#There is something oddly majestic about Jellyfish.

[uwukiri]

Vitamin Sea

Genre: Fanfiction, Science fiction (Phan)

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: none

Part: Two (Click here for my full masterlist)

Description: “The sea, once it casts it’s spell, holds one in it’s net of wonder forever.” ~ Jacques Cousteau

Hundreds of years go, before the Internet, before the two World Wars, and before the discovery of the Americas, an Englishman named Philip Michael Lester was the first mate on the “Behemoth”, a large whaling ship owned by His Majesty, King Edward of England. Due to the lack of any available and experienced sailors and a small miscommunication with the Captain, he was now second-in-command of an entire crew, despite having never set foot on a ship in his lifetime. He expected the voyage to be unbearable and treacherous, but, to his surprise, it is actually quite… magical.

Phil’s POV

“Starboard! Starboard!” A loud shout from on deck awoke me from my sleep. “All crew members on deck! There she blows!”

There she blows.

I jumped out of bed, rushing to throw on my clothes and grabbing my harpoon.

The business of whaling was filled with long hours of boredom, although the moment when the whaleboats were launched and the chase began was filled with the frenzied excitement of a hunt. The crews raced against each other, struggling to arrive at the whale first. Even as they moved closer to danger, they could not see their prey. For all hands, especially the inexperienced, it was a tense moment as the small, fragile whaleboat drew up to the unpredictable and enormous mammal.

Which, as predictable as it may seem, was the visual displayed when I arrived on deck.

“Lester!” Liguori hollered, in no direction in particular. “Get to the whaling boats!”

“Ay, ay, Captain!” I raced to the boats, loading them full of crewmen, all holding their respective weapons and tools. I lowered the boat into the water, jumping in after it.

As the whaleboat glided closer, the harpooneer picked up his weapon. The harpoon, known to crews as the “whale iron,” was used to fasten the whale to the whaleboat, rather than to kill it. It was designed to penetrate blubber and hold securely, like a hook. I knew this much from bits and pieces of information during a conversation during dinner a few nights back.

As we neared the creature, its huge body burrowing under the waves, the harpooneer stood at the bow, bracing his leg against the thighboard, weapon in hand, poised for action. 

“Give it to him,” the boatheader shouted when the boat was within a few feet of the large beast, and the harpooneer plunged his barbed weapon into the whale’s back.

At this moment of danger, the crew backed the boat away, as the whale thrashed in pain. The jaws or tail of a 50-ton whale could smash the boat and send the crew tumbling into the water if we weren’t careful.

The whaleboat, attached to the prey by harpoon and line, bounced along, showering the men with spray. The danger was very real that the crew might be carried so far from the ship that it could not find them again, and that frightened me slightly. Nevertheless, I lifted my head up and tightened my grip.

When the whale tired, the crew pulled on the line to draw the boat close to their prey, while boatheader and harpooneer changed places – a hazardous maneuver that led to more than one death. The harpooneer went aft to steer, while the boatheader carried a lance forward and plunged it into a vulnerable spot, such as the heart or lungs. With each breath, the whale spouted blood.

As the whaleboat backed off again, the crew observed the awesome spectacle of the death of the whale. I was teetering between being in awe and absolutely disgusted. The great beast swam violently in ever smaller circles, a pattern known as the “flurry”, that much I knew. The end came when the whale beat the water with its tail, shuddered and turned fin out, a whaling term I had picked up meaning that the whale had expired and turned over on its side.

As the crew cheered and began to bring the whale in, I shuddered, taking in the corpse of the majestic creature. Had I... had I done that?

I stared into the dead eye of the beast. It was wide open and black, almost... scared?

“Oi! Lester! Help me out over here!”

After hours of tremendous exertion, the whale was brought in close to the ship and the shifts began. It was a long process. They stripped off the blubber, a thick layer of fat, with cutting spades set in 15-foot long poles. The process was very much like peeling skin from an orange. They cut the long strips into “blanket pieces,” weighing about a ton each. After hauling the blanket pieces up on deck, they divided them into smaller “horse pieces” and “Bible leaves,” so-called because they resembled books.

It was a grueling procedure, and it absolutely drained the life out of me. When my six hour shift had finally ended, I was dismissed back to my chamber, where I slept throughout the nigh and for half the day.

Sleeping was a huge benefit to the whaling process, as not only did you get a chance to rest, but you got a break from the deck, at least for a while. Processing a whale was nearly as dangerous as hunting one. The deck became so slick with blood and oil that a man could slip overboard to the sharks below. Others were crushed by the enormous weight of strips of blubber or wounded by cutting tools. As the blubber was being rendered in the tryworks, a wave sometimes rocked the ship and splashed scalding oil onto our crew. And throughout the days and nights of work, an unforgettable stench clung to the men and our ship.

I had already lost two men to this whale. The first was a victim to an oil burn, and the second was killed while stripping the blubber. The other crew mates didn’t have the time, but during my rest hours I held a small memorial service with Peter. We decided that they deserved at least that much.

After the last cask was stowed in the hold, the crew scrubbed and polished until the ship was once again as clean as it could be, considering that the inescapable odor of smoked blubber could never be eradicated. I worked during my rest hours then, too, with Peter showing me how to swab the deck and scrub the planks. Peter, the poor boy, seemed absolutely drained. His dirty blonde hair was stuck to his forehead with blood and sweat.

We worked days and nights for weeks, knowing good and well that another whale could show up at any moment. In all honesty, I was very frightened, as well as disgusted with myself. I had lost the lives of two men. I couldn’t just ignore that. They were men with families back home, most likely to be waiting for their sons and husbands when - and if- we ever arrived back, only to learn that they had not made it home.

The thoughts had me tossing and turning in my sleep. I had a feeling that the Captain suspected something, but if he did, he never spoke of it. And I think we were both fine with that.

When it was over and done, the crew went back to normal. Peter was unavailable most of the time, making up for the jobs of the two young men we had lost. I spent most of my time staring back at the water, thinking that if I stared long enough, the cool waves could somehow splash some light back into my eyes.

The ship was oddly quiet most of the time. I couldn’t put a finger on why, exactly. Maybe the whaling procedure had just drained the energy of the rest of the crew, as well as mine.

There was a splash in the water.

I grabbed onto the side of the ship and leaned over, looking for the source of the splash. A sea turtle, perhaps? No. This time I was sure, it was no trick of the light.

A shimmering blue creature had disappeared under the ship.

I leaned back. What was this creature? I couldn’t recall any other sailors speaking of it. A large cod, maybe? A dolphin? It definitely wasn’t a sea turtle or jellyfish. But, then again, what would a dolphin be doing this far out to sea?

I groaned, setting myself down against an oil barrel. I was thinking too much of this. It’s the ocean, Philip. I’m bound to see sea creatures when I go on the ocean.

I dismissed it from my mind, but there was still a nagging voice in the back of my mind telling me there was more to this than meets the eye.