The poor monster is in torment. The chief danger to the boat itself would lie in the beast swerving aside and diving under a berg, which would dash the brave whaler to pieces, and kill or drown every man on board. But he holds his course till, weary at last, he dives once more, and there remains for fully twenty minutes.
When he again appears the water around is red with his blood, but he moves along very slowly now, and the other boats with their lancemen get abreast and bear up to head him.
Duncan's is the first to get near enough, and now comes the tug of war. The whale is sick and weak.
The harpooner holds up a warning hand.
"Be all ready to back astern, boys!"
"Way enough!"
The lance is driven in full many and many a foot, and with one decisive twist a great and vital artery is severed.
"Back water all! For life, boys, for life!"
For life? Yes, but the men are as cool as if rowing in a regatta on the Thames.
"All speed astern!"