THE GREYHOUND OF THE SEA 



I was standing on the bridge with the camera fo- 

 cused and pressed the button as they rose to the 

 surface. An instant later came the crash of the har- 

 poon-gun and the nearest \vhale, throwing its flukes 

 and half its body out of the water, turned head down 

 in a long dive. 



"You got him," yelled the Captain, and it was evi- 

 dent that Sorenson had hit, for the heavy rope was 

 running out at a tremendous rate. Fifty, seventy- 

 five, one hundred fathoms were taken almost before 

 we knew it. The man at the winch tried to check the 

 hissing line but the brake could not hold. Half a mile 

 of cable was gone before the rush ended and the Cap- 

 tain rang for half speed astern. When the whale felt 

 the heavy drag of the vessel he stopped and sounded, 

 sulked on the bottom for nearly half an hour, and 

 finally reappeared in front of the boat, about three 

 hundred fathoms away, blowing strongly. 



The steamer was sent astern at half speed and the 

 line held by the winch. The steady, relentless pull was 

 too much for even his wonderful strength, and slowly 

 we neared the whale. Back and forth he dived across 

 our bows, tugging at the line and sometimes gaining 

 a few fathoms from the grinding wheels. At last he 

 rose directly in front of the ship and Sorenson sent 

 a second harpoon crashing into his side. 



Stung to renewed efforts by the biting steel, the 

 whale dove at right angles to the vessel's course, keel- 

 ing the boat far over to port. I was standing on the 

 wing of the bridge waiting to get a picture when the 

 Captain shouted: 



161 



