THAT GREAT LEVIATHAN. 



The case of Dorothy being now got well out 

 of the way, I turn, and not without a grateful 

 sense of relief, to weightier considerations. 



For this gam of mine — you know the term ? 

 — is meant to set forth the grave as well as 

 the trivial interests of that young madcap who 

 was so early, and withal so auspiciously, put afloat 

 in the whaling ship Swift. It would, in truth, 

 be far from fair to leave the reader in possession 

 of the startling revelations of the last chapter, 

 unless, over against those light and altogether 

 frivolous narratives, be set some mention of the 

 serious business of whaling, — its toil, its peril, 

 its joy and thrill, to say nothing of its magical 

 fascination for a boy of fifteen. 



Pleasantly my memory runs back sixty years to 

 the day of our departure. Stars and stripes at the 

 peak, Blue Peter at the fore ; officers and crew 

 on board ; four boats on the cranes ; and the hold 

 filled with white oak casks and a stock of pro- 

 visions to last three years and more; then, as 

 somebody or other says, "Waiting is what?" 



Waiting is the pilot. But, once aboard, his 

 majesty takes command, and the voyage is begun. 



