Before he could whip out his sheath knife, the whale had dashed across the line fast to the second mate’s boat. The two crafts careened, rocked, zigzagged wildly and crashed together with a bump that tumbled the occupants from their seats. Then, before the dazed and struggling men could act, the two boats were dashing through the sea with rails together and with the two whales tearing at topmost speed side by side as though having a race.
“Let ’em go, dod gast ’em!” screamed Cap’n Pem. “Never seed nothin’ like it afore. Stand ready to cut loose ef they mill or soun’!”
Onwards the two creatures sped. The schooner was miles astern and then, so suddenly that the skilled steersmen could not swerve their craft one of the whales checked his onward rush and sounded. The next instant he rose within a dozen rods of the terrified boys, and, with thunderous, crashing, terrific blows of his huge tail, strove to demolish the boat and his enemies.
Speechless with deadly fear, the boys cowered in the boat, while seemingly over their heads the great black mass of flukes waved and whipped, striking down to right, to left, in front of the frail cockleshell of a boat, half filling it with water churned up by the fearful, irresistible blows. The men strained and shouted and pulled frantically, grim-faced, wild-eyed and with superhuman efforts dodging the lashing, death-dealing flukes by a hair’s breadth.
To the boys it seemed hours that they were within that awful danger zone. Each second they expected to be tossed high in air, bruised, battered, crushed amid the shattered planks and timbers of the boat.
Then there was a sickening crash as Mr. Kemp’s boat banged into them. For a moment the two craft were locked tight and then the second mate’s boat leaped ahead, dragging Pem’s boat with it. Scarcely had it moved a yard, when the great trip-hammer tail struck a fearful blow where it had been an instant before, and, as the boat sprang into the air on the upflung wave, the second mate’s boat drew free and flew off after the whale to which it was fast.
“Go in!” yelled Cap’n Pem excitedly. “We’ll git him!”
At his words, he dropped the steering oar, scrambled forward and, as the boat steerer reached the stern and seized the big oar, the grizzled old whaleman braced his wooden leg against the knee chock and seized a bomb lance. Then he tossed the weapon down, unsheathed the long, keen-bladed hand lance, and poised it ready to strike. Bobbing on the water, still being churned up by the furious creature’s tail, the boat crept close. The boys’ hearts seemed to cease beating as they saw the great mountain of black skin almost within arm’s length. Now but a few feet separated the boat from the maddened whale. Cap’n Pem gathered himself for the death stroke; the boat’s bows seemed almost to touch the whale’s side, when, without warning, the great body sank beneath the sea and, drawn by the swirling suction of the whale submerging, the boat leaped forwards directly over the creature’s back. But the gray-headed old veteran of a hundred battles with giant whales was not to be cheated of his prey. As the boat lurched forward into the eddying froth above the whale, Cap’n Pem leaned over the boat’s bow, and with a shout drove the long lance straight down.
The next instant the boat was flung high. It careened dizzily, oars were wrenched from the men’s hands and, as the mortally wounded whale flung himself up, the craft slid like a toboggan from his back, buried its bow beneath a wave, rose sluggishly, and swung around broadside to the thrashing, rolling mass of pain-crazed flesh and blood and bone.
So close was the boat to the whale’s side that the men struggled to fend it off by their oars. With wild yells and shouts, Cap’n Pem warned them to keep close; for all around them the awful tail was striking, crashing, whipping, as the dying whale lashed the water into a maelstrom of foam and, only by keeping the boat so close to the monster that his tail could not reach them, could their lives be saved.