action. His fingers bit at his palms.
"And then one of the boat steerers uttered a low ejaculation; Eric turned and saw the man pointing toward the shore, where a misty spout was dissolving against the dark cliffs.
"It was the vent Eric wanted for the torment tearing him. Without a word, he leaped to his boat; his men, well trained, came tumbling at his heels. In a minute, Eric had caught up some gear and gave the order to lower.
"Joan came softly to him. 'You are not going to kill the whale, are you?' she asked. 'We have no need for it.'
"Eric did not hear her; the boat split the water, and he dropped with his men and was away. Joan, her eyes burning, watched him go; she brought the glass to see what was to come.
"The whale inshore lay quietly, but Eric sent the boat along as though his life hung on success. He drove the men till the oars bent; he drove them and himself; and they ran fair upon the creature before they realized their speed. Then, at Eric's cry, the boat steerer in the bow leaped up and drove the harpoons home, and the boat sheered off while Eric changed places.
"They had struck a cow whale, a right whale, with a calf not a week old tucked under her fin; the little thing lay there, lifting its tiny spout against its mother's side, its fins feebly fanning.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-68b7dda67f134d30aa840e55931ef61d
# book_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# chapter_id: 1-the-right-whale-s-flukes
# chapter_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# book_page: 7 / 13
# chapter_page: 7
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"Eric must have seen, but he blundered blindly on. The words came awkwardly. He lifted no hand to touch her. 'I love you. I love you,' he said in a dry, husky voice. 'I love you. I want you to marry me.'
"Black little Jem looked up at them and, with the quick perception of the child, grinned malignantly. Joan's face turned white beneath the soft bronze of her cheeks. She could not help pitying the big man, but she could not love him.
"'I'm sorry, Eric,' she said. 'I do not love you.'
"'I love you,' he repeated, as though it were an argument.
"'I'm sorry,' she told him again. 'I don't want to hurt you. But I don't love you.'
"His eyes quivered like raw flesh, but he stood impassively, staring down into her eyes, searching for something he would never find. Little Jem chuckled, and the sound broke the spell. Eric turned rigidly away; and as always when his heart was torn, his great body clamored for action. His fingers bit at his palms.
"And then one of the boat steerers uttered a low ejaculation; Eric turned and saw the man pointing toward the shore, where a misty spout was dissolving against the dark cliffs.
"It was the vent Eric wanted for the torment tearing him. Without a word, he leaped to his boat; his men, well trained, came tumbling at his heels. In a minute, Eric had caught up some gear and gave the order to lower.
"Joan came softly to him. 'You are not going to kill the whale, are you?' she asked. 'We have no need for it.'
"Eric did not hear her; the boat split the water, and he dropped with his men and was away. Joan, her eyes burning, watched him go; she brought the glass to see what was to come.
"The whale inshore lay quietly, but Eric sent the boat along as though his life hung on success. He drove the men till the oars bent; he drove them and himself; and they ran fair upon the creature before they realized their speed. Then, at Eric's cry, the boat steerer in the bow leaped up and drove the harpoons home, and the boat sheered off while Eric changed places.
"They had struck a cow whale, a right whale, with a calf not a week old tucked under her fin; the little thing lay there, lifting its tiny spout against its mother's side, its fins feebly fanning."A cow whale is the easiest of game; and there is no sentiment in the whaling ships. If the Pownal had been empty, she would have been clear gain. With the Pownal full to brimming, this was mere murderous slaughter.
"When Eric saw he was cheated of the battle he craved, fury seized him. He shouted hoarsely to his boat steerer, and the man swung them in alongside. The great mother had not stirred save for a trembling shudder when the irons seized her. The calf was fighting to escape, but the mother's great fin pinioned it against her side, soothingly, as though she promised it safety.
"Eric lifted his lance and pierced the mother, driving the steel six feet into the great body; he withdrew it and prodded the vitals again and again, with desperate energy.
"It was like piercing butter with a hatpin; and the dull acquiescence only whetted Eric's rage. When at last the great flukes lifted once, his heart leaped with hope of struggle; but agony had lifted the flukes, and the bursting heart of the mother brought them gently down, never disturbing the little creature at her side.
