Apparently totally unaware that enemies were near, the creature remained almost stationary, now and then rolling lazily at the surface, sometimes raising its tail and bringing it down with a resounding splash as if in play, and constantly blowing. Rapidly the kayak approached. Jim grasped the harpoon firmly, saw that the line was clear and, shaking with excitement, he prepared to strike. Then, as the frail craft slipped within a dozen feet of the cetacean and Jim raised his arm, he realized that it was no white whale, but a strange, dull-colored, bluish creature with the skin covered with irregular blackish spots. But, whatever it was, the animal was within striking range and, summoning all his strength, Jim hurled the iron into the spotted animal’s back just as it rose above the surface to blow.
The next instant a volcano seemed to have burst into eruption beneath the waves. The water boiled and frothed; a broad tail flashed and struck and swung to right and left, the kayak danced and careened and bobbed upon the heaving surface. Then as Jim, frightened half out of his wits by the actions of the strange beast, was about to cut the line, the creature hurled itself forward and raced off like a cyclone. With a terrific jerk the kayak swung about, tipped until it almost capsized, and went tearing after the stricken animal. This was something the boys had not counted on. They had watched the Eskimos when they struck white whales and had intended to follow the native method of throwing overboard the float of skin. They had no intention of being towed in a cranky kayak by a maddened whale. But the line had kinked and had fouled. Jim, despite his frantic efforts, could not free it while it was under the terrific strain, and so it was a case of either being towed and trusting to luck to escape being capsized and drowned, or cutting the line.
“Don’t cut it!” screamed Tom as he saw Jim raise his heavy hunting knife. “Wait till we see we’re in danger!”
Breathing hard, thrilled with the excitement and yet filled with terror, Jim waited, knife in hand, while the whale sped this way and that, sounded and milled; but to the boys’ surprise, never breached. But as the bouyant kayak continued right side up and nothing happened, the boys gained confidence and each time the creature slackened its pace Jim hauled in line until the kayak was almost within striking distance of the whale. Then, so suddenly that Tom could not check the kayak’s motion, the creature halted in its rush and the next instant dashed straight towards the canoe.
Jim gave a terrified scream of warning. Tom dug his paddle into the water and as the kayak responded to the effort and swung slightly, the spotted creature dashed by within a foot of the craft.
Jim, who had been expecting to kill the animal an instant before, still held the lance in his hand. As the cetacean rushed past him, he lunged forward and scarcely knowing what he did, plunged the weapon into the creature’s side. At the blow, the animal threw itself from the water, the lance was wrenched from Jim’s grip and the boys’ eyes grew wide in wonder. In the brief instant that the whale was out of water they had seen that a long, gleaming shaft projected from its head!
But before they could utter a cry, before they realized what had happened, the big spotted body crashed back into the water, bloody froth spouted from its blow hole and with a convulsive flip of its tail it rolled over on its side against the kayak, stone dead.
“Whew!” cried Jim, as he wiped the perspiration from his face and blinked his eyes. “We did catch a tartar that time!”
“You bet we did!” agreed Tom heartily. “But we got him just the same. Gosh, but that was a dandy stroke of yours—getting him on the wing that way. And did you see his head—he’s been struck before and the lance or iron’s sticking in his nose. I wonder what the dickens he is anyway.”
“Gee Christopher!” cried Jim who had been examining their catch. “That’s not a lance in his nose—it belongs there—it’s a sort of horn. Look, it’s like ivory and twisted.”