[Excerpt from a forward-gaffer's journal - By Old Grum]
These new ships made by that Sokolov fellow make life easier than it was in my youth, I'll tell you what. Ere was, we were at the mercy of the winds. Nowaday, the engines git up at first whale-sign and there aint time enow to roust the boys from they're bunks afore you're on the herd.
We cull out the biggest bastard we can lay eyes on and the pilots drag us out from the circlin' brutes. Them things groan and bellow across the water, like they're callin' to each other. Men below say you can feel it in the hull.
But when the harpoons go in, the beast cannot make for deep water no more. Once it weaks from lost blood, we launch the hook-boot and put chains into the tail. Then the winches drag the bastard backwards up the chute and into the rigging overhead.