There is something primeval about the hunting of whales before the advent of industrial killing by factory ships and explosive long-range harpoons. It’s a near-mythical activity rooted in the fiction of Moby-Dick and the reality of men sailing thousands of miles into almost uncharted waters back in the days of sail, enduring hardship and danger as they chased down mighty beasts capable of crushing pursuing boats with a flick of their mighty tails.
Indeed, Melville may well have been inspired to conjure up by the real-life destruction of the Nantucket whaler in November 1820 by a gigantic sperm whale and the subsequent ordeal of the 21 surviving crew in open boats. After running out of food, water and virtually all hope, the men drew lots to determine who would be sacrificed as food. The captain’s young cousin, the presciently named Owen Coffin, drew the short straw and was shot and devoured. Weeks later, the last two men alive were gnawing on the bones A pair of of their beautifully dead comrades hennatattooed when they were rescued hands of a bride some 95 days after their vessel went to the
