reared them to a height of six or eight feet it was possible to see their tawny head markings, their glistening eyes and the terrible array of teeth, the most terrifying in the world. But the fact that they could display such deliberate cunning, that they were able to break ice of such thickness, at least two feet, and that they could act in unison, was a revelation to us.’
Sometimes instead of coming up under the ice a killer will slide up on top of it, clear of the water, grab its prey, then wriggle off into the sea. In the same way it may come aboard a raft, a whaleboat, or a small ship.
Recently a tuna-boat off the California coast was visited by a killer. It circled round and round the boat until the ship’s cook got annoyed and potted the beast with a rifle bullet.
Instead of killing it or scaring it away, the bullet only made the killer furiously angry. He swam straight for the ship, shot up into the air, and crashed head-on into the galley, the great jaws chopping the cookhouse into kindling. Luckily the cook saved himself by diving head-first into the hold.
The killer thrashed savagely about, breaking all the dishes and crunching the iron pans and buckets until they looked as if a tractor had run over them. He chewed up the galley stove, fire and all, but when a huge pot containing enough soup for twenty men spilled its boiling contents on his nose he flipped back into the sea and swam off:’
The cook crawled up, green and shaking, from the hold and looked at the ruins of his galley. The crew ate cold salt pork that day. The cook never again fired a bullet at a killer-whale.
One after another the killers sat up in the sea and looked at Roger. He knew they could easily slide up on the whale’s back. Then - one crunch - and Hal would have no brother.
Perhaps he had better swarm up to the safety of the deck while there was still a chance. But if he ran away the killers would devour the whale. Already they were making savage lunges at the body and swimming off with great chunks of flesh. Several of them were attacking the head. Roger remembered hearing, on his Pacific voyages, of the killer’s habit of forcing the whale’s mouth open to get at its tongue.
Nothing tasted so good to a killer as a whale’s tongue. It was soft and spongy and full of delicious oil. In fact, the oil in it made it not only luscious to the killer but valuable to the whaler.
The tongue of a sperm-whale is as big as a full-grown elephant. It contains at least fifteen barrels of the finest oil. If Roger allowed these thieves to get away with the tongue he hated to think what would happen to him at the hands of Captain Grindle.
The great carcass quivered and shook as the savages knocked their noses against the lips in an effort to open the mouth and get at the tongue. Whatever Roger was going to do he would have to do quickly. His rope was not long enough to allow him to get to the whale’s head. With more courage than common sense he threw off the rope and started forward. He cut holes for his feet Even with the help of these footholds he had trouble in keeping his balance. The big whale rolled with the waves and trembled under the attack of the killers.
Roger was now on the whale’s head. The head of a sperm-whale is an enormous box some ten feet high.
The nose is on top of it and the mouth is under it. So Roger stood many feet above the killers as they battered against the whale’s lips. Fortunately they were too busy trying to break into this big food-box to pay much attention to the small morsel of boy above them. So long as he left them alone they might leave him alone.
He could not afford to let them alone. But what could he do with a spade when even a rifle bullet would have no effect upon such a beast?
He believed that the spade could do what the bullet could not. The spade would let out blood. If these monsters had as bad table manners as the sharks, they would attack their bloody brother. He hoped it would work.
Sometimes instead of coming up under the ice a killer will slide up on top of it, clear of the water, grab its prey, then wriggle off into the sea. In the same way it may come aboard a raft, a whaleboat, or a small ship.
Recently a tuna-boat off the California coast was visited by a killer. It circled round and round the boat until the ship’s cook got annoyed and potted the beast with a rifle bullet.
Instead of killing it or scaring it away, the bullet only made the killer furiously angry. He swam straight for the ship, shot up into the air, and crashed head-on into the galley, the great jaws chopping the cookhouse into kindling. Luckily the cook saved himself by diving head-first into the hold.
The killer thrashed savagely about, breaking all the dishes and crunching the iron pans and buckets until they looked as if a tractor had run over them. He chewed up the galley stove, fire and all, but when a huge pot containing enough soup for twenty men spilled its boiling contents on his nose he flipped back into the sea and swam off:’
The cook crawled up, green and shaking, from the hold and looked at the ruins of his galley. The crew ate cold salt pork that day. The cook never again fired a bullet at a killer-whale.
One after another the killers sat up in the sea and looked at Roger. He knew they could easily slide up on the whale’s back. Then - one crunch - and Hal would have no brother.
Perhaps he had better swarm up to the safety of the deck while there was still a chance. But if he ran away the killers would devour the whale. Already they were making savage lunges at the body and swimming off with great chunks of flesh. Several of them were attacking the head. Roger remembered hearing, on his Pacific voyages, of the killer’s habit of forcing the whale’s mouth open to get at its tongue.
Nothing tasted so good to a killer as a whale’s tongue. It was soft and spongy and full of delicious oil. In fact, the oil in it made it not only luscious to the killer but valuable to the whaler.
The tongue of a sperm-whale is as big as a full-grown elephant. It contains at least fifteen barrels of the finest oil. If Roger allowed these thieves to get away with the tongue he hated to think what would happen to him at the hands of Captain Grindle.
The great carcass quivered and shook as the savages knocked their noses against the lips in an effort to open the mouth and get at the tongue. Whatever Roger was going to do he would have to do quickly. His rope was not long enough to allow him to get to the whale’s head. With more courage than common sense he threw off the rope and started forward. He cut holes for his feet Even with the help of these footholds he had trouble in keeping his balance. The big whale rolled with the waves and trembled under the attack of the killers.
Roger was now on the whale’s head. The head of a sperm-whale is an enormous box some ten feet high.
The nose is on top of it and the mouth is under it. So Roger stood many feet above the killers as they battered against the whale’s lips. Fortunately they were too busy trying to break into this big food-box to pay much attention to the small morsel of boy above them. So long as he left them alone they might leave him alone.
He could not afford to let them alone. But what could he do with a spade when even a rifle bullet would have no effect upon such a beast?
He believed that the spade could do what the bullet could not. The spade would let out blood. If these monsters had as bad table manners as the sharks, they would attack their bloody brother. He hoped it would work.
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