  The Mate of the Fin-Back Whale Rises for the Last Time, With a Blood-Red Sunset Beyond, and Billy Topsail Says, "Too bad!" HALF a mile ahead the whales rose. The Viking crept near without giving alarm, and waited for them to dive and rise again. The warning swish and hon-g-k sounded next from off the port bow. There was a shout from the crew. The school lay close in, headed away; they were splashing and blissfully hon-g-king—and the Viking not fifty yards distant. She was upon them from behind before they had well drawn breath. Steam was shut off. The captain's eye was at the butt of the gun, and his hand was on the trigger. The boat crept nearer—so near that Billy Topsail could have leaped from the bow to the back of the young whale; and she was fast losing way. But it was not the young whale that the captain wanted. He held his fire. Down went the young one. Down went the bull whale. But had he arched his back? The old female wallowed a moment longer and dived with A moment later—the steamer was slipping along very slowly—the water ahead was disturbed. The back of the bull whale appeared. A stream of water shot into the air and broke like a fountain. The Viking kept pace—gained; momentarily creeping nearer, until the range was but ten yards. Then the whale, as though taking alarm, arched his back; and—— Bang! The puff of smoke drifted away. Billy Topsail caught sight of the harpoon, sunk to the hilt in the whale's side. Then the waters closed over the wounded beast. "Ha!" cried the captain, jumping from the platform, and strutting about with his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. "Did you see me? Ha! It is over!" A cheer broke from the crew. The men ran forward to their stations at the winch. "Ha!" the captain repeated with intense satisfaction, his ruddy face wreathed in smiles. "Did you see me? Ha-a-a-a! It is a dead w'ale." men looking over side of ship into water "IT IS A DEAD W'ALE!" The harpoon line was paying out slowly, controlled by a big steam winch—a gigantic fishing reel. The engines were stopped; but the Viking was going forward at a lively rate as the catch plunged down and on. Minute after minute slipped away—five minutes; then the rope slackened somewhat, and, a moment later, the big whale came to the surface and spouted streams of blood—streams as red as the streak of sunset light in the gray sky beyond him. He floundered there in agony, blowing and hon-g-king and beating the sea with his tail: turning the water crimson with his blood. It took him a long, long time to die, frightfully torn by the bomb though he was. He dived and rose and coughed; and at last he sank slowly down, down, and still down; drawing out a hundred and forty fathom of line: straight down to the bottom of the sea in that place. From time to time the captain touched the rope with his fingers; and when the tremour of life had passed from it he gave the signal to haul Off the starboard quarter—far away where the dusk had gathered—the mate of the dead whale rose, hon-g-ked, dived and was seen no more. "Too bad!" muttered Billy Topsail. |
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