"Lower away!" called out Whitehouse.
The boats splashed into the sea, the falls were loosened from their eyebolts in bow and stern, and long oars were thrust out as the crews swarmed downward.
Led by the second mate's boat, the tiny fleet swung like a covey of pigeons and ran before the wind with their single sails billowed out over the lee rails and their centerboards raised.
Skipping from sea to sea, as light as spindrift, they assumed a fanlike formation and closed about the position where the whale had been seen.
The leading boat, guided by Cushner, gained slightly and drew away, the big mate, with his white beard, standing erect in the stern. His hand was closed over the tiller, his eyes glued on a spot to leeward.
Stirling and Marr, who had remained as ship keepers, with the cook and engineers, watched the arena like spectators at a battle. The Ice Pilot had hastened to many bowheads and realized that Cushner had taken the proper direction and would most likely intercept the whale upon its next appearance.
A short wait followed, and Stirling fastened a small red flag to a signal halyard which could be raised from the crow's-nest. This was in the event that the whale was sighted from the ship. Two jerks would be the signal that the fleet should go to leeward; one jerk, into the wind.
Across the whale slick the mate's boat darted, then came up and held its position with sail flapping. Cushner drove farther to the south where he, too, brought his boat in the wind and waited.
Marr lowered his glass and stared up at the Ice Pilot. "It's time, isn't it?" the captain asked.
"Almost," replied Stirling. "That old bull's been down eighteen minutes."