Presently Cap’n Pem called Mr. Kemp and suggested that it was a good day to break in the green hands. For several hours the boys were amused by watching the frightened men, who had never before been to sea, as they were compelled to go aloft. It was a familiar sight to them for they had seen it day after day on the Hector but they could not help being sorry for the fellows, as the two whalemen forced the men into the rigging.
There was no actual brutality—although, judging from the words and looks of Cap’n Pem and the second mate, the men might well have thought they were ready to do murder if they were not obeyed. After a bit, the green hands were allowed to come down, the big yards were swung, the schooner was hove to, and for several hours the “greenies” were put through a grilling boat practice. This they thoroughly enjoyed, and they chaffed and jollied one another whenever they caught a crab with the huge ash oars, or made some similar breaks that brought down a fiery string of comments from the officers. But there was not a great deal of this drilling and breaking in, for the Narwhal’s crew was small and only a very few of the men were raw hands, the captain explaining that the bulk of the work on the “grounds” would be done by the Eskimos who could be taken aboard at Labrador or Greenland.
“Gee, it sounds funny to be talking about going to Greenland!” laughed Tom. “I can’t really believe it yet. How long should it take us to get there, Captain Edwards?”
“Impossible to say,” replied the skipper. “Depends on wind and fog and how much ice we find when we get to the Straits.”
“Oh, there—there she blows!” shouted Jim. “Off the port bow!”
Instantly all eyes were turned in the direction Jim indicated, and Mr. Kemp raced up the rigging. The next moment a dozen little fountains of spray rose above the green surface of the sea, and a number of the huge black bodies rolled sluggishly into view.
“Blackfish!” shouted Mr. Kemp.
“So they be!” echoed Cap’n Pem. “Don’t ye youngsters know whales yit?”
“Aren’t they whales?” demanded Tom. “They look like ’em to me.”
“No, blackfish-grampus,” declared the skipper. “But after all, they are a kind of whale.” Then, after a moment, he exclaimed. “Pem, let’s lower away and go after ’em. Good practice for the men, an’ blackfish ile’s worth takin’. There ain’t no wind an’ we won’t lose ’nough time to count.”