Less Inaccurate Whale Pictures and True Whaling Scenes

In connexion with the monstrous pictures of whales, I am strongly tempted here to enter upon those still more monstrous stories of them which are to be found in certain books, both ancient and modern, especially in Pliny, Purchas, Hackluyt, Harris, Cuvier, etc. But I pass that matter by.

The monstrous pictures of whales tempt me to discuss the even more monstrous stories told about them. These stories appear in certain books, both ancient and modern, especially those by Pliny, Purchas, Hackluyt, Harris, Cuvier, and others. But I will pass over that subject.

I know of only four published outlines of the great Sperm Whale; Colnett’s, Huggins’s, Frederick Cuvier’s, and Beale’s. In the previous chapter Colnett and Cuvier have been referred to. Huggins’s is far better than theirs; but, by great odds, Beale’s is the best. All Beale’s drawings of this whale are good, excepting the middle figure in the picture of three whales in various attitudes, capping his second chapter. His frontispiece, boats attacking Sperm Whales, though no doubt calculated to excite the civil scepticism of some parlor men, is admirably correct and life-like in its general effect. Some of the Sperm Whale drawings in J. Ross Browne are pretty correct in contour; but they are wretchedly engraved. That is not his fault though.

I know of only four published outlines of the great Sperm Whale. They are by Colnett, Huggins, Frederick Cuvier, and Beale. I mentioned Colnett’s and Cuvier’s in the previous chapter. Huggins’s outline is much better than theirs, but Beale’s is by far the best. All of Beale’s drawings of this whale are good, except the middle figure in the picture at the end of his second chapter. The picture shows three whales in various positions. His frontispiece shows boats attacking Sperm Whales. No doubt it is likely to draw polite skepticism from some gentlemen in their parlors. Yet its overall effect is admirably accurate and lifelike. Some of the Sperm Whale drawings in J. Ross Browne’s work are fairly accurate in outline, but they are wretchedly engraved. That is not his fault, though.

Of the Right Whale, the best outline pictures are in Scoresby; but they are drawn on too small a scale to convey a desirable impression. He has but one picture of whaling scenes, and this is a sad deficiency, because it is by such pictures only, when at all well done, that you can derive anything like a truthful idea of the living whale as seen by his living hunters.

The best outline drawings of the Right Whale are in Scoresby, but they are too small to give a satisfactory impression. He has only one picture of whaling scenes, and that is a serious shortcoming. Because only such pictures, when well done, can give you anything like a true idea of the living whale as its living hunters see it.

But, taken for all in all, by far the finest, though in some details not the most correct, presentations of whales and whaling scenes to be anywhere found, are two large French engravings, well executed, and taken from paintings by one Garnery. Respectively, they represent attacks on the Sperm and Right Whale. In the first engraving a noble Sperm Whale is depicted in full majesty of might, just risen beneath the boat from the profundities of the ocean, and bearing high in the air upon his back the terrific wreck of the stoven planks. The prow of the boat is partially unbroken, and is drawn just balancing upon the monster’s spine; and standing in that prow, for that one single incomputable flash of time, you behold an oarsman, half shrouded by the incensed boiling spout of the whale, and in the act of leaping, as if from a precipice. The action of the whole thing is wonderfully good and true. The half-emptied line-tub floats on the whitened sea; the wooden poles of the spilled harpoons obliquely bob in it; the heads of the swimming crew are scattered about the whale in contrasting expressions of affright; while in the black stormy distance the ship is bearing down upon the scene. Serious fault might be found with the anatomical details of this whale, but let that pass; since, for the life of me, I could not draw so good a one.

