220 THE WIL1>. 



delicate morsel. But no ; he smells the rusty iron, per- 

 haps, or perhaps he sees the line ; at any rate he con- 

 tents himself with a sniff, and drops astern; coming 

 forward again, however, the next minute to sniff and 

 sniff again. 'Tis perilous ; yet 'tis tempting. 



A shout forward ! The mate has struck one ! And 

 away rush the after band to see the sport ; the skipper 

 himself hauls in the line, and joins the shouting throng. 

 Yes ; the grains have been well thrown, and are fast in 

 the fleshy part of the back. What a monster ! full 

 fifteen feet long, if he 's an inch ! and how he plunges, 

 and dives, and rolls round and round, enraged at the 

 pain and restraint, till you can't discern his body for the 

 sheet of white foam in which it is enwrapped I The stout 

 line strains and creaks, but holds on ; a dozen eager 

 hands are pulling in, and at last the unwilling victim is 

 at the surface just beneath the bows, but plunging with 

 tremendous force. 



Now, one of the smarter hands has jumped into the 

 forechains with a rope made into a noose. Many efforts 

 he makes to get this over the tail, without success ; at 

 length it is slipped over, in an instant hauled taut, and 

 the prey is secure. 



" Reeve the line through a block, and take a run with 

 it ! " Up comes the vast length, tail foremost, out of the 

 sea ; for a moment the ungainly beast hangs, twining and 

 bending his body, and gnashing those horrid fangs, till 

 hal -a-dozen boat-hooks guide toe mass to its death-bed 

 on the broad deck. Stand clear! If that mouth get 



