Big Henry‚ a harpooner‚ and seven other whalers cut off a thick sheet of blubber. Then‚ all together‚ they hoisted it to the deck.
“Small‚” grumbled Big Henry of the whale. “We’ve taken most of the big ones.” He leaned on his ten-foot-long pole with the whale-flensing knife on the end. “Wasn’t like this in forty-eight when I first came to the Arctic Ocean.”
John‚ the first mate‚ joined the captain‚ Tom II‚ and Big Henry to watch the action.
“I fear‚” John said thoughtfully‚ “that the whalers have harvested too many bowheads.”
Tom II pushed back his parka hood and turned to John. “Have whalers taken that many?”
“Yes. Look at all the whaling ships out there.” He gestured seaward. “I’ve been here when whales were to the right‚ left‚ above‚ and underneath. Now it’s hard to find even one—and this is only thirteen years after the first whale was taken.”
“This is the first time I’ve been in the Arctic Ocean‚” Tom II said. “Mother insisted she go along with Father when he said he would be gone three years.” Tom II smiled. “And I had to come along too. I’m glad we did. This ocean’s really different.” He gestured to the blue-and-white world‚ to the birds flying overhead and seals sliding off ice floes and the pack ice that had formed a frozen quilt on top of the water.
Suddenly Tom II’s eyes rested on the eye of the dead whale. It was open‚ and looking at him. He was gripped by a piercing sadness.
“Great whale‚” he murmured‚ but not loud enough for anyone to hear, “I am sorry.”
As the whalers started cutting the blubber‚ he averted his eyes. He did not want to see the butchering.
The ship suddenly rolled. Tom II lost his footing and stumbled close to the tryworks‚ those brick structures which held the huge iron pots that were kept ready for rendering the blubber to oil.
The ship straightened. Tom II recovered his balance.
“Big Henry‚” he said‚ pointing to the tryworks‚ “do we really need to boil down the blubber? It’s hard dangerous work.”
“Aye‚” Big Henry answered‚ “we can carry far more whale oil when we render it here at sea. Makes more room for walrus tusks.” He glanced out at the pack ice. It was moving toward them. He frowned.
There was a crunching sound. The ship rolled sharply to starboard. Tom II lost his footing again‚ grabbed the brace on the mainmast‚ and hung on. The pack ice had ridden in and now was pressed against the ship‚ pushing it toward the land-fast ice. Again the Trident righted herself and Tom II scurried down the ladder to his father’s quarters. His mother looked up.
“I hope we finish here soon and get clear of the ice‚” Tom II said. “There is ice all around us.” He sat down at his desk and picked up a book. He wanted to forget that steep roll.
His mother said‚ “When you’re done with that‚ I’ll hear your spelling.”
Tom II looked down at his book.
In moments‚ he lifted his head. He could tell his mother was nervous about the rolling ship too.
“We’re drifting‚” he said.
The ship jolted to a stop.
“Now we’re not.”
“Do your lessons‚” his mother said.
A screaming hiss sounded. Tom II jumped up‚ threw back the door‚ and ran up the steps to the deck. He met his father striding toward the helm.
“What’s happening?” Tom II asked.
“We’re having a little trouble‚” Captain Boyd explained when he saw his son’s anxious face. “A storm is coming. The wind is pushing us against a big ice floe.” He hurried on. Tom II followed him to the bridge.
“This is the Arctic‚” Boyd said. “There are always dangers here.” He took the wheel.
The Trident’s sails filled‚ and it changed course‚ then slowly gained speed. Captain Boyd steered around the ice floes and out into the open ocean. They could still see the shore. Outwardly he appeared confident‚ inwardly he shook. He knew the treachery of the pack ice.
Tom II sat down on a coil of rope. He had heard many stories of ships crushed by the ice.
“We need wood for the tryworks‚” Captain Boyd shouted when he saw his boy sitting. “Go help Big Henry get some.”
