68 BRINGING MR. TOWNSEND BACK AGAIN. 



the pose of the officers as they stood in the stern- 

 sheets of the boats, each with his lifted left hand 

 holding the steering oar, and each with his right 

 hand pushing upon the stroke oar ; and, yet more 

 vivid, the one figure I could see in our own boat. 

 For the mate stood last, steering with one hand 

 and helping me row with the other. 



How those men sprang to their oars — it makes 

 my blood tingle to recall. The oars bent in the 

 water. We ripped through the waves, the spray 

 dashing high and white. We were chasing the 

 whale ! 



And here is the wonderful thing. I had not yet 

 got a glimpse of the whale. In the confusion and 

 excitement of lowering away, I had not even seen 

 the column of vapor that marked him to view. I 

 sat toiling in that pitching and careening boat, 

 with my back toward the whale. 



It was terrible — going to my death, it might 

 be, and going backward ! 



The mate's face reassured me. He was cool 

 and determined — teeth clenched, eyes glaring, 

 brows knitted, but not a sign of anxiety. He 

 knew no such thing as fear. 



He thrust out his chin. I could see the cords 

 draw stiff in his neck. His face was red from 

 exertion. Every nerve thrilled with a fierce joy. 



