第六十二章 投镖
关于上一章所述事件，在此略作说明。
按照捕鲸业一贯的规矩，捕鲸小艇离船时，由标枪手（即屠鲸者）暂代舵手，而鱼叉手（即系鲸者）划最前端的桨——也就是所谓的鱼叉手桨。将第一支铁镖刺入鲸身，需要一条强壮而神经紧绷的手臂；因为在所谓“长投”时，沉重的武器往往要掷出二三十英尺之远。然而，无论追逐如何漫长耗人，鱼叉手都须同时竭尽全力划桨；事实上，他须以超人的活跃为他人表率，不仅以难以置信的划桨，更以反复响亮无畏的呼喝；至于在全身肌肉紧绷几近脱节之时，仍须扯开嗓子拼命喊叫是何滋味——除非亲身试过，无人知晓。以我为例，便无法一面酣畅吼叫，一面肆无忌惮地卖力。
就在这样紧绷喊叫、背对鲸鱼的状态中，精疲力竭的鱼叉手忽闻令人振奋的呼喊——“站起来，给他一下！”此时他须丢下并固定住桨，以自身为轴转过半身，从叉架上抓起鱼叉，凭余下些许力气，设法将之掷入鲸身。无怪乎，若将全体捕鲸人视作一体，五十次公平的投镖机会中，成功的不到五次；无怪乎，如此多不幸的鱼叉手被疯狂咒骂、降了等级；无怪乎，他们中有人竟在艇中迸裂了血管；无怪乎，有些抹香鲸捕手出海四年只带回四桶油；无怪乎，对许多船主而言，捕鲸只是一桩赔本买卖；因为航程的成败系于鱼叉手一身，若连他气息都抽干了，又怎指望在最需要时还寻得着气力！
再者，若投镖成功，便到了第二个紧要关头，亦即鲸鱼开始逃窜之时，小艇头目与鱼叉手也跟着前后奔走，令自身及众人陷于岌岌可危之境。此时他们互换位置；小艇的头目——这小舟上的首席——才去到艇首本该在的岗位。
如今，任谁持相反意见，我皆不在乎，只道这一切既蠢且无必要。头目从头到尾都该留在艇首；他既投鱼叉也掷标枪，除任何渔人都明了的情境外，不应期望他划半分桨。我知道这偶尔会令追逐稍减速度；但久历多国捕鲸业所得的经验使我确信，在渔事极大多数的失败中，缘由绝非鲸速，而恰是前述鱼叉手的力竭。
欲使投镖极尽其效，这世上的鱼叉手须从闲怠中起身，而非自劳倦里起动。
A word concerning an incident in the last chapter.
According to the invariable usage of the fishery, the whale-boat pushes
off from the ship, with the headsman or whale-killer as temporary
steersman, and the harpooneer or whale-fastener pulling the foremost
oar, the one known as the harpooneer-oar. Now it needs a strong,
nervous arm to strike the first iron into the fish; for often, in what
is called a long dart, the heavy implement has to be flung to the
distance of twenty or thirty feet. But however prolonged and exhausting
the chase, the harpooneer is expected to pull his oar meanwhile to the
uttermost; indeed, he is expected to set an example of superhuman
activity to the rest, not only by incredible rowing, but by repeated
loud and intrepid exclamations; and what it is to keep shouting at the
top of one’s compass, while all the other muscles are strained and half
started—what that is none know but those who have tried it. For one, I
cannot bawl very heartily and work very recklessly at one and the same
time. In this straining, bawling state, then, with his back to the
fish, all at once the exhausted harpooneer hears the exciting
cry—“Stand up, and give it to him!” He now has to drop and secure his
oar, turn round on his centre half way, seize his harpoon from the
crotch, and with what little strength may remain, he essays to pitch it
somehow into the whale. No wonder, taking the whole fleet of whalemen
in a body, that out of fifty fair chances for a dart, not five are
successful; no wonder that so many hapless harpooneers are madly cursed
and disrated; no wonder that some of them actually burst their
blood-vessels in the boat; no wonder that some sperm whalemen are
absent four years with four barrels; no wonder that to many ship
owners, whaling is but a losing concern; for it is the harpooneer that
makes the voyage, and if you take the breath out of his body how can
you expect to find it there when most wanted!
Again, if the dart be successful, then at the second critical instant,
that is, when the whale starts to run, the boatheader and harpooneer
likewise start to running fore and aft, to the imminent jeopardy of
themselves and every one else. It is then they change places; and the
headsman, the chief officer of the little craft, takes his proper
station in the bows of the boat.
Now, I care not who maintains the contrary, but all this is both
foolish and unnecessary. The headsman should stay in the bows from
first to last; he should both dart the harpoon and the lance, and no
rowing whatever should be expected of him, except under circumstances
obvious to any fisherman. I know that this would sometimes involve a
slight loss of speed in the chase; but long experience in various
whalemen of more than one nation has convinced me that in the vast
majority of failures in the fishery, it has not by any means been so
much the speed of the whale as the before described exhaustion of the
harpooneer that has caused them.
To insure the greatest efficiency in the dart, the harpooneers of this
world must start to their feet from out of idleness, and not from out
of toil.
