The Line

With reference to the whaling scene shortly to be described, as well as for the better understanding of all similar scenes elsewhere presented, I have here to speak of the magical, sometimes horrible whale-line.

To prepare for the whaling scene coming up, and to help readers understand all similar scenes elsewhere, I must explain the magical, sometimes horrible whale-line.

The line originally used in the fishery was of the best hemp, slightly vapored with tar, not impregnated with it, as in the case of ordinary ropes; for while tar, as ordinarily used, makes the hemp more pliable to the rope-maker, and also renders the rope itself more convenient to the sailor for common ship use; yet, not only would the ordinary quantity too much stiffen the whale-line for the close coiling to which it must be subjected; but as most seamen are beginning to learn, tar in general by no means adds to the rope’s durability or strength, however much it may give it compactness and gloss.

The line originally used in whaling was made of the best hemp, lightly treated with tar, not soaked in it like ordinary ropes. Tar, as usually applied, makes hemp more flexible for the rope-maker. It also makes the rope more convenient for sailors to use aboard ship. But the usual amount of tar would make the whale-line too stiff to coil as tightly as it must be. And as most sailors are beginning to learn, tar generally does not make rope more durable or stronger, however much it may make the rope more compact and glossy.

Of late years the Manilla rope has in the American fishery almost entirely superseded hemp as a material for whale-lines; for, though not so durable as hemp, it is stronger, and far more soft and elastic; and I will add (since there is an æsthetics in all things), is much more handsome and becoming to the boat, than hemp. Hemp is a dusky, dark fellow, a sort of Indian; but Manilla is as a golden-haired Circassian to behold.

In recent years, Manilla rope has almost entirely replaced hemp for whale-lines in the American whale fishery. Though not as durable as hemp, Manilla is stronger, much softer, and more elastic. And I should add, since there is beauty in all things, that Manilla looks much handsomer and more fitting in the boat than hemp. Hemp is a dark, dusky fellow, like an Indian. But Manilla looks like a golden-haired Circassian.

The whale-line is only two-thirds of an inch in thickness. At first sight, you would not think it so strong as it really is. By experiment its one and fifty yarns will each suspend a weight of one hundred and twenty pounds; so that the whole rope will bear a strain nearly equal to three tons. In length, the common sperm whale-line measures something over two hundred fathoms. Towards the stern of the boat it is spirally coiled away in the tub, not like the worm-pipe of a still though, but so as to form one round, cheese-shaped mass of densely bedded “sheaves,” or layers of concentric spiralizations, without any hollow but the “heart,” or minute vertical tube formed at the axis of the cheese. As the least tangle or kink in the coiling would, in running out, infallibly take somebody’s arm, leg, or entire body off, the utmost precaution is used in stowing the line in its tub. Some harpooneers will consume almost an entire morning in this business, carrying the line high aloft and then reeving it downwards through a block towards the tub, so as in the act of coiling to free it from all possible wrinkles and twists.

The whale-line is only two-thirds of an inch thick. At first glance, you would not think it was as strong as it really is. Tests show that each of its fifty-one yarns can hold a weight of 120 pounds. The whole rope can therefore bear a strain of nearly three tons. A typical sperm whale-line is a little over 200 fathoms long. Toward the stern of the boat, it is coiled in a tub. But it is not coiled like the spiral pipe of a still. Instead, it forms a round, cheese-shaped mass of tightly packed “sheaves,” or layers of concentric spirals. There is no hollow space except the “heart,” a tiny vertical tube at the center of the coil. Even the slightest tangle or kink would surely tear off someone's arm, leg, or entire body as the line runs out. So the greatest care is taken when stowing the line in its tub. Some harpooneers spend almost an entire morning on the task. They carry the line high overhead and then thread it down through a pulley toward the tub. This frees the line of all possible wrinkles and twists as they coil it.

In the English boats two tubs are used instead of one; the same line being continuously coiled in both tubs. There is some advantage in this; because these twin-tubs being so small they fit more readily into the boat, and do not strain it so much; whereas, the American tub, nearly three feet in diameter and of proportionate depth, makes a rather bulky freight for a craft whose planks are but one half-inch in thickness; for the bottom of the whale-boat is like critical ice, which will bear up a considerable distributed weight, but not very much of a concentrated one. When the painted canvas cover is clapped on the American line-tub, the boat looks as if it were pulling off with a prodigious great wedding-cake to present to the whales.

