The crew of an unidentified ship in the 1890s / Robert Neff Collection
In early 1890, the Eastern Whaling Company was established in Yokohama, Japan. It was a foreign venture and began operations with a single small steamer named the Nautilus which was soon joined by a brand new steamer named the Narwhal. The company began with grand goals and a promising future but its reality was bad luck, financial ruin and death.
Almost immediately the Narwhal experienced problems — even before it was launched. On April 23, 1891, Miss Wheeler christened the whaler and “the launch was then attempted. Owing to the shallowness of the water, however, the vessel remained fast until the next day, when she was successfully launched into the bay.”
Troubles continued that night when the whaler was involved in an “amazing” incident involving the “ancient” American warship U.S.S. Monocacy. According to the Japan Weekly Mail, the wind had shifted direction from the previous day and dislodged the shackle mooring the Narwhal to a buoy:
“[The Narwhal] left the friendly protection of the buoy, and began in the middle of the night a voyage of exploration and discovery about the harbour. The watch on board the Monocacy were somewhat surprised to find bearing down on them, and at length ranging up quite socially alongside their paddle box, a mast-less vessel, so two ‘jacks’ got on board, passed the stranger carefully aft, and made a rope fast to her.”
Busan’s harbor in the early 1900s / Robert Neff Collection
While the Monocacy’s log book entry is not as entertaining as the newspaper account, it does provide some additional information:
“About 4:30 A.M. the schooner Narwhal drifted down carrying away the port lower beam. Put men aboard and secured her stern … The gooseneck had only pulled out, so got lower beam back in place.”
Later that morning, Captain E. H. Bolles, who was responsible for fitting the Narwhal, went out to examine his ship only to discover her moored to the American warship.
“He at once set out to find an explanation of this singular circumstance, for which purpose he went on the little whaler. There being no one on deck, he, still in pursuit of information, went below, and there he found the watchman — asleep. That worthy had slumbered watchfully through it all.”
In early June, the Narwhal was finally completed and “under the skilled and experienced superintendence of Captain [Bolles]” and the men who accompanied him from California, the whaler went out on its maiden hunt in the Sea of Okhotsk. The voyage was very successful and the Eastern Whaling Company anticipated purchasing three or four more ships. This dream of a fleet of ships was not to be.
A view of Busan’s bustling harbor in the early 1900s / Robert Neff Collection
At the end of the season, Captain Bolles returned to the United States and the company needed a new captain for the Narwhal. Sometime in early 1892, Captain John Spiegethal — a very experienced seafarer — was given command of the ship. The new captain, however, had a history.
Born in Fehrbellin (Brandenburg), Prussia, on Jan. 6, 1846, Friedrich Wilhelm Johannes (John) Spiegethal began his career as an ordinary seaman in the spring of 1863. Over the next 12 years, he served on a number of ships in various positions, before serving as the chief officer on the S.S. Taiaroa — a brand new steamship. On its maiden voyage in September 1875, it sailed from Glasgow, Scotland, bound for New Zealand. On Nov. 3, the captain died suddenly and Spiegethal assumed command but he ended up grounding the ship on Dec. 10 near his destination. Fortunately the ship was not too badly damaged and arrived safely at Port Chalmers the following day. Spiegethal’s master’s certificate was suspended for 30 days as a warning for him to be more careful.
Starting in the late 1870s, Spiegethal capably commanded several Japanese steamships until Sept. 4, 1891, when the S.S. Sendai Maru was lost off the west coast of Japan. An inquiry found Spiegethal at fault and suspended his certificate for three months. This could have been a career-ending event, but as soon as his suspension was over, he was hired by the Eastern Whaling Company.
In March 1892, Captain Spiegethal sailed the Narwhal into Fusan (modern Busan) Harbor. For about two weeks the whaler “went out on several short cruises and captured whales outside the three-mile limit, towing them into Fusan for sale.” Things were going well, but his success apparently bred jealousy amongst the Korean and Japanese fishermen.
A telegram from the Korean Foreign Office instructed the Korean Customs officials to “confiscate the whales as Corea had no fishing treaty with Great Britain and the ‘Narwhal’ had been guilty of a misdemeanor in fishing off the Corean coast.” John Hunt, an Englishman who served as the commissioner of Korean Customs at the port, refused to confiscate the whales as “any foreign vessel [has] a right to fish beyond the three mile limit and to bring the fish into a treaty port for sale.”
The Korean Foreign Office did not pursue the matter, but British Consul General Walter Hillier felt objections would be raised again in the near future as whales were abundant on the east coast of the Korean Peninsula and whale meat was readily purchased by the Korean population. He also speculated the initial protest was prompted by Japanese fishermen who were “very jealous of the invasion by foreigners of the lucrative monopoly which they have hitherto enjoyed.”
The protests by the Korean Foreign Office and Japanese fishermen were not the only problems Captain Spiegethal experienced in Fusan. According to one newspaper article, he was experiencing trouble with his crew.
After a little over two weeks in Fusan, the Narwhal sailed out of the harbor bound for Moji (part of modern Kitakyushu), Japan. At dawn on Sunday, April 3, 1892, the Narwhal was near its destination when the third officer, who was on watch, suddenly heard someone yelling “the captain’s overboard!”
Immediately six of the crew — including the chief and second officer — launched a lifeboat and went in search of the captain. The Narwhal soon arrived at Shimonoseki and reported the loss of the captain and the six would-be rescuers. Fortunately, later that day, the lifeboat and six men arrived at the port, but there was no doubt to them that Captain Spiegethal had drowned as they could find no trace of him.
The Rising Sun & Nagasaki Express later reported:
“Capt. Spiegethal was standing at the lee rail of the Narwhal, looking at the revolving light [of a lighthouse], by means of which the third officer was taking the bearings. He was not washed overboard, but possibly lost his balance, through the heavy rolling of the vessel.”
Like a vengeful albatross, tragedy continued to follow the Narwhal.
On Sept. 30, 1892, the Narwhal rescued the crew of the Nautilus — the company’s other steam whaler. Fortunately, none of the 24-man crew were lost and most of the ship’s equipment was salvaged, but it was a tremendous economic loss for the company as the ship was uninsured. However, things would get worse.
In late January 1893, the Narwhal sailed out of Yokohama for the Sea of Okhotsk where it would hunt for whales and do some sealing. On Jan. 27, it was completely wrecked — fortunately, none of the crew or the five passengers were lost.
Like the Nautilus, the Narwhal was uninsured and, unsurprisingly, the Eastern Whaling Company ceased operations. In 1897, one observer in China noted that “there is no whaling carried on now in China and Japanese seas, except by the natives near the shore.” He was convinced that if a company could be formed with sufficient capital and use modern whaling techniques, it would flourish. He did not have long to wait. Within a couple of years a Russian whaling company and a Japanese whaling company (a resurrection of the Eastern Whaling Company) began successfully operating along the Korean coast. Their stories, however, are for another time.
My appreciation to Diane Nars for her invaluable assistance.
Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books, including Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.
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