“Spose ’im hab been jest dat way,” assented Snowball. “But wha’ matter ’bout dat? De whale have been kill all de same.”
“What matter? Everything do it matter.”
“’Splain, Massa Brace!”
“Don’t ye see, nigger, that if the spermacety had been dispatched while the boats were about it, it would prove that the whale-ship must a’ been here while they were a killin’ the creature; an’ that would go far to prove that she couldn’t be a great ways off now.”
“So dat wud,—so im wud, fo’ sa’tin sure.”
“Well, Snowy, as the case stands, thear be no sartinty where the whaler be at this time. The anymal, after being drogued, may a’ sweemed many a mile from the place where she war first harpooned. I’ve knowed ’em to go a score o’ knots afore they pulled up; an’ this bein’ a’ old bull,—one o’ the biggest spermacetys I ever see,—she must a sweemed to the full o’ that distance afore givin’ in. If that’s been so, thear ain’t much chance o’ eyther her or we bein’ overhauled by the whaler.”
As the sailor ceased speaking he once more directed his glance over the ocean; which, after another minute and careful scrutiny of the horizon, fell back upon the body of the whale, with the same expression of disappointment that before had been observable.