100 A YEAR WITH A WHALER 



was full of sharks. It was not difficult to make 

 them believe that I was verging on tragedy. 



"Dere he go down I" Gabriel's voice was 

 broken and sobbing. " He t'row his hands up. 

 He underneath de water. I cain't see him. Oh, 

 dat poor feller! Xo, dere he come up again — 

 oh, good Lord I Pull away, my bully boys, pull 

 away. We save him yet." 



Surely the stage lost a star when Gabriel be- 

 came a whaler. The old Thespian was good — 

 he was great. His acting carried conviction. 

 The sailors believed I was drowning. They 

 leaned upon their oars with a will. The sweeps 

 bent beneath the powerful strokes. The boat 

 jumped through the water. I noted the in- 

 creased speed by the white spray that began to 

 stand at the bow. Gabriel helped along the 

 speed by forward lurches of his body, pushing at 

 the same time upon the stroke oar. All the while 

 he kept shouting: 



"We save him yet, dat poor feller! Pull 

 away, my boys." 



The boat came up rapidly. In a little while 

 it was almost upon me. I tried to dodge it by 



