“Can you see the boat?” cried Lopez.
“No, sir,” was the reply after a few seconds silence. “Can't see her anywhere.”
“Look on the other side of the whale, you bat!” growled the skipper.
“She's not there, sir,” was the reply.
“Lower away your boats, Mr. Bock and Mr. Lopez,” said Keller in more gracious tones to the third and first officers; “the second mate can't be far away, but why in thunder he didn't hang on to the whale last night I don't know. Take something to eat with you. You will have to tow that whale alongside—this calm is going to last all day.”
Five minutes later the two boats pushed off, and then, as they sped over the glassy surface of the ocean and the huge carcass of the whale was more clearly revealed, Bock called out to his superior officer that he could see a whift {*} on it.
* A wooden pole with a small pennon; used by whalers' boats
as a signal to the ship.
Lopez nodded, but said nothing.
They pulled up alongside, and the mate's boatsteerer stepped out on to the body of Leviathan and pulled out the whift pole, which was firmly embedded in the blubber.
“There's a letter tied round the pole, sir,” he said to his officer, as he got back to the boat again and passed the whift aft.