Tom II ran down to the deck. He could hear the sound of the pumps. That meant water was coming in somewhere. He climbed down into the hold where two men were still straining to operate the pumps‚ and found Big Henry stuffing oakum into the leaks. The flow stopped.
“Now I get wood‚” Big Henry said to Tom II. “The fires in the ovens are almost out.”
“Wood‚ here? But there’s only ice!”
“Many logs are washed down the big rivers and drift around the Arctic Ocean. They eventually cast up on shore‚ where we get them. The Eskimos build boats and homes with them.” On the deck Henry lowered the dory and slid down a rope to it.
While Tom and John watched from the deck‚ he came ashore near a spruce log that John had spotted. It was silvery gray from years of battering against the ice. Big Henry chopped it in quarters and tossed it into the boat.
Tom II grabbed John’s arm and pointed. An Eskimo was coming toward Henry. His polar-bear mukluks were crunching on the beach stones; his parka hood was pushed back from his angry face. He quickened his pace. Out of the low shrubs came four more Eskimos.
The Eskimos came on. Henry quickly threw a couple of heavy logs into the boat‚ pushed off‚ and began to row.
The five Eskimos raised their bows and arrows. Big Henry just rowed‚ putting distance between them‚ and returned to the Trident.
“Were you scared?” Tom II asked Big Henry.
“Yes‚ but you know what scares me more?” he replied. “This ocean. This weather. This ice.” He hoisted the wood to John on the deck.
Snow blew out of the sky. Ice pellets pummeled the ship. Gusty winds blew and Trident’s sails were trimmed. A Bering Sea storm was upon them. Other than ice, Arctic storms were what the whalers dreaded most. The deck was awash in huge seas and whale oil from broken casks.
Through the storm the Trident limped its way out of the Bering Sea south toward Hawaii.
joined a group of male bowheads on their spring migration. His mother had gone ahead with the other adult females. Their babies‚ born during the migration‚ swam beside them. The mother whales slowed their swimming speed to the calves’ pace.
was now thirteen years old and had left his mother’s company long ago. Siku’s mother was escorting a nursing daughter and teaching her about killer whales and whaling ships. The ships were following them along coastal currents to their summer home. There were hundreds of them.
swam more rapidly than he ever had before to escape the ships. Near Barrow‚ he swam along the Barrow Canyon‚ which was scattered with brittlestars‚ anemones‚ and snow crabs.
Fish swam by in large schools. Masses of clams opened and closed their shells. The seafloor seemed to move as they crawled from one place to another.
had seen few walrus during his lifetime. Whalers had killed over three hundred thousand of them. The ocean life had changed markedly in the thirteen years of Yankee whale and walrus hunting. Siku could feel the change.
Beyond Barrow, ’s group joined another small group of male bowheads and crossed into the Beaufort Sea. This group had avoided the whalers by following an old and wise whale named or Tiguk. Bowhead whales do not have a single leader‚ as men and wolves have‚ just wise elders whom the younger whales follow and learn from. Tiguk was 115 years old.
After a two-week swim from Barrow through shattered ice flows‚ they arrived at their destination—the Eastern Beaufort Sea. It was spring‚ and briefly the sea’s waters were as clear as air. The whales relaxed near the pack ice that glowed a deep turquoise blue in the sun. They were less than a thousand miles from the North Pole and three
hundred miles from the magnetic pole. rolled and tumbled among the ice floes. He spun to the bottom of the sea and back up to the surface.
The bowhead whales came to the Eastern Beaufort Sea for the zooplankton‚ those large masses of shrimp-like krill and copepods that were their food. The seawater was as rich with this food as it had been for millions of years.
opened his mouth wider than an umiaq and took in a ton of plankton mass and seawater. He closed it‚ letting most of the water pour out the corners. The plankton was efficiently strained from the rest of the seawater by the hairs on the 640 baleen plates hanging from the roof of his mouth. He pressed out the remaining water with his tongue. He swallowed a hundred pounds of krill. This was his first good meal in a long time.
