“Thar she blows!” shouted the lookout, and instantly the harbingers of misfortune were forgotten as the men rushed to their boats.
Within a mile of the motionless bark, two big sperm whales were swimming lazily, now and then rolling on their sides, occasionally slapping their enormous flukes against the water playfully and evidently utterly oblivious of the enemies so near. Rapidly all four boats were lowered and went speeding towards the whales, and ten minutes after they had been sighted both of the creatures had irons in their sides and were towing two boats each at express train speed. Directly away from the Hector they sped; one to the west and the other to the north, and in an incredibly short space of time the boats were out of sight of the deck. But the lookouts on the mastheads could still see them and constantly reported their doings to Mike, who had charge of the ship.
“Skipper’s fin-up!” shouted a lookout presently. “Mister Potter’s millin’! Now he’s sounded! Breached again! Going in! In his flurry! Spoutin’ blood! Fin-up!”
“Hurrah, they’ve killed ’em both!” yelled the boys, who had been watching from a point of vantage on the main royal yard. “Now who says bo’sun birds are bad luck!”
“Faith Oi do,” replied Mike. “’Tis tin good moiles they be an’ wid noight a-comin’ on. B’gorra, ’tis a foine fix we do be in wid the barrk becalmed. Shure ’tis aither losin’ o’ the whales or av the ship for thim, loike as not.”
Then, as if to prove the ridiculous superstition false, a breath of hot wind stirred the Hector’s upper sails; another stronger puff filled the topsails; the glassy sea broke into shimmering crinkled ripples, and ten minutes later, the bark was gliding swiftly towards the distant boats before a steady wind.
Just as the sun was sinking beyond the rim of the sea, the two whales were alongside and by the time darkness fell, cutting-in was in full swing and the black smoke of the try-works rose like a pall above the Hector’s trucks.
Throughout the night, the following day and the next night, the work went on without cessation and at the end of the time one hundred and ten barrels of sperm oil had been stowed in the bark’s hold.
Once more the captain and men looked hopeful while Tom and Jim teased old Pem and the others unmercifully over their superstition. At first, the old whaleman strove to find some argument or excuse to uphold his belief, but failing in this, he wisely declined to say anything, while Mike, with Irish wit, declared that three always was a lucky number whether bo’sun birds or anything else and that he was sure that their bad luck was over.
Captain Edwards claimed that he never had had much faith in such things and was convinced there was nothing in it, while Mr. Kemp admitted that he never knew of three bo’sun birds lighting on one ship on one voyage before and therefore didn’t know what it might foretell. But not even the most superstitious and pessimistic seaman could have found any reason for saying, “I told you so,” for the weather held fine until after the bark had crossed the equator and three more whales had been taken and had added their quota of nearly one hundred barrels of oil.