But overall, the finest depictions of whales and whaling scenes to be found anywhere are two large French engravings. They are well executed and based on paintings by Garnery, though some details are not entirely accurate. They show attacks on the Sperm Whale and the Right Whale, respectively. In the first engraving, a magnificent Sperm Whale appears in the full majesty of its power. It has just risen from the ocean depths beneath a boat, lifting the terrible wreck of its broken planks high on its back. The boat’s prow is partly intact and shown balancing on the monster’s spine. For one immeasurably brief instant, an oarsman stands in the prow, half hidden by the whale’s furious, boiling spout. He is leaping as if from a cliff. The action of the whole scene is wonderfully accurate and true to life. The half-emptied tub of harpoon line floats on the white water, with the wooden shafts of the spilled harpoons bobbing at angles in it. The heads of the swimming crew are scattered around the whale, each face showing a different expression of fear. In the dark, stormy distance, the ship is bearing down on the scene. One could find serious fault with the whale’s anatomical details, but let that pass. For the life of me, I could not draw one as well.

In the second engraving, the boat is in the act of drawing alongside the barnacled flank of a large running Right Whale, that rolls his black weedy bulk in the sea like some mossy rock-slide from the Patagonian cliffs. His jets are erect, full, and black like soot; so that from so abounding a smoke in the chimney, you would think there must be a brave supper cooking in the great bowels below. Sea fowls are pecking at the small crabs, shell-fish, and other sea candies and maccaroni, which the Right Whale sometimes carries on his pestilent back. And all the while the thick-lipped leviathan is rushing through the deep, leaving tons of tumultuous white curds in his wake, and causing the slight boat to rock in the swells like a skiff caught nigh the paddle-wheels of an ocean steamer. Thus, the foreground is all raging commotion; but behind, in admirable artistic contrast, is the glassy level of a sea becalmed, the drooping unstarched sails of the powerless ship, and the inert mass of a dead whale, a conquered fortress, with the flag of capture lazily hanging from the whale-pole inserted into his spout-hole.

In the second engraving, a boat is pulling alongside the barnacle-covered flank of a large Right Whale swimming at full speed. The whale rolls his black, weed-covered bulk through the sea like a mossy rock slide from the Patagonian cliffs. His spouts rise straight and thick, black as soot. From so much smoke pouring out of the chimney, you would think a fine supper was cooking in the great belly below. Seabirds peck at the small crabs, shellfish, and other sea candies and macaroni that the Right Whale sometimes carries on his foul back. All the while, the thick-lipped leviathan races through the deep, leaving tons of churning white curds in his wake. The swells make the small boat rock like a skiff caught near the paddle wheels of an ocean steamer. The foreground is all raging commotion. But behind it, in a wonderful artistic contrast, lies the glassy surface of a calm sea. The helpless ship’s limp sails droop, and the lifeless bulk of a dead whale lies nearby. The whale is a conquered fortress, with the flag of capture hanging lazily from a whale-pole planted in his blowhole.

Who Garnery the painter is, or was, I know not. But my life for it he was either practically conversant with his subject, or else marvellously tutored by some experienced whaleman. The French are the lads for painting action. Go and gaze upon all the paintings of Europe, and where will you find such a gallery of living and breathing commotion on canvas, as in that triumphal hall at Versailles; where the beholder fights his way, pell-mell, through the consecutive great battles of France; where every sword seems a flash of the Northern Lights, and the successive armed kings and Emperors dash by, like a charge of crowned centaurs? Not wholly unworthy of a place in that gallery, are these sea battle-pieces of Garnery.

I don't know who Garnery the painter is or was. But I'd stake my life that he either knew his subject firsthand or learned remarkably well from an experienced whaleman. The French are the ones for painting action. Look at all the paintings in Europe. Where will you find such a gallery of living, breathing commotion on canvas as in that triumphal hall at Versailles? There, the viewer fights through France's great battles in succession, caught up in the chaos. Every sword seems to flash like the Northern Lights. Armed kings and Emperors sweep past, one after another, like a charge of crowned centaurs. Garnery's paintings of battles at sea are not entirely unworthy of a place in that gallery.

