220 THE CRUISE OF THE " CACHALOT:* 



By the time the slack came we had about four hundred 

 and fifty fathoms out — a goodly heap to pile up loose in 

 our stern-sheets. I felt sure, however, that we should 

 have but little more trouble with our fish ; in fact, I was 

 half afraid that he would die before getting to the surface, 

 in which case he might sink and be lost. We hauled 

 steadily away, the line not coming in very easily, until I 

 judged there was only about another hundred fathoms 

 out. Our amazement may be imagined, when suddenly 

 we were compelled to slack away again, the sudden weight 

 on the line suggesting that the fish was again sounding. 

 If ever a young hand was perplexed, it was I. Never 

 before had I heard of such unseemly behaviour, nor was 

 my anxiety lessened when I saw, a short distance away, 

 the huge body of my prize at the surface spouting blood. 

 At the same time, I was paying out line at a good rate, 

 as if I had a fast fish on which was sounding briskly. 



The skipper had been watching me very closely from 

 his seat on the taffrail, and had kept the ship within easy 

 distance. Now, suspecting something out of the common, 

 he sent the boat again to my assistance, in charge of the 

 cooper. When that worthy arrived, he said, " Th' ol' 

 man reckens yew've got snarled erp 'ith thet ar' loose 

 keow, 'n y'r irons hev draw'd from th' other. I'm gwine 

 ter wait on him, 'n get him 'longside 'soon's he's out'er 

 his flurry. Ole man sez yew'd best wait on what's fast 

 t' yer an' nev' mine th' other." Away he went, reaching 

 ray prize just as the last feeble spout exhaled, leaving 

 the dregs of that great flood of life trickling lazily down 

 from the widely-expanded spiracle. To drive a harpoon 

 into the carcass, and run the line on board, was the 

 simplest of jobs, for, as the captain had foreseen, my irons 

 were drawn clean. I had no leisure to take any notice 