"She died; a thrust killed the calf. The boat sheered out; then the boat steerer shouted a warning.
"Eric whirled and saw a great bull whale emerging from the depths, heading furiously for them.
"I do not say it was the dead cow's mate; it need not be. I do not say the bull attacked deliberately; he was badly frightened, running blindly. But whatever the explanation, he charged; and Eric shouted triumphantly at thought of the adversary he desired.
The boat steerer swung the boat to meet the onrush; Eric snatched a harpoon. They swerved aside. As the bull roared past in a smother of foam, Eric sent the harpoon home.
"But next instant the smashing flukes struck them, driving away the boat's bottom.
Eric chopped the loose line in time to save them; in seconds they were in the water, the boat beneath them.
The bull charged on and disappeared. I lowered and went after the men, and got them aboard. Eric was reacting from his fury, shamed at what he had done; he looked back to the cow's body, about which sharks were already fighting.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-68b7dda67f134d30aa840e55931ef61d
# book_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# chapter_id: 1-the-right-whale-s-flukes
# chapter_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# book_page: 8 / 13
# chapter_page: 8
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"A cow whale is the easiest of game; and there is no sentiment in the whaling ships. If the Pownal had been empty, she would have been clear gain. With the Pownal full to brimming, this was mere murderous slaughter.
"When Eric saw he was cheated of the battle he craved, fury seized him. He shouted hoarsely to his boat steerer, and the man swung them in alongside. The great mother had not stirred save for a trembling shudder when the irons seized her. The calf was fighting to escape, but the mother's great fin pinioned it against her side, soothingly, as though she promised it safety.
"Eric lifted his lance and pierced the mother, driving the steel six feet into the great body; he withdrew it and prodded the vitals again and again, with desperate energy.
"It was like piercing butter with a hatpin; and the dull acquiescence only whetted Eric's rage. When at last the great flukes lifted once, his heart leaped with hope of struggle; but agony had lifted the flukes, and the bursting heart of the mother brought them gently down, never disturbing the little creature at her side.
"She died; a thrust killed the calf. The boat sheered out; then the boat steerer shouted a warning.
"Eric whirled and saw a great bull whale emerging from the depths, heading furiously for them.
"I do not say it was the dead cow's mate; it need not be. I do not say the bull attacked deliberately; he was badly frightened, running blindly. But whatever the explanation, he charged; and Eric shouted triumphantly at thought of the adversary he desired.
The boat steerer swung the boat to meet the onrush; Eric snatched a harpoon. They swerved aside. As the bull roared past in a smother of foam, Eric sent the harpoon home.
"But next instant the smashing flukes struck them, driving away the boat's bottom.
Eric chopped the loose line in time to save them; in seconds they were in the water, the boat beneath them.
The bull charged on and disappeared. I lowered and went after the men, and got them aboard. Eric was reacting from his fury, shamed at what he had done; he looked back to the cow's body, about which sharks were already fighting.The men talked. 'Did ye see the cross on the bull's head?' the tub oarsman asked; the steerer assented—'A white scar in the blubber.' Eric looked at me quietly: 'The old bull was marked.'
"When we were all aboard and Eric had changed, Joan came up. Her eyes blazed; little Jem chuckled blackly at her heels.
"'That was murder,' she said, trembling.
"Eric flushed, bowed his head.
"'A cow and a calf—killed uselessly!' Joan exclaimed.
The big man, uneasy, saw little Jem beside him; he turned, caught the boy under his arms, and swung him high. 'Up you go!' he cried, trying to laugh, to divert her scorn. But the malignant spirit of Jem converted it to tragedy. The child screamed, kicked down at Eric's upturned face.
"Eric, standing a yard from the rail, lost balance, staggered back, and before I could stir, with the boy above his head, he fell overboard.
"Joan screamed; we leaped to the rail. I reached for rope. The two sank; in the second we waited, a sinister shadow shot along the ship's side, a flash of silver-white belly, and Joan screamed again.
The water turned crimson; Eric came to the surface with empty hands. He dove instantly, furiously. I got a boat into the water. Eric broke to the surface, convulsed with anguish; two of us grabbed him and dragged him, fighting, into the boat.