The natural aptitude of the French for seizing the picturesqueness of things seems to be peculiarly evinced in what paintings and engravings they have of their whaling scenes. With not one tenth of England’s experience in the fishery, and not the thousandth part of that of the Americans, they have nevertheless furnished both nations with the only finished sketches at all capable of conveying the real spirit of the whale hunt. For the most part, the English and American whale draughtsmen seem entirely content with presenting the mechanical outline of things, such as the vacant profile of the whale; which, so far as picturesqueness of effect is concerned, is about tantamount to sketching the profile of a pyramid. Even Scoresby, the justly renowned Right whaleman, after giving us a stiff full length of the Greenland whale, and three or four delicate miniatures of narwhales and porpoises, treats us to a series of classical engravings of boat hooks, chopping knives, and grapnels; and with the microscopic diligence of a Leuwenhoeck submits to the inspection of a shivering world ninety-six fac-similes of magnified Arctic snow crystals. I mean no disparagement to the excellent voyager (I honor him for a veteran), but in so important a matter it was certainly an oversight not to have procured for every crystal a sworn affidavit taken before a Greenland Justice of the Peace.

The French have a natural gift for capturing the picturesque quality of things. This gift seems especially evident in their paintings and engravings of whaling scenes. They have less than a tenth of England’s experience in whaling, and less than a thousandth of the Americans’ experience. Yet they have given both nations the only finished sketches capable of conveying the true spirit of the whale hunt. For the most part, English and American whaling artists seem satisfied with a mechanical outline, such as a whale’s blank profile. For picturesque effect, a whale’s profile is about as good as a pyramid’s. Even Scoresby, the justly renowned right whaleman, gives us a stiff full-length picture of the Greenland whale. He also gives us three or four delicate miniatures of narwhals and porpoises. Then he treats us to a series of classical engravings of boat hooks, chopping knives, and grapnels. With the microscopic diligence of a Leuwenhoeck, he presents a shivering world with ninety-six exact copies of magnified Arctic snow crystals. I mean no disrespect to the excellent voyager. I honor him as a veteran. But in so important a matter, he surely overlooked one thing. He should have obtained a sworn affidavit for every crystal, taken before a Greenland Justice of the Peace.

In addition to those fine engravings from Garnery, there are two other French engravings worthy of note, by some one who subscribes himself “H. Durand.” One of them, though not precisely adapted to our present purpose, nevertheless deserves mention on other accounts. It is a quiet noon-scene among the isles of the Pacific; a French whaler anchored, inshore, in a calm, and lazily taking water on board; the loosened sails of the ship, and the long leaves of the palms in the background, both drooping together in the breezeless air. The effect is very fine, when considered with reference to its presenting the hardy fishermen under one of their few aspects of oriental repose. The other engraving is quite a different affair: the ship hove-to upon the open sea, and in the very heart of the Leviathanic life, with a Right Whale alongside; the vessel (in the act of cutting-in) hove over to the monster as if to a quay; and a boat, hurriedly pushing off from this scene of activity, is about giving chase to whales in the distance. The harpoons and lances lie levelled for use; three oarsmen are just setting the mast in its hole; while from a sudden roll of the sea, the little craft stands half-erect out of the water, like a rearing horse. From the ship, the smoke of the torments of the boiling whale is going up like the smoke over a village of smithies; and to windward, a black cloud, rising up with earnest of squalls and rains, seems to quicken the activity of the excited seamen.

Besides the fine engravings by Garnery, two other French engravings are worth noting. Their artist signs himself “H. Durand.” One is not quite suited to our present purpose, but deserves mention for other reasons. It shows a quiet noon scene among the Pacific islands. A French whaling ship lies anchored near shore in a calm, lazily taking fresh water aboard. The ship’s loosened sails droop in the windless air, as do the long palm leaves in the background. The effect is very fine, showing the hardy whalers in one of their few moments of eastern repose. The other engraving is quite different. The ship has stopped in the open sea, in the very heart of Leviathanic life, with a Right Whale alongside. As the crew cuts the blubber from the whale, the ship leans toward the monster as if toward a quay. A boat is hurriedly pushing off from this busy scene, about to chase whales in the distance. Harpoons and lances lie ready for use. Three oarsmen are just setting the mast in its socket. A sudden roll of the sea lifts the little boat half upright out of the water, like a rearing horse. From the ship, smoke rises from the torments of the boiling whale, like smoke over a village of blacksmith shops. To windward, a black cloud rises, promising squalls and rain. It seems to spur the excited seamen to greater activity.