The baby whale himself was twice as long as an ox. His smooth skin glistened like shiny leather when he heaved his back above the waves for an instant. Once in a while he flapped his forked tail or wriggled his front fins. Though his eyes were bigger than a cow’s they looked very small while he lay, half asleep, rocking lazily to and fro in the swell of the sea.
The baby whale knew how to swim alone from the very first day. The earliest thing he remembered was the water lapping over his eyes and tickling in the tiny holes of his ears. On top of his head there were two blow-holes, or nostrils, closed with valves, to keep the water from trickling into his lungs.
When he rose to the top of the sea, to fill his lungs with air, away he swam, up and up, easily and lightly, through the pale-green water, toward the sunlight twinkling on the surface above. The mother whale swam beside him, almost touching him with her flippers. Her flippers were really her arms. When he was tired she helped him by holding him up.
As soon as his head pushed above the waves he opened the valves in the blow-holes and drew great breaths of sweet, fresh air deep down into his lungs. How good it felt! Then arching his back, with a flourish of his tail down he dived after his mother. They sank swiftly into the cool depths, while the sea closed silently over their shining sides.
The baby whale did not go down very far. The air in his lungs buoyed him up. His bones were light and full of oil. Under his dark skin a layer of fat, called blubber, kept him floating, almost as if he were wearing a life-preserver wrapped around him.
The new air in his lungs grew warm and damp. After a few minutes he wanted to breathe again. So with a flap-flap-flap of his tail up he paddled. Puff, piff! out through the blow-holes rushed the warm air from his lungs. In the cold outside air it changed to spray, and went spouting up like a fountain. Down it came showering, with silver drops splashing and tinkling.
That must have been fun. The baby could not stay under water so long as his mother could. Often he left her swimming around over the rocky bottom of the bay while he paddled up to get a fresh breath. Sometimes he was in such a hurry that he blew out before reaching the top. Then the water above him went spouting up, and sprinkling back noisily about his glistening head.
For days and days the baby whale lived there in the bay with his mother. It was the whole world to him, for he had seen no other place. Of course he did not know how it looked from above, with its blue, sparkling water, and its tall cliffs casting long shadows over the ripples at dawn.
To him the bay was a delightful playground. Its oozy floor was covered with rocks under the cool green water. Long fringes of seaweed floated deep down under there. In dark caves sponges and sea-lilies grew, and crabs scuttled backward into slimy crannies. There were big fishes and little fishes darting to and fro. At times they hung motionless, with glistening scales, their round eyes unwinking, their tails quivering now and then.
Every day, after the baby whale drank all the milk he wanted, he took a nap, lying beside his mother on the surface of the bay. Every day he grew a little bigger, and swam a little faster, and stayed below a little longer without rising to breathe.