The sea was still that day with little wind to drive our ship forwards. We were two hours into the afternoon watch, when there was a shout from atop the mainmast.
‘On the starboard quarter.’
I could see Captain Jonah Grimes screw up that old, gnarled face of his as her peered through his telescope.
‘That’s him,’ he shouted. He could hardly contain himself. ‘That’s him, boys. Hard to starboard, bos’un. Give us as much sheet as you can.’
We all pulled hard on the ropes to get more wind into the sails. I could see the whale spewing out a tower of water, then rising on the waves. There was no mistake – it was Ironback all right – Ironback, the legendary creature of Newfoundland folk-lore that had claimed the lives of many mariners. Some said it wasn’t a whale at all but some ancient beast fashioned before time began.
Captain Grimes was ready for the taking of it. It was his life’s ambition, above anything else. And he had tried so many times before.
The great grey monster bucked and reared. It turned as if to run, then turned again and headed straight for our ship. Marianne was a schooner, fast and adapted to whaling but not particularly large. I thought the creature might hit us broadside on but instead it ducked under our vessel and re-appeared on the other side.
We turned sharply to port to give chase.
‘Man the boats,’ barked the bos’un. ‘All of ye. At the double now. I want that monster.’
The chase was on. We scrambled into the whaleboats. As they bobbed in a roughening sea we took the oars and ‘gave way together.’
At sea level, we could see how large the whale was and, for all its size, it was fast. ‘Put your backs into it, you lazy dogs’ and such-like were hurled at us by the boat captains as we struggled to keep pace with the leviathan. Suddenly it turned and spewed us with a vast jet of stinking water that rocked our boat. It opened it vast mouth as if it was ridiculing us.
One of our other boats fired a harpoon hoping to slow the beast down. It struck the side of Ironback’s head.
Stunned and surprised, it slowed for moment. We pressed home our slender advantage. More harpoons, a sea reddening with blood. The beast turned over, lashing its huge tail, our boats trying to keep clear of its writhing body. It was soon over, sooner than we thought. One pitiful moan. It was as if old Ironback just gave up. We all caught breath and relaxed for a moment. We stayed on guard, though. Sometimes whales would pretend to be dead then rise up and kill their hunters.
We attached ropes to the carcass which would then be fastened to the Marianne. She would have the job of towing the great animal back to St Patrick’s Bay.
Once back on board the ship, Captain Grimes told Jacques, Peter and me to take a whaleboat and carry the good news to St Patrick’s Bay so that preparations could be made to receive our prize.
We three were pleased to be the messengers. It was a fairly steady row to Newfoundland and we were spared the backbreaking job of attaching the whale to the ship.
A couple of hours into our journey, things began to change. The sky darkened and the sea started to stir up. These sudden storms were not unusual. We hoped it would pass quickly.
However, things got decidedly worse. The wind kicked up, we reckoned to force eleven. The rain drops were like hail stones.
We wouldn’t make St Patricks Bay in this. We diverted to Saint Pierre, a small bleak island off the coast of Newfoundland. They only spoke French there but Jacques was a Quebecker and could make himself understood, sufficient for us to get by.
After securing our boat, we retired to a small inn. We told tales of the sea as best as we could and our story of the capture of Ironback was clearly met with disbelief. Jacques told them to wait the return of the Marianne, then they would see it was all true. A few pints of local brew saw us sleeping soundly that night under the cover of a nearby barn.
The following morning as the sun rose, with the storm passed, we made our way back to the boat and, as quietly as we could set off for St Patrick’s Bay. With some hard rowing, we arrived there late afternoon.
Those of the villagers that saw us arrive were clearly alarmed. Had some terrible tragedy befallen the Marianne? Were we the sole survivors?
In the confusion more villagers joined and it was as much as we could do to calm the situation, reassuring everyone that all was well. Indeed, we were bringing good news, we had caught and killed Ironback and were bringing it back to St Patrick’s for all to see.
There was now much rejoicing and the word spread around the whole of Newfoundland. Much was to be made of the homecoming – brass bands, flags and bunting, celebratory meals. There was even talk of the Governor himself coming along to honour the crew.
