The breathing spell was of two or three minutes' duration, the dive of five or ten, and might last much longer. Billy was told that as the whales went thus, rising and diving, they travelled in a circle, feeding on young caplin and herring, squid and crustaceans. He had never thought to admire the grace of a whale; but his admiration was compelled: the ponderous, ill-proportioned monsters were so perfectly adapted to the element they were in that the languor and grace with which they moved was a delight—particularly when they arched their glistening black backs and softly, languidly vanished.

But meantime the Viking was lying silent and still; and—

"Hon-g-k!" from off the port bow.

"Ha!" exclaimed the captain.

A big whale had risen. The long "Hon-g-k!" as he had inhaled a small cyclone of breath was sufficient to tell that. He was big and he was near.

"Full speed!" quietly from the captain in Norwegian.

The steersman had already spun the wheel without orders. The Viking swung in a half circle and made for the whale at top speed. There was just a quiver of excitement abroad—a deepening glitter in the eyes of the crew, and silence. The rush was upon the whale from behind—instant, swift, straight: the engines chug-chugged and the water swished noisily at the bows. There was no lying in ambush, no stalking: it was sight your game and make for him.

The captain leaned lazily on the gun, which he had not yet swung into position for firing; his legs were crossed, though the whale was not a hundred yards away, and he was placidly smoking his pipe. The fin-back lay dead ahead now, apparently unconscious of the Viking's approach, and she was soon so near that his escape seemed to Billy to be beyond the barest chance. The captain waved his hand, calmly looked over the sea, and fell again into his careless position, with one eye on the whale.

At once the engines stopped and the Viking slipped softly on with diminishing speed. When she was within thirty yards of the whale, each separate muscle of Billy's body was tight with excitement—but the whale arched his back and slipped down deep into the water with a contemptuous swing of his broad, strong tail.

"Psh-h!" exclaimed the captain, giving one slippered foot a kick with the other. "Psh!"

They were running over a stretch of frothy, swirling water, where the whale had lain a moment before.

"Hon-g-k!" from off the starboard quarter.

The captain signaled the steersman, who shouted "Full speed!" down the wheel-house tube. In a flash they were chug-chugging in haste after another whale—which eluded them at once, with no more fuss than the first had made: no blowing and frantic splashing; just a lifting of the back and a languid swing of the tail. Thus the third, the fourth, the fifth: again and again, through the hours of that quiet morning, they gave chase; but all to no purpose—on the contrary, indeed, with the bad effect of alarming the whole school. The whales made sport of them; the flash of their fins, as they slipped away beyond pursuit, was most aggravating.

Soon the captain's "Psh!" became guttural, and communicated itself to the man in the crow's-nest and the engineer who was off duty; the elusive fin-backs were too much for the patience of them all. But for hours the "old man" leaned on the gun and smoked his pipe, intent on the chase through every moment of that time. He kicked his right foot with his left; his broad back shook with rage; strange ejaculations drifted back with the clouds of tobacco smoke: that was all. Repeated disappointment but heightened the alertness and eagerness of the crew. Every lost whale was dismissed with a "Psh-h!" and quite forgotten in the pursuit of the next one.

Nine hours out from Snook's Arm and six with the school without pointing a gun!

"Agh!" the captain exclaimed, jumping from the gun platform, at last, "the whale captain have the worst business of all men. Agh! but I wish for rough seas. But I wish I had my harpoon in the back of some whale."

All days are not blue. Before the summer was over, Billy Topsail learned there were times when the Viking put out from the shelter of Snook's Arm to a sea that is rough. A gale from the northeast, gray and gusty, whips up the white horses, and frost gives new weight to the water. Wind and fog and high seas and sleet make the chase perilous as well as bitter. She stumbles through the waves and wallows in the trough with a clear-cut duty before her—to catch and kill a whale: the little niceties of dodging breaking waves cannot be indulged in when all manoevering must be directed towards coming up with the quarry from the proper firing-quarter.

But Billy's first day was clear and quiet; and the whales were having a glorious innings with the enemy.

By noon the prospects for a kill had faded to a bare possibility; the school had been well scattered. Down the coast and up the coast, out to sea and far away across the bay, puffs of spray made known the various directions the whales had taken. About two o'clock—ten hours out from Snook's Arm, with no let up in duty—the crew were attracted by the deep, long hon-g-k of a big fellow out to sea and by the spouting of his two companions: a group of three, male and female, doubtless, with a well-grown young one. They gave chase. Captain and crew had come to that pass when fury gets the better of patience.

It was determined to hunt that little school to the death or until deep night put an end to the chase.

"I get 'im," said the captain between his teeth. "He is big. I get him—or none."

It was not easy to get him. They were led twenty miles to sea in short rushes, each of which ended in disappointment and elicited a storm of guttural ejaculations; they were lured inshore, where submerged rocks were a menace; they were taken up the coast and back again towards the islands of the lower shore and once more to sea. Mile after mile—hour after hour! They came near—they could have hit the beast with a stone. Occasionally the captain swung the gun into position and put a hand on the trigger; but the arching back always gave notice, in good time, that he had been balked again. They tried to guess the point where the quarry would rise; they steamed near that point, and lay there waiting.

"Hon-g-k!" from half a mile astern.

"Agh!" cried the captain, chagrin twisting his face. "The whale captain have pos—ee—tiv—lee the worst——! Full speed!"

Off again in persistent chase. Meantime the sun had declined; evening was drawing on, with gray clouds mounting in the west, and a breeze rising inshore. The sea was spread with shadow, and all the ripples grew to little waves, which, hissing as they broke, obscured the swish of water at our bows. The opportunity was better, and the whales, it may be, had acquired the inevitable contempt that familiarity breeds. The Viking crept nearer. Each time, a little nearer; and, by and by, when she had come within range—within range for the first time that day—and was running at half speed, with the grayish-black backs most temptingly exposed, the captain dropped the muzzle of the gun, took swift sight, and—swung the gun around with impatient force! The whale was gone on the long dive before a vital spot had been exposed.

There was no impatience of action aboard the Viking: the harpoon might even then have been fast in the whale's back, but the captain had coolly withheld his stroke until the opportunity should be precisely what he sought. And this display of patience after a fruitless chase of fifteen hours! Billy Topsail gasped his disappointment. But the captain laughed.

"I get him yet," he said. "Soon, now," after a look at sea and darkening sky.