English boats use two tubs instead of one, with the same line coiled continuously through both. This has some advantages. The twin tubs are small, so they fit more easily into the boat and put less strain on it. The American tub, by contrast, is nearly three feet across and proportionately deep. It makes a bulky load for a boat whose planks are only half an inch thick. The bottom of a whale-boat is like thin ice. It can support considerable weight when spread out, but not very much when concentrated in one place. When the painted canvas cover is put on the American line-tub, the boat looks as if it is rowing away with an enormous wedding cake to present to the whales.

Both ends of the line are exposed; the lower end terminating in an eye-splice or loop coming up from the bottom against the side of the tub, and hanging over its edge completely disengaged from everything. This arrangement of the lower end is necessary on two accounts. First: In order to facilitate the fastening to it of an additional line from a neighboring boat, in case the stricken whale should sound so deep as to threaten to carry off the entire line originally attached to the harpoon. In these instances, the whale of course is shifted like a mug of ale, as it were, from the one boat to the other; though the first boat always hovers at hand to assist its consort. Second: This arrangement is indispensable for common safety’s sake; for were the lower end of the line in any way attached to the boat, and were the whale then to run the line out to the end almost in a single, smoking minute as he sometimes does, he would not stop there, for the doomed boat would infallibly be dragged down after him into the profundity of the sea; and in that case no town-crier would ever find her again.

Both ends of the line are exposed. The lower end rises from the bottom of the tub along its side, ending in an eye-splice, or loop. The loop hangs over the edge, completely unattached to anything. The lower end must be arranged this way for two reasons. First, the loop makes it easy to attach another line from a nearby boat. This may be necessary if the harpooned whale dives so deep that it threatens to carry away the entire original line. In such cases, the whale is transferred from one boat to the other, rather like a mug of ale. The first boat, though, always stays close by to help its partner. Second, this arrangement is essential for everyone’s safety. Suppose the lower end of the line were attached to the boat in any way. And suppose the whale ran out the whole line in almost a single, smoking minute, as it sometimes does. The whale would not stop there. The doomed boat would surely be dragged down after it into the depths of the sea. In that case, no town crier would ever find the boat again.

Before lowering the boat for the chase, the upper end of the line is taken aft from the tub, and passing round the loggerhead there, is again carried forward the entire length of the boat, resting crosswise upon the loom or handle of every man’s oar, so that it jogs against his wrist in rowing; and also passing between the men, as they alternately sit at the opposite gunwales, to the leaded chocks or grooves in the extreme pointed prow of the boat, where a wooden pin or skewer the size of a common quill, prevents it from slipping out. From the chocks it hangs in a slight festoon over the bows, and is then passed inside the boat again; and some ten or twenty fathoms (called box-line) being coiled upon the box in the bows, it continues its way to the gunwale still a little further aft, and is then attached to the short-warp—the rope which is immediately connected with the harpoon; but previous to that connexion, the short-warp goes through sundry mystifications too tedious to detail.

Before the boat is lowered for the chase, the upper end of the line is taken from the tub to the stern. It is passed around the loggerhead there, then carried forward again along the entire length of the boat. The line rests crosswise on the loom, or handle, of every man’s oar, so that it bumps against his wrist as he rows. It also passes between the men, who sit on alternating sides of the boat, and reaches the leaded chocks, or grooves, at the sharply pointed prow. A wooden pin or skewer, the size of an ordinary quill, keeps the line from slipping out of the chocks. From the chocks, the line hangs in a slight curve over the bow, then passes back inside the boat. Some ten or twenty fathoms of it, called box-line, are coiled on the box in the bow. The line continues to the gunwale a little farther aft and is attached to the short-warp, the rope connected directly to the harpoon. But before that connection is made, the short-warp goes through various baffling arrangements too tedious to describe.

