His CAPTORS. 89 



Oily Cosmetic. Whale Ship in the Suds. 



The smoke from the try-works blackens every 

 face, so that the watch on deck resembles a 

 party of colliers. Each rope, too, exposed to 

 its influence, is coated with lamp-black, and the 

 clothing of the men saturated with oil. Even 

 the sails, which on the passage were of a snowy 

 whiteness, receive their share of defilement ; 

 for, as they are handed every night, the men, 

 as they spring aloft from the try- works with 

 besmeared hands and clothes, can not furl 

 them without leaving a mark wherever fthey 

 touch. 



Your ship, perhaps, has been thoroughly 

 scrubbed and cleansed, crew cleared of " gurry," 

 and all again is ship-shape and tidy, when, 

 just after dinner, as all hands are on deck, the 

 welcome cry is raised, " There she blows !" 

 "Where away?" says the captain, hailing the 

 man aloft. " About two points on the lee bow, 

 sir." There she blows ! There she blows ! is 

 shouted again, and echoed back by a dozen voices 

 all agog. The mate, if lively, is soon aloft. 



" What do you make them, Mr. ?" says 



the captain, mounted on a thwart in the quar- 

 ter boat, and scanning the horizon with the 

 most eager interest. "I can't make 'em out 