"'Let go, let go,' he screamed, striking at us. 'Let me go. I can get him.'
"He was mad; we caught him, and he broke down, sobbing, in the boat. His arm was rasped raw by the shark's rough skin.
"Joan met him like a fury when he stepped on deck; I thought she would strike him. He stood drooping and crushed. The girl caught herself, but said softly: 'Thrice murderer! A mother and child—and now my baby! Oh curse you, curse you! May you be always accursed until you die!'
"She turned away; Eric drooped sick and weak until I dragged him below to tend his arm."
The old man paused and stared into the fire. When I waited fruitlessly, I asked, "Is that all?"
He looked up. "No, that is not all."
I prompted him. "You said the whale was seen four times."
He nodded and drifted into his story again. "Aye, four times. I've but told the first."
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-68b7dda67f134d30aa840e55931ef61d
# book_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# chapter_id: 1-the-right-whale-s-flukes
# chapter_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# book_page: 9 / 13
# chapter_page: 9
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
The men talked. 'Did ye see the cross on the bull's head?' the tub oarsman asked; the steerer assented—'A white scar in the blubber.' Eric looked at me quietly: 'The old bull was marked.'
"When we were all aboard and Eric had changed, Joan came up. Her eyes blazed; little Jem chuckled blackly at her heels.
"'That was murder,' she said, trembling.
"Eric flushed, bowed his head.
"'A cow and a calf—killed uselessly!' Joan exclaimed.
The big man, uneasy, saw little Jem beside him; he turned, caught the boy under his arms, and swung him high. 'Up you go!' he cried, trying to laugh, to divert her scorn. But the malignant spirit of Jem converted it to tragedy. The child screamed, kicked down at Eric's upturned face.
"Eric, standing a yard from the rail, lost balance, staggered back, and before I could stir, with the boy above his head, he fell overboard.
"Joan screamed; we leaped to the rail. I reached for rope. The two sank; in the second we waited, a sinister shadow shot along the ship's side, a flash of silver-white belly, and Joan screamed again.
The water turned crimson; Eric came to the surface with empty hands. He dove instantly, furiously. I got a boat into the water. Eric broke to the surface, convulsed with anguish; two of us grabbed him and dragged him, fighting, into the boat.
"'Let go, let go,' he screamed, striking at us. 'Let me go. I can get him.'
"He was mad; we caught him, and he broke down, sobbing, in the boat. His arm was rasped raw by the shark's rough skin.
"Joan met him like a fury when he stepped on deck; I thought she would strike him. He stood drooping and crushed. The girl caught herself, but said softly: 'Thrice murderer! A mother and child—and now my baby! Oh curse you, curse you! May you be always accursed until you die!'
"She turned away; Eric drooped sick and weak until I dragged him below to tend his arm."
The old man paused and stared into the fire. When I waited fruitlessly, I asked, "Is that all?"
He looked up. "No, that is not all."
I prompted him. "You said the whale was seen four times."
He nodded and drifted into his story again. "Aye, four times. I've but told the first."He puffed silently, shifted his bulk, rose to look out the window, and returned.
"Joan kept to her cabin much from that day. Eric did his tasks and held aloof. We came smoothly northward and were at our pier. Eric slowly recovered; though he avoided the girl, he kept a steady face to the men and drove them as always.
"Captain Tobbey was a quiet, stern man, but just. He blamed Eric for taking out the boat, but knew it was an accident of Fate. When the next cruise came, Eric shipped as mate, and I second mate again.
"This time Joan stayed behind. She told me she had had enough of the sea; from a girl she had become a woman. Lovely as ever, yet with a new depth; at times her eyes shrank as though gazing on tragedy.
"On the pier the day we sailed, I saw Eric watching her with hopeless longing.
"There was a shadow over Eric from the beginning of that cruise. Any man could see it. Outwardly he was the same, strong and quick, alive; he trod lightly, moved with quick precision, plunged into work that would have worn another man to threads.
"Some of our old crew were aboard, so his story was no secret. He seemed to find joy in toil that let him forget; his eyes brightened as we drove southward.
