Legends of the isles and Highland Gatherings :: :: University of Virginia Library

THE SHOAL OF WHALES.

I.

Calm and unruffled is the bay,
There is not even a breath at play,
To make a ripple in the sun,
That since this summer day begun,
Has shown the Hebridean isles
A cloudless visage, bright with smiles.
On the low rocks that fringe the sea,
The brown dulse welters lazily;
The seagulls hovering, milky white,
Display their pinions to the light,
And dart and wheel with sudden cry,
Or drop like snow-flakes from the sky.

II.

The minister is in the manse,
His open Bible on his knees;
His daughters in the garden walk,
And prune their stunted apple-trees,
By high walls shelter'd from the breeze,
That comes salt-laden from the beach;
Or lift the tender floweret's stalk
Which rains have beaten to the ground;
Or guard their solitary peach
From birds, by network round.

III.

The fisher's wife beside her door
Sits mending nets, and crooning o'er
Some old sad Gaelic lay;
And children paddle in the brine,
Or watch the fair white sails that shine
In sunlight o'er the bay,
Or hide and seek 'mid boats that lie
Keel upwards, on the beach to dry.

IV.

Peace broods upon that Western isle;—
When a lone fisher on the sand,
Loitering along with vacant smile,
Suddenly stops, and with his hand
Shades his face from the light of the skies,
And summons his soul into his eyes,
To look if his sight deceives him not;—
Lo!—there!—where sky and ocean blend!—
He fixes his gaze upon the spot—
The glittering cascades ascend
Twenty feet high—then rustle down
On the backs of the monsters, bare and brown;
Again—and again—he sees them roll—
There are whales in the bay—A shoal! A shoal!

V.

In the fulness of his joy, his face
Reddens—and his quick eager shout,
Echoing over that silent place,
Calls the inquiring people out.

“The whales!” he cries—and to behold
Come the youthful and the old;
Come the feeble and the strong;
Men and women and girls; with boys,
That whether for right, or whether for wrong,
Delight in the tumult and the noise;
Rushing down with trampling feet,
And cries that the echoing hills repeat.

VI.

And now the uproar thicker grows—
From side to side the clapper goes
In the kirk bell, as if its power
Had been redoubled for this hour;
As if in such a cause inspired,
It summon'd with gladness all the flock;
And flags are waved, and guns are fired,
And bonfires kindled on the rock;
And that lone isle of the Western sea
Prepares for a day of jubilee.

VII.

“Leviathan! Leviathan!”
The minister cries, and shuts his book;
And though a man of peace is he,
As a preacher of the Word should be,
He takes his musket from a nook,
Rusty and old; and hastes away
To join his people in the bay.

VIII.

His daughters fair have saddled their steeds,
Two young ponies sleek and brown;
And with flashing eyes and streaming hair,
And heads uncover'd, have galloped down
To see the sport—perchance to share.
Old men have left their usual place
By warm firesides, to join the chase,
And one bedridden, half-crazy soul
Has started up at the people's roar,
And the joyous cry “a shoal! a shoal!”
And hobbled on crutches to the door,
To envy the limbs of the passers-by,
And watch the sport with kindling eye.

IX.

The women have left their spinning-wheels,
Their hose, their nets, their fishing-creels,
And arm'd themselves with pikes and staves
To follow the monsters of the waves.
Fifty boats at least are ready—
With rowers strong and helmsmen steady,
To drive the whales into shallow water,
And dye the beach with the blood of slaughter.

X.

Merrily ring the bells—
Merrily wave the flags—
Merrily shout the people
That watch upon the crags.

Merrily row the boats—
Merrily swell the sails—
And merrily go the islanders
To chase the mighty whales.
And quietly prays the preacher
For a blessing and reward
Upon harpoon and musket,
Upon the spear and sword,
That shall slay the great Leviathan,
For the glory of the Lord.

XI.

And steady—steady—steady—
Until their backs appear;
And ready—ready—ready—
With the musket and the spear!
Behold the spouts upheaving,
Their sides the water cleaving—
A shot is fired—and a sudden roar
Proclaims approval on the shore;
And barb'd harpoons with lengthening twine
Are launch'd unerring o'er the brine,
And the water-spouts, that a minute ago
Were clear as the discongealing snow,
Rise ruddy in air like founts of wine;—
And the wounded whales, in their agony,
Plunge in fury through the sea,
And lash the waters into froth,
Blood-crimson'd by their pain and wrath.

XII.

In vain ye struggle—luckless whales;—
Your numbers were a score—
But ten of you shall not escape
To swim the salt seas more.
For ye have come to a needy land,
And to a perilous shore,
Where they will turn your bones to wealth—
Make coinage of your spoil,
And give their virgins when they wed
A dowry of your oil;—
Where men will sit around their hearths,
Reposing from their toil,
And long that every day may see
Such slaughter and such revelry.

XIII.

Again—again—the muskets ring,
And scare the sea-birds on the wing;
And not a shot is fired this day
That fails to reach its mark—and slay.
Strong hands impel the heavy spear,
Or drive the double-edged harpoon;
And the fair bay, whose waters clear
Were stainless underneath the moon,
Shall roll to-night a darker flood,
And see its billows streak'd with blood.

XIV.

'Tis done—the unequal strife is o'er—
The dying whales are driven ashore;

And long ere setting of the sun,
Their carcasses are haul'd to land;
Where, stretch'd unwieldy on the sand,
Men count the prizes they have won;—
Twelve monsters huge, whose bones shall bring
Enjoyment for the wintry nights,
Whose oil shall make the wretched sing,
And fill the needy with delights.
And round about the children go,
With gladness fill'd to overflow,
To hear the joyous bells resound,
And see the bonfires blazing round.

XV.

This night shall mirth be unrestrain'd,
Its blood in quicker pulses driven;
And many a flowing cup be drain'd,
And many a loving pledge be given;
And even the minister himself
Shall lay his Bible on the shelf,
And join his elders o'er a bowl
To drink a welcome to the shoal.
And every dweller in the isle
Shall hold a festival the while,
And mark in memory's tablets clear,
This day the fairest of the year.