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ADVENTURE WITH A
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ADVENTURE WITH A SEA-ELEPHANT.By WILLIAM H. MACY.
Sixteen of us, from the schooner Fantail, were quartered in a little shanty, on the sterile beach at Hurd's Island, situated three hundred miles Southeast of Kergueen's Land*, under the parallel of fifty-three, with an eternal glacier forming its central ridge or back-bone. This island, marked with the seal of utter desolation, affords a stopping place, not to say a home, for screaming seabirds, penguins, and amphibious beasts of the genus phoca. Here we lived a sort of semi-savage life, for several months, engaged in hunting sea-elephants, for the oil to be obtained from them. Bob Turner was one of the best men in our beach-gang, who would watch the line of shore and breakers untiringly through the long, tedious hours of darkness, ready with gun or lance to prounce upon his prey, at sight, or would "skin out" and "back off" as much blubber in a day as any man of his weight, in all the fleet. A man full of professional enthusiasm, who looked upon elephant-hunting as one of the fine arts. It was towards the end of the month of February, when very few elephants were hauling. The remnant of the females which had escaped the death-dealing lance, had gone to sea, and it was nearly time to expect the coming of the March bulls. Bob Turner had sallied forth about midnight, armed with a lance only, his favorite gun having been dissected the night before, to undergo repairs. He had scoured the beach patiently, with little or no success, until the hour which is said to be the darkest time of night, just before day. He was then nearly at the extreme South point of the island, and several miles distent from the shanty. The wind was rising to a gale, which drove in a heavy [unclear] upon the shore and whirled a complete simoon of fine beach-sand into his face and eyes. But struggling onward, he continued his weary tramp, straining his gaze more easterly now at the white meeting-line of sea and land. For it is one of the habits of the beast to come up from the sea just at dayeak, and no one knew better than Turner that this was the most profitable hour in the twenty-four. Suddenly the peculiar snort, which was music to his ears, rang on the breeze, and a black bunch, like a bull dog's head, broke the line of white foam. Bob dropped at full length upon the ground, his dilated eyes never wandering from it. As the animal struck the shelving beach, the neck and body rose into view, looming darkly against the sky. He came rapidly upward, with a hitching motion of his powerful flippers, using them as levers, on the firm sand. His immense size at first struck our hunter with astonishment. But the next moment, he hugged himself for joy. "A 'March bull!'" be soliloquized. "The pioneer of the season! I must make sure of him – for this will be something to crow about." The bull-elephants of the largest class are usually killed by putting a bullet into the brain, being ugly customers to attack in any other way; and if near the sea, it is necessary to make speedy work, or thy will escape into the surf before they can be weakened by loss of blood. Having no weapon but his lance, Bob's policy was to lie quiet, and let the animal "haul" well up inland before attacking him. But he chafed with impatience at being obliged to wait so long, and felt like,offering his "kingdom for a" – gun. Suddenly a new shadow, a human figure appeared, running with levelled rifle, from the opposite direction. Turner at once recognized the form as that of Chestér, the mate of the Centaur, and leader of an opposition party, working the same beach. To spring to his feet, with a yell, was the first impulse, acted upon without a second thought. Chester, in the confusion of the sudden surprise, fired his rifle too soon, and with unsteady aim. The ball passed as near to Turner's head as to the animal's, and both escaped unhurt. Bob gave vent to a derisive laugh, while his baffled rival relieved his feelings in language more forcible than chaste. The elephant, thoroughly alarmed, instinctively wheeled in his tracks, heading seaward. But Turner at once confronted him, and driving his lance into his broad breast, gave a cheer for "first blood." Stung to the quick, the monster seized the lance-pole in his teeth, and with a convulsive writhe of his body at the same moment, wrenched it from his assailant's hold. With splintered pole and shank bent double, the weapon remained in the wound, and Bob was left with no arms but his butcher-knife and steel at his side, without which the elephant hunter never goes abroad. But, nothing daunted, he again throw himself between the infuriated beast and the surf, and thus pressed backward down the slope, continued the fight, by repeated stabs with his knife. It was awkward work in the dark, with so short a weapon; for as the elephant rose upon his flippers, he towered high above Bob's head. It was necessary to rush in and make a thurst[sic], springing out of the way, as the animal jerked himself forward. If he stumbled and fell, in the darkness he would be ridden over and crushed by the unwieldy beast. Still he plied his knofe manfully at every opportunity, hoping, by copious bleeding, to weaken the elephant in time to save him. Already his feet were in the water, when the quivering of the gigantic body and the drooping of the fierce muzzle showed how the numerous stabs had done their work. The bull rose again upon his levers, rallying his strength for a last effort. He threw himself blindly forward; Bob's foot brought up against a slippery stone, and down he went into the water. With a roar of mortal agony, the elephant fell at the same moment – the advancing breaker overwhelmed them both, and man and beast were both afloat together. Meanwhile, Cheste, busied in re-loading his gun, had been but a looker-on, rather hoping thät the bull would escape. But seeing his fellow-man, as he thought, in real danger, he dropped his rifle and rushed the rescue. At the same moment two of our own party hove in sight, and hastened to assist. Turner, half drowned, and considerably bruised – for the elephant had fallen partially upon his legs, was dragged up on dry land, and the first words he gasp-out were, "Save the bull! the first 'March.'" Here a half-pint of salt water, sweetened with elephant's blood, came up in his throat, and the remainder of his triumphant boast was – not lost, but only postponed. By cutting hand-holes in his hide, and taking advantage of the incoming rollers, the bull was secured, and rolled up beyond the reach of the tide, to the great delight of Turner, who was obliged to be helped home to the shanty. A few days' rest, with his elation at having killed "the first March bull of the season," brought him round again. His prize was a magnificent specimen, skinning out six barrels of fat, and Bob did not fail, on every possible occasion, to make the most of the story. * Kerguelen Islands also known as the Desolation Islands. |
Source:W. H. Macy.
This story is found at the Internet Archive in one of the volumes of
manuscript items from the Nantucket Historical Association. Note: The date and identity of the newspaper where this story was originally published are not known. - tgt.
Last updated by Tom Tyler, Denver, CO, USA, Apr 21, 2025.
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