Right ahead of the ship, about a quarter of a mile, was a lake of blue water, in the centre of this brown Sargasso Sea.
About the middle of this piece of open water lay a huge whale half on her side. Archie had been to the Arctic Ocean more than once, and he knew at a glance that this was the “right whale,” as Arctic sailors call it.
He sent Teenie down for Antonio.
In a few minutes the little man was standing glass in hand beside his mate.
“A most interesting discovery,” he said, “because it is said that the ‘right whale’ never visits the Sea of Sargasso. Pah! we can give fireside philosophers the lie.”
“Just watch the dear affectionate lump of a mother, and the gambols of the great ungainly calf,” he continued.
“Sent down here by the husband, I could wager my smoking-cap on that. I think I hear the very conversation that took place away up among the Greenland icebergs before she came away.
“‘Now look here, my dear,’ the fond but colossal husband said, nibbling at his wife’s starboard flipper, ‘you’ve been looking rather pale about the snout for a week or two, and Bully (the calf) isn’t so frisky as I’d like to see him, so you run right away south to the Sargasso Sea, where you’ll find warm water, sunshine, perfect quiet, and any amount of little fishes to eat among the weeds.’
“‘But,’ she replied, ‘how about my little hubbie? What will he do all alone?’
“‘Oh, I’ll be all right. Big enough, you know, to take my own part.’