ate well that summer‚ and played under the water. Ice hung down from the melting floes like the stalactites on the roof of a cave. He breached with his friends. They splashed each other and dove together‚ and‚ as if in a choreographed whale dance‚ spiraled down to the depths and up again. They swam on their backs and rolled.
found a huge log and pushed it back to his gang. They shoved it from one to another‚ tried to sink it‚ and finally gave up.
loved to play and feed in the upwellings where bottom water comes to the surface. He rolled and tumbled in them‚ and when he was tired‚ he lay still at the surface listening to the music of the sea‚ blowing softly as he breathed in and out. He heard bowheads’ chatter‚ clams and fish chirp‚ shrimp click‚ and snails blip. The sounds were soothing. This was home.
After three months of eating and playing‚ heard a shrill treble note. “”
Prepare to go south.
had sent the message. He had seen a change in the angle of the sun’s rays slanting into the seawater. It said to him that new ice would be forming soon. The almost-three-month-long day had ended. Brief nights followed‚ then longer and longer nights. When the surface of the Beaufort Sea turned frothy with crystals shrilled his “turn south” message again‚ and added‚ “.”
Go!
swallowed a last mouthful of zooplankton and joined . He swam slowly beside the immense eighty-five-ton whale until they reached a violet band of seawater. It was the cold current circling down from the high-latitude Arctic Sea to join the current from the Eastern Beaufort. and swam with it. In this way‚ they were swept west toward Russia on their autumn route.
Other whales joined them until thirty individuals‚ including ’s mother and five other females‚ made up their group. Male and female bowheads mingled for the fall migration and some chose mates.
was just beginning to be interested in females. He swam beside one all the way to Barrow‚ the two of them calling back and forth. Ten days later‚ they neared Tikigaq. Siku noticed a young Eskimo fishing from a boat some distance from land. He left his friend to seek out the man. He knew him. He circled the man‚ just to be sure. He recognized his face and sensed he was a good man.
had learned this early in life. For whales‚ this understanding could mean escaping a dangerous situation. Orcas and red‚ white‚ and blue Yankee whaling ships were danger. But knew this man with the kind eyes was good.
The Eskimos have a two thousand-year relationship with the bowhead. They believe the whale has a spirit and knows the hunter and even what he is thinking. Whales only offer themselves to worthy hunters.
spy hopped to look at Toozak again. Then he dove and spanked his tail on the surface of the water.
“‚” Siku shrilled.
I remember you‚ boy of the kind eyes.
He breached in gladness. Toozak saw the mark on his chin that resembled an Eskimo dancer.
“Siku‚ go‚” he called‚ and clapped his hands. “Go deep. The Yankees are out whaling. They say that whales are always listening. Listen‚ Siku‚ hear me and go!”
waved his fluke and swam west. He had not understood the man’s words‚ but he understood their meaning.
He dove under an ice floe and went back to his whale companions. But Toozak was not the only human on the bay. A mile away were seamen in whaleboats from the whaling ship Liberty. They saw Siku‚ rowed up to his floe and anchored the boat there. A harpooner was ready to strike Siku when he came up to breathe. The man made no noise as he readied his harpoon and waited. The crew did not talk.
From under the ice‚ could see the wooden bottom of their whaleboat. It lay like a cup on the top of the water. Siku was afraid. He and the others swam farther under the large floe‚ away from the hunters‚ pushing up the ice with their huge heads. The ice broke. Air entered the dome. Having breathed‚ he and the others swam on under the ice floe‚ miles away from the whalers.
From the surface of the ocean came these words:
“They got away. These whales are smart. They will hide under the ice to avoid us.”
Then more words.
“He’s not worth the effort‚ anyway‚” said the harpooner. “Most of them were small. There’s not much blubber on a young whale and the baleen is too short to bother with. Let’s go.”
He raised the sail of their whaleboat. It filled with wind and the sailors sped back to their whaling ship. heard the windlass on the whaling ship whir as the whaleboat was lifted out of the water and put back on its stanchion. was about to join when from far out in the deeper waters came a deep bass warning call. “.”
