"Putting a buoy on the line, sir; she's our whale."
"Looks to me more as though the whale had us, than we had the whale," the captain said grimly.
"Are you all ready?" he added as the men came up from the fo'c'sle in oilskins and mittens. "No, there's only fifteen of you!"
"I'm here, Captain Murchison," spoke up Colin, emerging from the companion hatch with a heavy pilot coat. "I thought you'd need something for the boats, too."
The captain nodded his thanks.
"Lower away the whale-boat first," the captain said. "Never mind me, I'll come along presently. Look alive there! That's the idea, Hank! All right? Cast off. Lower away the big pram! All right. Get busy on that small pram, there. Here you, Gloomy, if I have to come down there——! All ready? Lower away. If you don't manage any better than that you'll never see land, I can tell you. Cast off."
The Gull was rolling heavily with an uneven drunken stagger that told how fast she was filling, and the starboard rail was close to the water's edge. The captain ran his eye over the boats and counted the men to see that all had embarked safely.
"Don't bring her too close, Hank!" he cried warningly, as he saw the old whaler edge the boat toward him, and stepping on the poop-rail, he
jumped into the sea. But the gunner, judging accurately the swell of the waves, brought the boat to the very spot where the captain had struck the water and hoisted him on board. Without a word he made his way to the stern and took the tiller.
The boat pulled away a score of strokes or so and then the men rested on their oars. The sunset colors had faded utterly but a dim after-glow remained, and overhead a young moon shone wanly through black wisps of scudding cloud. The Gull sank slowly by the bow.