Then, Jim’s sleepy eyes noted a curious looking object upon the sea half a mile or so to the north. At first he took it for a soggy cake of ice, but it seemed to be moving as though carried in a swift current. Then he decided it was a water-logged spar, and yet it did not look just right for that either. Puzzled, he stared and then gave a shout. Clearly from the grayish white object a little puff of steamlike vapor had risen.
“Blows!” he yelled almost unconsciously, and then, half ashamed of his involuntary cry and realizing it was no whale he saw, he cried out, “Come up and take a look, Mr. Kemp.”
The second mate ran nimbly up the rigging, glanced about, gazed fixedly in the direction Jim indicated, and cupping his hands yelled down, “Beluga! ’Bout four p’ints off the starboard bow—school of ’em.”
“Beluga?” exclaimed Jim as the officer started down the shrouds. “What’s that?”
“White whale!” replied Mr. Kemp, as he rapidly descended to the deck.
“Well, that’s a new one on me,” declared Jim, yelling across to Tom. “I thought all whales were black. Oh look, Tom! There is a school of the things and—Gosh! I thought they were ice!”
Already the boats were being swung, and by the time the boys reached the deck, two craft were being lowered over the side and the men and Eskimos were tumbling into them. Without waiting to ask permission, the boys leaped into one of the boats and a moment later were speeding towards the odd whitish creatures swimming slowly along and all unconscious of danger.
As the boats drew near the whales, they spread out, the harpooniers laid aside their oars and stood in the bows with irons in hand, and in a moment more were within striking distance of the creatures. Almost at the same instant the various harpoons darted forward, and as the keen points of the irons buried themselves in the animals’ sides, the belugas leaped half from the water, looking to the boys’ wondering eyes far more like gigantic white seals than whales. Then, with a rush, the creatures started off, towing the boats at a terrific rate through the water, turning and twisting, sounding and milling, sometimes leaping high in air, at other times rolling over and over, and striving by a hundred unexpected moves to rid themselves of the stinging weapons in their sides. As Tom said afterwards, it was like playing enormous trout, for the men alternately hauled in or let out the line; they laughed and shouted and yelled as if thoroughly enjoying the sport and there was none of the tense strained attitude that the boys had seen when attacking the bowheads.
But the fight did not last long. Within fifteen minutes from being struck the white whale was tired out. He rested almost motionless, blowing frequently; and, hauling in the line hand over hand, as the crew urged the boat forward, the men drew the craft close to the big, dirty-white creature. An instant later the long, keen-bladed lance flashed, the stricken whale threw its head high in air, thrashed madly with its tail, and rolled slowly over on its side in the reddening water.