A clap of thunder came over the sea and foam spurted amidst the distant boats. Then two of the boats detached themselves from the rest, skimming through the water without sail or oar, the flash of the foam at their bows clear to be seen.
“They’ve got their fish,” cried Harman. “Look, he’s going round to the north’ard, and here’s the breeze!”
Up from the south-east it was coming, spreading in great waves like fields of barley. The whale-ships had caught it and were trimming their yards in pursuit of the boats, and now, the mat sail of the canoe filling out and cracking against the mast, Harman seized the steering paddle and headed her due north.
“Where are you steering for?” shouted Davis.
“North,” replied the other. “You don’t want to be runnin’ into them ships, do you?”
Davis crawled aft, seized the paddle, and pushed the other forward.
“Cuss the ships!” said he. “They’ve got their own business to attend to, and I’m not going to put her off her course, not for Jim Satan! You don’t mind the ships—they’re busy.”
He was right.
A Swenfoyn gun had put a speedy end to the whale, and as the canoe drew along not half a mile away from the nearest ship it was being hauled alongside her and the tackles were out. But the remainder of the fleet of boats not busy in this work seemed engaged in some affair of their own which was not whale fishing; they were all surging together, oars were being tossed in the air and the far-away sound of shouting came across the water.
“Fightin’!” said Harman, “that’s what they’re at. They’re both claimin’ the fish. I know their monkey tricks. Look at them!”