"There is much superstition at sea, but it is never allowed to interfere with work. The men kept their wishes to themselves, reluctant to serve in his boat but hiding it, for Eric was quick with his fists. He strode fearlessly, and none laid hand on him.
The sea is grim and inscrutable. Calm seas seem more menacing than storms, like a smiling mask hiding blows. As we sailed over smooth seas, I felt unrest. I watched the sea and watched Eric, wondering what threatened him.
"If Eric felt uneasiness, he gave no sign at first. But the day came when we got a hint.
"We sighted whales; boats lowered for a pod to the south. Eric got fast, and the third mate also. But my whale took alarm and fled. Yet we had time to see on its head a dull scar in the form of a cross. I heard a cry from Eric's boat and saw him staring after the bull.
"I remembered the men's talk. Aboard again, Eric came to me: 'Mark, was there a cross on the bull that got away?'
"I nodded. 'On his head. An old scar.'
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-68b7dda67f134d30aa840e55931ef61d
# book_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# chapter_id: 1-the-right-whale-s-flukes
# chapter_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# book_page: 10 / 13
# chapter_page: 10
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
He puffed silently, shifted his bulk, rose to look out the window, and returned.
"Joan kept to her cabin much from that day. Eric did his tasks and held aloof. We came smoothly northward and were at our pier. Eric slowly recovered; though he avoided the girl, he kept a steady face to the men and drove them as always.
"Captain Tobbey was a quiet, stern man, but just. He blamed Eric for taking out the boat, but knew it was an accident of Fate. When the next cruise came, Eric shipped as mate, and I second mate again.
"This time Joan stayed behind. She told me she had had enough of the sea; from a girl she had become a woman. Lovely as ever, yet with a new depth; at times her eyes shrank as though gazing on tragedy.
"On the pier the day we sailed, I saw Eric watching her with hopeless longing.
"There was a shadow over Eric from the beginning of that cruise. Any man could see it. Outwardly he was the same, strong and quick, alive; he trod lightly, moved with quick precision, plunged into work that would have worn another man to threads.
"Some of our old crew were aboard, so his story was no secret. He seemed to find joy in toil that let him forget; his eyes brightened as we drove southward.
"There is much superstition at sea, but it is never allowed to interfere with work. The men kept their wishes to themselves, reluctant to serve in his boat but hiding it, for Eric was quick with his fists. He strode fearlessly, and none laid hand on him.
The sea is grim and inscrutable. Calm seas seem more menacing than storms, like a smiling mask hiding blows. As we sailed over smooth seas, I felt unrest. I watched the sea and watched Eric, wondering what threatened him.
"If Eric felt uneasiness, he gave no sign at first. But the day came when we got a hint.
"We sighted whales; boats lowered for a pod to the south. Eric got fast, and the third mate also. But my whale took alarm and fled. Yet we had time to see on its head a dull scar in the form of a cross. I heard a cry from Eric's boat and saw him staring after the bull.
"I remembered the men's talk. Aboard again, Eric came to me: 'Mark, was there a cross on the bull that got away?'
"I nodded. 'On his head. An old scar.'"His jaw set. 'It can't be!' He looked at me with agony. I said, 'Well, what of it?'
"'It was a scarred bull stove my boat that day.'
"'Every old bull has scars,' I said easily.
"'Aye, but—this was the same, Mark.'
"'What matter?'
"He flushed, stammered like a child. 'Her curse is on me. The old bull is going to wait for me!'
"'He'll suffer by it,' I laughed.
"Eric looked forward, aft, then at me with appeal. 'Are you calling me murderer as she did?'
"I shook my head. 'She's but a girl. There was no need to kill the cow. But the other was no one's blame.'
"His hand gripped my arm. 'You mean it?'
"I clapped his shoulder. 'Forget it. No harm will come.'
"'It's not that I'm afraid,' he said. 'I fear nothing except myself. But I hear her word always; I cannot bear it.'
"Captain Tobbey came toward us; Eric laughed as though at a jest. His laughter was not pleasant, and I wished to reassure him, but he gave no opportunity.
"I could see it was on his mind. He took to standing watch at the masthead when there was no need. I asked why: 'To get the scarred bull, Mark. That will end it.'
"'You'll never see him again!'
