“He’ll ram us and sink us!” cried Bob.
“Veer off a bit!” yelled Sam. “Maybe he’ll rush past us, and we can slip away.”
Jerry shifted the wheel, to allow the whale to pass on the left, if it would, in its maddened rush. The sailor armed himself with a small hatchet and his lance.
As the boat swung around the line passed from the stern to the bow. It had been slack, but now it grew taut again, and the old sailor, watching it, sought for an explanation.
It was easily found. The whale had ceased its rush at the boat, and, passing to one side, was moving forward again. Then, as though trying a last resort to rid itself of the harpoon, it suddenly sank. Down and down into the ocean depths it went.
The bow of the Dartaway began to be depressed. Lower and lower it went into the water, until the screw was revolving in the air.
“He’ll pull us down with him!” yelled Jerry.
“No, he won’t!” cried Sam.
There was a sharp sound, a snap as though a whip had cracked and the end of the line flew up in the air. Sam had cut it with his hatchet, and the whale had escaped its enemies. The bow of the boat righted, and the craft floated on an even keel, moving forward at a fast pace.