Despatch of our Prey. 127 



single fish. Our boats were scattered in all direc- 

 tions, and fog and snow overtaking us, they were 

 soon concealed from our view. We were, however, 

 guided to a knowledge of their position by hearing 

 the cheers of the victorious crews when they had 

 succeeded in killing their fish. 



One of the whales, on being struck, had made 

 for the pack ice, which rendered it impossible for a 

 boat to approach sufficiently near to administer the 

 coup cle grace. Steam being ready, the ship was 

 pushed in, steering towards the spot where, from 

 the direction the line was taking, we knew the fish 

 to be, making thereby a lane for the boats. We 

 came close up to the poor beast when a second 

 harpoon was fired into it, the harpooneers watching 

 their opportunity every time it rose, and plunging 

 their lances in to the depth of six or seven feet. 

 The water was soon dyed crimson in the vicinity of 

 the unfortunate animal, and the ice for some distance 

 around was stained with the same ensanguined hue. 

 It was impossible for anything possessing vitality 

 to survive long the vigorous and deadly thrusts 

 which it received, and after a brief struggle and one 

 last convulsive heaving of its enormous tail, the 

 unhappy monster, yielding to the superior power 

 and knowledge of its tormentors, turned slowly over 

 on its back and expired amidst the cheers of the 

 boats' crews and all on board. It was impossible 

 to refrain from joining in the general excitement 