"He shook his head. 'No fear. He's about us.'
"And Eric was right. The day we finished trying out, the scarred bull was sighted again, so close his mark was visible. Eric was aloft; he tumbled down and lowered, but fog hid the bull.
"That was the third time. The fourth came swiftly.
"Eric never feared conflict. After the third appearance, he scarcely slept, held his crew ready daylong, scoured the seas from dawn to dark. He became silent, thoughtful; strength flowed into him, and he was like an athlete in training.
"We sighted the scarred whale the fourth time on a Sunday morning, sea rippled by gentlest breezes, sun shining warmly. The water was turquoise, whitecaps gleaming. It was not Eric who sighted the whale but a man aloft; his long 'Blo-o-o-o-o-ow' came down and snatched us to our posts. Captain Tobbey ordered boats away; Eric's boat swung ahead instantly.
"We didn't know if it was the scarred bull, but it was a right whale. Eric drove his men unsparingly and was a quarter mile ahead when he reached the monster.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-68b7dda67f134d30aa840e55931ef61d
# book_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# chapter_id: 1-the-right-whale-s-flukes
# chapter_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# book_page: 11 / 13
# chapter_page: 11
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"His jaw set. 'It can't be!' He looked at me with agony. I said, 'Well, what of it?'
"'It was a scarred bull stove my boat that day.'
"'Every old bull has scars,' I said easily.
"'Aye, but—this was the same, Mark.'
"'What matter?'
"He flushed, stammered like a child. 'Her curse is on me. The old bull is going to wait for me!'
"'He'll suffer by it,' I laughed.
"Eric looked forward, aft, then at me with appeal. 'Are you calling me murderer as she did?'
"I shook my head. 'She's but a girl. There was no need to kill the cow. But the other was no one's blame.'
"His hand gripped my arm. 'You mean it?'
"I clapped his shoulder. 'Forget it. No harm will come.'
"'It's not that I'm afraid,' he said. 'I fear nothing except myself. But I hear her word always; I cannot bear it.'
"Captain Tobbey came toward us; Eric laughed as though at a jest. His laughter was not pleasant, and I wished to reassure him, but he gave no opportunity.
"I could see it was on his mind. He took to standing watch at the masthead when there was no need. I asked why: 'To get the scarred bull, Mark. That will end it.'
"'You'll never see him again!'
"He shook his head. 'No fear. He's about us.'
"And Eric was right. The day we finished trying out, the scarred bull was sighted again, so close his mark was visible. Eric was aloft; he tumbled down and lowered, but fog hid the bull.
"That was the third time. The fourth came swiftly.
"Eric never feared conflict. After the third appearance, he scarcely slept, held his crew ready daylong, scoured the seas from dawn to dark. He became silent, thoughtful; strength flowed into him, and he was like an athlete in training.
"We sighted the scarred whale the fourth time on a Sunday morning, sea rippled by gentlest breezes, sun shining warmly. The water was turquoise, whitecaps gleaming. It was not Eric who sighted the whale but a man aloft; his long 'Blo-o-o-o-o-ow' came down and snatched us to our posts. Captain Tobbey ordered boats away; Eric's boat swung ahead instantly.
"We didn't know if it was the scarred bull, but it was a right whale. Eric drove his men unsparingly and was a quarter mile ahead when he reached the monster."Over the water came his shout: 'Let him have it!' I saw the boat steerer strike, and the second iron home as the whale leaped forward.
"While changing places, the whale up-ended, flukes lifting thirty feet clear, and sounded. I spurred my men to be at hand. Ahead, the boat lay idle. Eric bent to peer down, putting strain on the line. Then the bow bobbed up; the whale was coming up. Eric shouted a command; men hauled in desperately.
Next instant the whale breached between his boat and mine.
"There is no more splendid sight than a whale breaching—hundreds of tons flung clear to hang against the sky. But when this one breached, I saw the scar: a sunken cross. It was the scarred bull.
"Eric saw it too but loved battle. He shouted; his men hauled in alongside; Eric drove his lance.
The whale rolled in a smother, but Eric's men pulled close when it straightened to run. The harpoons had wrapped the line so they lay safely behind the fin. Eric worked his lance madly, stabbing again and again. Seconds later the whale's spout crimsoned—mortal wound.
