“At length one morning we observed many polypi, medusae, and squid—”
“And what?” interrupted Tom Flinders, who was listening to Weston’s narrative “auribus erectis.” “What on earth is squid?”
“Squid isn’t on earth at all,” retorted Mr Weston; “it floats on the surface of the water, and is nothing more or less than a sort of jelly-fish upon which the whale feeds. Well, the sight of this raised our hopes, for we knew that we should probably fall in with a whale before long; and sure enough we were soon roused to action by the welcome cry: ‘There she spouts!’
“I was on deck at the moment, and springing up the shrouds to the main-top-mast head, I descried three whales right ahead of us and at no great distance. Two of them appeared to be half grown, or what we South Sea whalers call ‘forty-barrel bulls,’ forty barrels being about the quantity of oil we usually get out of them; the third was a regular old stager, a magnificent fellow of enormous proportions.
“In a very few minutes we had four boats in the water manned and ready to push off; I went as ‘headsman’ of the largest, of which—at his special request—Doctor McDougal pulled the stroke-oar; the second and third mates and the boatswain took charge of the others.
“Now I must tell you that the older and larger whales, besides proving the most valuable prizes, are by far the easiest to kill; whereas the ‘forty-barrel bulls’ are difficult to come up with, and dangerous customers to tackle. So I directed my second mate and the boatswain to go in chase of the old whale, whilst I and the third mate—a very experienced headsman—attacked the young bulls.
“Away we pulled, and in a short time approached within four hundred yards of the young whales, when the one nearest to us ‘peaked his flukes’—that is, went down head foremost; but his companion remained above water and showed no inclination to avoid us.
“‘We’ll make sure of that fellow and leave the other alone for the present,’ I shouted to the third mate. ‘Give way, my lads!’ Then the two boats raced through the smooth water, and we were soon within striking distance of our prey.
“Up to this time the two boat-steerers had been pulling the bow-oars of their respective boats, whilst the headsman steered; but now they laid in their oars, and, seizing their harpoons, stood up ready to strike. My boat was the first in action, and the harpoon flew from the steersman’s grasp and sank deep into the whale’s body, just as he was in the act of ‘sounding;’ down, down he went, and our line uncoiling rapidly from its tub ran out with a loud whirring noise. I now changed places with my boat-steerer, and, armed with several lances, took my stand in the bow, ready to give the whale the coup de grâce the instant he reappeared.
“In less than half an hour the stricken monster rose to the surface about a quarter of a mile distant, and set off at a good ten knots an hour, towing the two boats after him, for the mate had bent his line on to mine. Suddenly he stopped and commenced plunging furiously, lashing the water into a boiling foam, and spurting jets of blood from his blow-holes—a sign of approaching death. (Apertures or nostrils placed on the highest part of a whale’s head, through which he breathes.)