Thus the whale-line folds the whole boat in its complicated coils, twisting and writhing around it in almost every direction. All the oarsmen are involved in its perilous contortions; so that to the timid eye of the landsman, they seem as Indian jugglers, with the deadliest snakes sportively festooning their limbs. Nor can any son of mortal woman, for the first time, seat himself amid those hempen intricacies, and while straining his utmost at the oar, bethink him that at any unknown instant the harpoon may be darted, and all these horrible contortions be put in play like ringed lightnings; he cannot be thus circumstanced without a shudder that makes the very marrow in his bones to quiver in him like a shaken jelly. Yet habit—strange thing! what cannot habit accomplish?—Gayer sallies, more merry mirth, better jokes, and brighter repartees, you never heard over your mahogany, than you will hear over the half-inch white cedar of the whale-boat, when thus hung in hangman’s nooses; and, like the six burghers of Calais before King Edward, the six men composing the crew pull into the jaws of death, with a halter around every neck, as you may say.

The whale-line wraps the whole boat in tangled coils, twisting and writhing around it in almost every direction. All the oarsmen are caught among its dangerous twists. To a timid landsman, they look like Indian jugglers, with deadly snakes playfully draped around their limbs. No man can sit among those coils of hemp for the first time without shuddering. As he strains with all his might at the oar, he knows the harpoon may be thrown at any moment. Then the horrible coils will spring into motion like rings of lightning. The shudder makes the very marrow in his bones quiver like shaken jelly. Yet habit is a strange thing. What can it not accomplish? You will never hear livelier banter, merrier laughter, better jokes, or brighter comebacks over your mahogany table than you will over the half-inch white cedar of the whale-boat, even when the men are surrounded by hangman’s nooses. And like the six burghers of Calais before King Edward, the six crewmen row into the jaws of death, with a noose around every neck, as you might say.

Perhaps a very little thought will now enable you to account for those repeated whaling disasters—some few of which are casually chronicled—of this man or that man being taken out of the boat by the line, and lost. For, when the line is darting out, to be seated then in the boat, is like being seated in the midst of the manifold whizzings of a steam-engine in full play, when every flying beam, and shaft, and wheel, is grazing you. It is worse; for you cannot sit motionless in the heart of these perils, because the boat is rocking like a cradle, and you are pitched one way and the other, without the slightest warning; and only by a certain self-adjusting buoyancy and simultaneousness of volition and action, can you escape being made a Mazeppa of, and run away with where the all-seeing sun himself could never pierce you out.

Perhaps a little thought will now help you understand those repeated whaling disasters, a few of which are casually recorded. In these disasters, one man or another is dragged out of the boat by the line and lost. When the line is darting out, sitting in the boat is like sitting amid the whizzing parts of a steam engine running at full speed. Every flying beam, shaft, and wheel grazes you. It is worse than that, because you cannot sit still among these dangers. The boat rocks like a cradle, tossing you one way and then the other without the slightest warning. Only by staying flexible and acting at the same instant you decide to act can you avoid becoming another Mazeppa. Otherwise, you may be carried away to a place where even the all-seeing sun could never find you.

Again: as the profound calm which only apparently precedes and prophesies of the storm, is perhaps more awful than the storm itself; for, indeed, the calm is but the wrapper and envelope of the storm; and contains it in itself, as the seemingly harmless rifle holds the fatal powder, and the ball, and the explosion; so the graceful repose of the line, as it silently serpentines about the oarsmen before being brought into actual play—this is a thing which carries more of true terror than any other aspect of this dangerous affair. But why say more? All men live enveloped in whale-lines. All are born with halters round their necks; but it is only when caught in the swift, sudden turn of death, that mortals realize the silent, subtle, ever-present perils of life. And if you be a philosopher, though seated in the whale-boat, you would not at heart feel one whit more of terror, than though seated before your evening fire with a poker, and not a harpoon, by your side.

Again, the deep calm that only seems to come before and foretell a storm may be more terrifying than the storm itself. For the calm is merely the storm’s wrapping, and it contains the storm within itself. A seemingly harmless rifle holds the deadly gunpowder, the bullet, and the explosion. In the same way, the whale-line rests gracefully as it silently coils around the oarsmen before it is put to use. That sight is more truly terrifying than any other part of this dangerous business. But why say more? All men live surrounded by whale-lines. All are born with nooses around their necks. Yet only when caught in the swift, sudden turn of death do people realize the quiet, subtle, ever-present dangers of life. And if you are a philosopher, you would feel no more terror in your heart sitting in the whaleboat than sitting before your evening fire, with a poker beside you instead of a harpoon.