WHALING AND BEAR-HUNTING 95 



the delicate white skin. Then we " up sticked " and steered 

 away south-west to this sunny part of the sea, and dozed 

 comfortably as we went, our best speed about six knots, for 

 home. 



A fisherman is not to be pitied coming home with seventy 

 tons to port and sixty to starboard, enjoying the sense of 

 comfort and well-being that comes after the first hardening 

 days at sea, enjoying the pure air and the scent of roasting 

 coffee. We do ourselves well on our Norwegian boats this 

 year ; at least the coffee is good. As we imbibe it and think 

 our sport is over, we come into warmer weather, a froth of 

 soft white and grey clouds reflected in the swell, two whalers 

 on the horizon and finners in sight. So it's all alive-o ! 

 Off with the guns' coverings we may have a third whale 

 to show the girls on shore (if there were any !). And we 

 chased these too in the silky silence of that space of sea 

 and air and reflections of fairy lands of softest, most pearly 

 cumulous clouds with only a spot of frosted blue overhead 

 to give force to the faintest yellow, the only sound, the soft 

 thrum of our subdued screw beat and the occasional surge 

 as we crushed down on the glassy swell, and every now and 

 then the great deep, deep sigh of the seventy-ton finners 

 rising in front, alas always just out of reach. One of the 

 whales bore a scar where we think a harpoon had glanced off. 

 The Fritjiof, a neighbour whaler, also occupied this ocean 

 chamber a few miles off and quietly went about in tow of 

 a whale ; we saw her fire one shot and noted the colour of the 

 smoke, blue against her hull fading to rusty brown across the 

 sky. She had four lines into the beast when we called on her 

 later, and chatted across the swell to the harpooneer. 



Now we have again picked up our prey of dead whales 

 and are toddling home five to six miles an hour at full 

 steam, and ought to be in by dinner-time to-morrow, 

 Wednesday that is, twelve o'clock. 



Wednesday morning, it is, it must be ! But it seems 

 months since Wednesday last week. Yesterday seemed a 

 week, with its endless gallery of magnificent sky and sea 

 pictures. Now there is time for a shave and a wash in the 

 sun on the top of the engine-house. What intense luxury ! 