Orca whales coming toward you.
heard the killers skimming his way. He stayed under the ice in the air dome. The orcas reached his floe but would not go under it. Their large black dorsal fins were six feet tall and could snag on the ice if they tried to pursue Siku. The ice whale had the advantage of the ice for protection. The orcas turned away and chased after a group of fat seals. The seals rotated magically, surfaced and swirled off.
When at last Siku heard the orcas chasing seals far out to sea‚ he swam out from under the ice. The other three spy hopped and‚ seeing no orcas‚ hurriedly swam south.
swam out from under the ice floe only to meet a killer whale‚ who had been silently waiting for him to leave the floe. Siku turned to swim back under it. The orca grabbed his fluke and bit with crushing pressure. With a powerful thrash of his body‚ tore his fluke from the orca’s grip‚ but the predator’s strong teeth cut deeply. Quickly the lone killer whale called for another killer whale to come help in his hunt. One arrived. The two circled Siku.
dove down to an ocean valley. He stirred up mud and debris with his flippers and fluke‚ then swam into the cloudy water. The killer whales pursued but avoided the silt cloud. They circled around it. Minutes passed. needed to surface for a breath but he did not. He remained down for another half hour. When he finally surfaced‚ he breathed long and heavy blows. The orcas were gone. Their calls went south. He heard their fading calls moving south. knew that they had given up on making a meal of him. He blew a great column of air and called out to the other whales.
heard and swam back to him. He saw that Siku’s bleeding fluke would force him to rest. This would slow the group’s progress. They must go on and leave Siku behind. He swam back to the group and led the group hurriedly west and then south. It was important to reach the waters of the Bering Sea before the ocean ice froze too thick for them to easily break breathing holes in it.
swam slowly south‚ although the orca teeth wound throbbed.
He went on into the Bering Strait‚ passing by the two Diomede Islands.
Sandhill cranes were flying across the strait‚ heading south from their nesting grounds in the Siberian wilderness. They were going to Florida and Texas for the winter. Female gray whales swam by him on their way to Baja California‚ to both give birth and mate. Days later he came to Toozak’s old village. Siku was in the Bering Sea‚ and there he rested.
“‚” he whistled joyously. He had found his mother near Saint Lawrence Island.
Also near the
island was the whaling ship Thunder. The whalers aboard this ship were whaling late in the season. They saw Siku’s mother surface and blow‚ launched a whaleboat‚ and rowed silently toward her. She was nursing her new daughter and did not hear them. The harpooner sent a harpoon into her body with a line and kegs attached. Then a large exploding bullet was shot from a gun. It slipped through her blubber and into her body cavity. The bomb exploded.
Though wounded‚ she made no sound‚ no urgent wail‚ no shriek of pain.
swam to her. Her daughter shrilled pitifully as the mother dove‚ trying to rid herself of the harpoon. It held. The harpooner ran out the line. The kegs attached to it dragged on her. The mother turned and sped directly at the whaleboat. When more whaleboats came to the scene‚ they attacked her with more harpoons.
She turned away. But the wound in her body was great. More whaleboats appeared above her. Oars dipped from them. The mother swam on. She skimmed the ocean bottom as she rushed toward a rock outcropping to snap the lines. She could not reach it. The lines held her back and she began to drown.
A few minutes later her body rose to the surface. Her breath-plume was red with blood.
Thrashing her flukes in a last spurt of life‚ she lifted herself out of the water thirty feet‚ fell back‚ and drenched the whalers. They hardly noticed. Here was a seventy-ton prize.
The ocean surface quieted down. The waves died into slicks of oil and blood. Jaegers circled overhead. Murres flew around the whalers and guillemots sailed off the sea surface where they had been fishing. The mother was floating.
An ivory gull cried once “Keeer,” and soared away.
Milling close to her‚ saw the lines grow taught as his mother was towed by six whaleboats to the Thunder. He moaned. His grief was heard through the ocean.
The whalers sang an old whaling song. They stopped singing only long enough to cheer.