The discussion now went on in a milder way and was quite prolonged. It ended with the emphatic statement of Kreelman:
“Everybody, from captain down, has shipped on a lay. We all have our lay or share in the whale, and everything in him. If Fancy Chest shipped on one one-hundred-and-eightieth lay, that’s his part of the ambergris, and that’s all there is to it.”
There was now general acquiescence, and I silently concurred.
The next morning I was in the crow’s nest and the Gay Head Indian was, too.
“I see somethin’,” he said.
“Where?”
“Off there on the weather bow.”
I scanned the horizon earnestly and then asked, “What is it—a pod or a single whale?”
“It ain’t no whale. Can’t you see it—just a faint little thing?”
I regretted my defective vision. The Indian leaned forward, showing by his attitude and fixed look that he was intensely interested. I heard him mutter; and now I, too, was greatly interested. I fancied I could see a faint outline. The Indian renewed his muttering and suddenly broke out, “Boat ahoy!”