Dick took his station at the helm, whence he kept an earnest watch upon the whale-boat, which under the vigourous plying of the seamen's oars had become little more than a speck upon the water.
CHAPTER VIII.
A CATASTROPHE.
Experienced whaleman as he was, Captain Hull knew the difficulty of the task he had undertaken, he was alive to the importance of making his approach to the whale from the leeward, so that there should be no sound to apprize the creature of the proximity of the boat. He had perfect confidence in his boatswain, and felt sure that he would take the proper course to insure a favourable result to the enterprise.
"We mustn't show ourselves too soon, Howick," he said.
"Certainly not," replied Howick, "I am going to skirt the edge of the discoloured water, and I shall take good care to get well to leeward."
"All right," the captain answered, and turning to the crew said, "now, my lads, as quietly as you can."
Muffling the sound of their oars by placing straw in the rowlocks, and avoiding the least unnecessary noise, the men skilfully propelled the boat along the outline of the water tinged by the crustacea, so that while the starboard oars still dipped in the green and limpid sea, the larboard were in the deep-dyed waves, and seemed as though they were dripping with blood.
"Wine on this side, water on that," said one of the sailors jocosely.