22 THE WHALE HUNTERS 



through the surf by six men. Jonathan thrilled at the 

 manner in which their bows lifted to the crashing seas as 

 the oarsmen fought to make the blades of their oars bite 

 the white water. With men baling out the water that 

 had washed into them the boats reached the smoother 

 water clear of the surf and then with their sails filling to 

 the south breeze they steered towards the spouting whales. 



Jonathan ran to the foot of the lookout spar which stood 

 on a high dune overlooking the camp. 



'You will see the sport more easily from up here,' 

 called the lookout from his tiny platform, as he hoisted 

 a signal flag on a short mast. 'Come up here and we'll 

 watch the fun together.' 



Jonathan climbed up and seated himself next to a 

 skinny youth in his teens who wore a broad straw hat to 

 shade his eyes from the sun. 



'You are not by chance one called Joseph Mather?' 

 asked Jonathan. 



'No, stranger, I am Ebenezer Small. Joseph is in one 

 of the boats out there where I would be if they had not 

 sent me up this spar. That is Joseph's boat coming up 

 to the whale now with our Master Jackson at the steering 

 oar. And that is Chimoo pulling the bow oar. He's the 

 finest harpinger in all New England.' 



He put a large telescope to his eye. 'Stand up! 

 Stand up, you red devil. Not too near those flukes or 

 they'll stove your boat, Master Jackson,' he howled in 

 anguished tones. 'Stand up, stand up, Chimoo, or she'll 

 sound before you can strike.' 



He gasped with impatience. 'Here, you take a spy 

 through this glass, lad, for I cannot bear to watch longer.' 



Jonathan looked through the long telescope and as if in 

 response to Ebenezer's imploring words the tall figure 

 with feathered head-dress shipped his oar and stood like a 

 bronze statue with harpoon lifted high. The long brown 

 arm flashed and the harpoon flew through the air, its 