"I heard an exultant shout; his boat sheered away. The monster halted, motionless, then in a panic flurry leaped forward, trailing the boat. They passed mine; Eric, covered in crimson spray, waved his lance and shouted: 'The scarred whale, Mark! I've killed him!'
"Before I could reply, the great beast whirled and charged at us; we swerved in time. It wallowed over the third mate's boat; I hurried to pick up the men. They were bruised but safe. We set out after Eric. The whale circled in its last flurry, then with a spasm was still.
"We drove toward Eric's boat; his face burned with triumph. This moment Fate allowed him.
"He was ahead; his boat ran alongside the carcass. Eric bent over the bow with a boat spade to cut a hole in the whale's tail for towing. He leaned out and drove the spade into the tough fiber.
"Then the right whale's flukes whirled in a last struggle; up they came, over, down. They missed the boat by inches, but the spade was torn from Eric's hands. It twisted in the air, steel flashing crimson. The blow spun it; it struck Eric square in the face and split his skull."
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-68b7dda67f134d30aa840e55931ef61d
# book_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# chapter_id: 1-the-right-whale-s-flukes
# chapter_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# book_page: 12 / 13
# chapter_page: 12
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"Over the water came his shout: 'Let him have it!' I saw the boat steerer strike, and the second iron home as the whale leaped forward.
"While changing places, the whale up-ended, flukes lifting thirty feet clear, and sounded. I spurred my men to be at hand. Ahead, the boat lay idle. Eric bent to peer down, putting strain on the line. Then the bow bobbed up; the whale was coming up. Eric shouted a command; men hauled in desperately.
Next instant the whale breached between his boat and mine.
"There is no more splendid sight than a whale breaching—hundreds of tons flung clear to hang against the sky. But when this one breached, I saw the scar: a sunken cross. It was the scarred bull.
"Eric saw it too but loved battle. He shouted; his men hauled in alongside; Eric drove his lance.
The whale rolled in a smother, but Eric's men pulled close when it straightened to run. The harpoons had wrapped the line so they lay safely behind the fin. Eric worked his lance madly, stabbing again and again. Seconds later the whale's spout crimsoned—mortal wound.
"I heard an exultant shout; his boat sheered away. The monster halted, motionless, then in a panic flurry leaped forward, trailing the boat. They passed mine; Eric, covered in crimson spray, waved his lance and shouted: 'The scarred whale, Mark! I've killed him!'
"Before I could reply, the great beast whirled and charged at us; we swerved in time. It wallowed over the third mate's boat; I hurried to pick up the men. They were bruised but safe. We set out after Eric. The whale circled in its last flurry, then with a spasm was still.
"We drove toward Eric's boat; his face burned with triumph. This moment Fate allowed him.
"He was ahead; his boat ran alongside the carcass. Eric bent over the bow with a boat spade to cut a hole in the whale's tail for towing. He leaned out and drove the spade into the tough fiber.
"Then the right whale's flukes whirled in a last struggle; up they came, over, down. They missed the boat by inches, but the spade was torn from Eric's hands. It twisted in the air, steel flashing crimson. The blow spun it; it struck Eric square in the face and split his skull."The old captain leaned forward to knock the dottle from his pipe, then settled again. We sat silent; at last I asked, "Joan—did she forgive him in the end?"
Captain Brackett's grim face softened. "Oh, aye. She'd forgiven him before. She warned me when we started to watch over him." He refilled his pipe, then softly finished: "She's gone long since. But our daughter looks very like her now."
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-68b7dda67f134d30aa840e55931ef61d
# book_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# chapter_id: 1-the-right-whale-s-flukes
# chapter_title: The Right Whale's Flukes
# book_page: 13 / 13
# chapter_page: 13
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
The old captain leaned forward to knock the dottle from his pipe, then settled again. We sat silent; at last I asked, "Joan—did she forgive him in the end?"
Captain Brackett's grim face softened. "Oh, aye. She'd forgiven him before. She warned me when we started to watch over him." He refilled his pipe, then softly finished: "She's gone long since. But our daughter looks very like her now."
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