The whale we had just killed did, before death, what sperm whales nearly always do. He threw up the contents of his stomach, consisting of pieces of cuttlefish. As I looked at the monster, I thought of the saying of Melville, quoted wherever whaling was carried on, and likely to be quoted so long as any one cares for the story of the enterprise, “A dead whale or a stove boat.”
Another boat at some distance was also fast to a whale. There were no other whales in sight. If there had been, Lakeum would have “waifed” our whale—that is, planted in his body a barbed iron rod bearing a flag. We were now to tow our whale to the ship—no easy task, even in calm weather. The first step was to pass a chain around what they call the “small” at the root of the tail. One of the old hands, with a rope around his waist, climbed on to the slippery object and, with some difficulty, got a line around the “small” and thus enabled the men to secure the flukechain. We set the sail and we used the oars, too. The ship, which had worked to windward, bore down on us and lessened the distance. We got to the ship before the other boat referred to. They were all ready for us—cutting-fall, spades and cutting-stage. The last named was a plank platform which reached beyond the carcass and just over the surface. Now it is to be remembered that there was only one boat on the starboard side, so that side was all clear from bow to gangway. The whale was secured by the fluke chains. The head was under the gangway and the tail was to the bow. The weather was good and so we “cut to windward”, that is, with the whale toward the wind. In this way the wind filling the sails counterbalanced to some extent the weight of the cutting-falls, and helped to keep the vessel on an even keel.
Cutting-in required great skill. A bunch of blocks was secured above, through which a rope was passed and then carried to the windlass. The great, lower block, to which the blubber hook, weighing about a hundred pounds, was attached, was swung over the whale. Two men on the cutting-stage, provided with long spades, cut a hole in the body just above the nearer of the two side fins. A line in a half-circle was cut around the hole, and the hook was inserted. A little army of men singing their chantey began heaving at the windlass. Then the ship careened to the whale, a sharp sound was heard, the ship rolled backwards from the whale, and the tackle rose with a strip of blubber attached. The strain caused the whale to roll over in the water, and, as the blubber peeled off along the line called the “scarf”, it was hoisted higher and higher aloft till its upper end grazed the maintop. The men at the windlass ceased heaving and a harpooner with a long, keen weapon sliced out a hole in the lower part of the swaying mass. Into this hole the end of the second great tackle was hooked so as to retain a hold upon the blubber. Then he severed it completely, so that while the short, lower part was still fast, the long, upper strip, called the blanket piece, swung clear, and was all ready for lowering. The heavers renewed their chantey, and, while the one tackle was peeling and hoisting a second strip from the whale, the other was slowly slackened away, and down went the first strip through the main hatchway, right beneath, into the blubber room. This gloomy place was about thirty feet each way and between six and seven feet high. From a beam swung a lamp, which gave a dull light. Blanket pieces weighed a ton or more each, and, as they were coiled away, they looked like hideous serpents.