THE NIGHT KING 77 



using a code familiar to whalemen. The Night 

 King caught the message first. He turned 

 quickly to the boatheader at the tiller and 

 pointed. Instantly the boat came about, the sail- 

 ors shifted from one gunwale to the other, the 

 big sail swung squarely out and filled. All hands 

 settled themselves for the run to close quarters. 



With thrilling interest, I watched the hunt 

 from the ship's forward bulwarks, where I stood 

 grasping a shroud to prevent pitching overboard. 

 Down a long slant of wind, the boat ran free with 

 the speed of a greyhound, a white plume of spray 

 standing high on either bow. The Night King 

 stood alert and cool, one foot on the bow seat, 

 balancing a harpoon in his hands. The white 

 background of the bellying sail threw his tense 

 figure into relief. Swiftly, silently, the boat 

 stole upon its quarry until but one long sea lay 

 between. It rose upon the crest of the wave and 

 poised there for an instant like some great white- 

 winged bird of prey. Then sweeping down the 

 green slope, it struck the whale bows-on and 

 beached its keel out of the water on its glistening 

 back. As it struck, the Night King let fly one 



