ON THE SOL AND ER Q ROUNDS. 325 



trying conditions, with that mountain of matter alongside 

 to which so much sheer hard labour had to be done, 

 while the sky was getting greasy and the wind beginning 

 to whine in that doleful key which is the certain prelude 

 to a gale ? 



Everybody worked like Chinamen on a contract, as 

 if there was no such feeling as fatigue. Little was said, 

 but we all realized that unless this job was got over 

 before what was brooding burst upon us, we should 

 certainly lose some portion of our hard-won whale. Still, 

 our utmost possible was all we could do ; and when at 

 daylight the head was hauled alongside for cutting up, 

 the imminent possibility of losing it, though grievous to 

 think of, worried nobody, for all had done their best. 

 The gale had commenced in business-like fashion, but 

 the sea was horrible. It was almost impossible to keep 

 one's footing on the stage. At times the whole mass of 

 the head would be sucked down by the lee roll of the 

 ship, and go right under her keel, the fluke-chain which 

 held it grinding and straining as if it would tear the 

 bows out of her. Then when she rolled back again 

 the head would rebound to the surface right away from 

 the ship, where we could not reach it to cut. Once or 

 twice it bounced up beneath our feet, striking the stage 

 and lifting it with its living load several inches, letting 

 it fall again with a jerk that made us all cling for dear 

 life to our precarious perch. 



In spite of these capers, we managed to get the 

 junk off the head. It was a tremendous lift for us; 

 I hardly think we had ever raised such a weight before. 

 The skipper himself estimated it at fifteen tons, which 

 was no small load for the tackles in fine weather, but 

 with the ship tumbling about in her present fashion, it 

 threatened to rip the mainmast out by the roots — not, 