It was then a thought crossed my mind. The storm. Suppose the whale had broken loose. It had happened before. Sometimes in a storm we would have to cut our catch free for fear of overturning the ship if the wind was too fierce. What if Marianne arrived with nothing to show for it?
One day was followed by another. Then – early afternoon it was – a schooner appeared on the horizon. Jacques was with me. I snatched his telescope. The ship was certainly dragging something behind it.
But it wasn’t the Marianne. It was flying a Canadian flag. It was the Grey Garrow out of Nova Scotia. As it got closer I could see Ironback was being towed behind it.
Their Captain, Captain McCrae, was soon ashore regaling us of tales of how he had hunted Ironback and brought it straight to St Patrick’s Bay.
Jacques and I looked at each other. Would anyone believe us now if we said the Captain was lying? Perhaps it would look as if we’d been making up a tale of our own and trying to steal the credit for Captain Grimes. On balance, Jacques and I decided to disappear discretely before questions were asked.
But we were concerned - where was the Marianne?
We didn’t go back to our lodgings. We rounded up Peter in the nearby village and told him the story. The three of us decided to investigate.
We were thankful for a cloudy night and, under the cover of darkness, we used our boat to go out to the Grey Garrow. We guessed the crew would be celebrating ashore and, if anyone was on board, they would be too drunk to notice us.
Below decks, we checked the harpoon store and the number of harpoons against the ship’s log. None had been used.
Looking further at the logbook, we saw it was completely silent about any contact with the whale or the Marianne. Had they picked up the whale drifting loose in the sea and decided to take credit for killing it?
We left the ship and examined the whale, still in the water. Luckily, some harpoons were still in the body.
Now was the time to confront Captain McCrae and his crew.
We made our way back to the Inn. The sound of merrymaking carried to us while we were still some distance away.
We entered. Once people recognised us, there was much jeering and shouting. We were pushed and jostled until Jacques with his booming voice told everyone to be quiet. We had a story to tell.
I raised my voice above the continuing babble of sound. ‘I would be interested to know how Captain McCrae came by Ironback. His ship has used no harpoons in killing it and the harpoons in its body bear the markings of Marianne, not the Grey Garrow. Also, the ships log makes no mention of the whale or the Marianne. Look, here’s the log.’
One of the bystanders took the book and examined it. There was much consternation. Captain McCrae looked awkward. ‘I just found the whale floating loose. Thought I should bring it in. I didn’t …’
Just then the door of the Inn burst open. Six men barged through. I recognised my crewmate Blanco. At six foot seven with a shock of white hair, he was hard to miss. There were a few more of my shipmates behind him – looking bedraggled and forlorn, it has to be said.
Blanco used his commanding presence to address the now-curious crowd.
‘I’ll tell you how it was. After we’d killed Ironback, we attached it to the Marianne. We had three crew, Jacques, Peter and Tom go back to St Patrick’s to spread the good news that Ironback was dead. Then a violent storm blew up and, with the beast in tow, Marianne became difficult to handle. We pleaded with Captain Grimes to cut the beast loose but he wouldn’t. “I want that beast,” he said. “He’s mine and no one is going to deny me my prize.” But the whale was so large it finally turned the boat to one side and water started rushing in below decks. It was hopeless. We got into such whaleboats as we could and picked up survivors.
Then we saw the Grey Garrow. We shouted for help. They sent over whaleboats to rescue us – or so we thought. Instead, they cut Ironback loose and attached it to their own ship. Some of our lads were still in the water but they didn’t help. I don’t know if any survived. We sheltered overnight, about fifteen of us, on Saint Pierre then made our way here. I don’t know about the Captain, reckon he went down with the Marianne.’
Even in death, Ironback had claimed more victims.
The crew of the Grey Garrow beat a hasty exit from the Inn but not before Captain McCrae was held by the crowd. He would be handed to the authorities. Maritime law in these parts made it a criminal offence to wilfully leave distressed sailors after a shipwreck. In some cases, the penalty could be death.
The survivors of the Marianne didn’t celebrate. We all went quietly back to our lodgings in the hope that more survivors may appear in the following days.
Tony Heath