“He must be hurt!” said Sam, in a low tone. “Or else he wouldn’t come up so often to breathe. I think I can land him this time. Easy now! Right for him, skipper!”
Jerry was calmer now. He held the wheel steadily, and his hands did not tremble as he shoved the levers over. Old Sam gave a last look at the coils of line in the tub to see that they were free.
Closer and closer to the monster the boat approached. The boys could see the black sides glistening in the sun. It seemed that the whale was a thousand feet long, though as Sam told them afterward, it was only one of the smallest species. But to the boys it was large enough.
At a signal from the old man, Jerry shut off the engine, almost completely, giving it just enough gasolene to keep it from being stalled. His hand was on the reverse lever, ready to throw in the clutch, and then to start the motor at full speed astern.
The Dartaway was merely under enough power to give her steerage way. Sam, by a nod of his head, indicated to Jerry to approach the whale broadside on, as they were now coming up to the monster’s tail. One blow from the mighty flukes, and there would be no boat left.
Nearer and nearer to the creature the Dartaway was sent. Now it was within one hundred feet. Now it was seventy-five. Still the whale had not taken fright. The boys could hardly breathe from the fierce beating of their hearts.
As for Sam, he was as cool as though he was about to pull in a small fish which he had hooked. He stood rigid in the bow, the terrible harpoon poised over his shoulder.
Suddenly his arm shot forward. There was a whistling sound, a hissing through the air. Something flew from the boat, and struck the whale.
The next instant the boys saw, sticking up from the whale’s back, a straight shaft. It was the handle of the harpoon. The iron had entered deep into the flesh.