Down went the boats with a splash. Each boat's crew sprang over the
rail, and in an instant the larboard, starboard, and waist-boats were
manned. There was great rivalry in getting the start. The waist-boat got
off in pretty good time; and away went all three, dashing the water high
over their bows. Nothing could be more exciting than the chase. The
larboard boat, commanded by the mate, and the waist-boat, by the second
mate, were head and head. "Give way, my lads, give way!" shouted P----,
our headsman; "we gain on them; give way! A long, steady stroke! That's
the way to tell it!" "Ay, ay!" cried Tabor, our boat-steerer. "What do
you say, boys? Shall we lick 'em?" "Pull! pull like vengeance!" echoed
the crew; and we danced over the waves, scarcely seeming to touch them.
The chase was now truly soul-stirring. Sometimes the larboard, then the
starboard, then the waist-boat took the lead. It was a severe trial of
skill and muscle. After we had run two miles at this rate, the whales
turned flukes, going dead to windward. "Now for it, my lads!" cried
P----. "We'll have them the next rising. Now pile it on! a long, steady
pull! That's it! that's the way! Those whales belong to us. Don't give
out! Half an hour more, and they're our whales!" The other boats veered
off at either side of us, and continued the chase with renewed ardor. In
about half an hour we lay on our oars to look round for the whales.
"There she blows! right ahead!" shouted Tabor, fairly dancing with
delight. "There she blows--there she blows!" "Oh, Lord, boys, spring!"
cried P----. "Spring it is! What d'ye say, now, chummies? Shall we take
those whales?" To this general appeal, every man replied by putting his
weight on his oar, and exerting his utmost strength. The boat flew
through the water with incredible swiftness, scarcely rising to the
waves. A large bull whale lay about a quarter of a mile ahead of us,
lazily rolling in the trough of the sea. The larboard and starboard
boats were far to leeward of us, tugging hard to get a chance at the
other whales, which were now blowing in every direction. "Give way! give
way, my hearties!" cried P----, putting his weight against the aft oar.
"Do you love gin? A bottle of gin to the best man! Oh, pile it on, while
you have breath! pile it on!" "On with the beef, chummies! Smash every
oar! double 'em up or break 'em!" "Every devil's imp of you, pull! No
talking; lay back to it; now or never!"
On dashed the boat, cleaving its way through the rough sea, as if the
briny element were blue smoke. The whale, however, turned flukes before
we could reach him. When he appeared again above the surface of the
water, it was evident that he had milled while down, by which manoeuver
he gained on us nearly a mile. The chase was now almost hopeless, as he
was making to windward rapidly. A heavy black cloud was on the horizon,
portending an approaching squall, and the barque was fast fading from
sight. Still we were not to be baffled by discouraging circumstances of
this kind, and we braced our sinews for a grand and final effort. "Never
give up, my lads," said the headsman, in a cheering voice. "Mark my
words, we'll have the whale yet. Only think he's ours, and there's no
mistake about it, he will be ours. Now for a hard, steady pull! Give
way!" "Give way, sir! Give way all!" "There she blows! Oh, pull, my
lively lads! Only a mile off!" "There she blows!" The wind had by this
time increased almost to a gale, and the heavy, black clouds were
scattering over us far and wide. Part of the squall had passed off to
leeward, and entirely concealed the barque. Our situation was rather
unpleasant: in a rough sea, the other boats out of sight, and each
moment the wind increasing. We continued to strain every muscle till we
were hard upon the whale. Tabor sprang to the bow, and stood by with the
harpoon. "Softly, softly, my lads," said the headsman. "Ay, ay sir!"
"Hush-h-h! softly! Now's your time, Tabor!" Tabor let fly the harpoon,
and buried the iron. "Give him another!" "Stern all!" thundered P----.
"Stern all!" And, as we rapidly backed from the whale, he flung his
tremendous fluke high in the air, covering us with a cloud of spray. He
then sounded, making the line whiz as it passed through the chocks. When
he rose to the surface again, we hauled up, and the second mate stood
ready in the bow to dispatch him with lances. "Spouting blood!" said
Tabor, "he's a dead whale! he won't need much lancing." It was true
enough; for, before the officer could get within dart of him, he
commenced his dying struggles. The sea was crimsoned with his blood. By
the time we had reached him, he was belly up. We lay upon our oars a
moment, to witness his last throes, and when he turned his head toward
the sun, a loud, simultaneous cheer, burst from every lip.