A curious Cuisine.
During all that day, the sailor and the ex-cook of the Pandora kept watch from the summit of the dead cachalot.
It was not altogether for this purpose they remained there,—since the mast of the Catamaran would have given them an observatory of equal and even greater elevation.
There were several reasons why they did not cast off from the carcass, and continue their westward course: the most important being the hope that the destroyers of the whale might return to take possession of the valuable prize which they had left behind them.
There was, moreover, an undefined feeling of security in lying alongside the leviathan,—almost as great as they might have felt if anchored near the beach of an actual island,—and this had some influence in protracting their stay.
But there was yet another motive which would of itself have caused them to remain at their present moorings for a considerable period of time.
During the intervals of their protracted vigil, they had not been inattentive to the objects immediately around them: and the carcass of the whale had come in for a share of their consideration. A consultation had been held upon it, which had resulted in a determination not to leave the leviathan until they had rendered its remains, or at least a portion of them, useful for some future end.
The old whaleman knew that under that dark epidermis over which, for two days, they had been recklessly treading, there were many valuable substances that might be made available to their use and comfort, on board the Catamaran.
First, there was the “blubber,” which, if boiled or “tried,” would, from the body of an old bull like that, yield at the very least, a hundred barrels of oil.
This they cared nothing about: since they had neither the pots to boil, the casks to hold, nor the craft to carry it,—even if rendered into oil for the market.