"He might if he's a merchantman, but not if he is a whaler," was the comforting reply.
"If I had thought of sharks I never could have dived under that whale," continued Frank.
"O, 'tain't time for 'em to be on hand yet; but you'll see 'em coming like a flock of sheep just as soon as that fellow begins to spout blood."
"Ay, that you will," said another. "I was hanging on to a stove boat once, just as we are now, and the sharks, I never see the beat of 'em in all my born days, come up——"
"Well, if they got hold of anybody, I don't want to know it," interrupted Frank, with a shudder. "Can't you talk about something else?"
"Take that!" shouted the captain, who was narrowly watching the chase. "And that!" he added, a moment afterward. "He's fast again, and we are sixty barrels of grease ahead."
Frank looked up to see what had called forth these exclamations from the captain, and was just in time to catch a glimpse of the mate's harpooner as he threw his second iron into the whale. He had three harpoons in him now, and Frank gathered from the remarks the men made that his capture was considered certain. He lashed the water furiously with his tail, raising an immense pile of spray and foam, and when it disappeared he was out of sight.
"Now look out for breakers," said Lucas, "for there's no knowing where he will come up, and he's ugly if he is little. We know that, don't we?"
"Little!" repeated Frank, who remembered that he had compared the beast to a church-steeple, and estimated his length at one hundred and fifty feet; "how big is he?"