They had nearly all passed, and the crew of the gig were beginning to breathe freely; when they perceived the largest of the lot—the old bull—astern of the rest and coming right towards them. His head, with several fathoms of his back, protruded above the surface, which at intervals he “fluked” with his tail,—as if giving a signal to those preceding him, either to direct their onward course, or warn them of some threatened danger.
He had a vicious look about him,—notwithstanding his patriarchal appearance,—and the ex-whalesman uttered an exclamation of warning as he approached.
The utterance was merely mechanical, since nothing could be done to ward off the threatened encounter.
Nothing was done. There was no time to act, nor even to think. Almost on the same instant in which the warning cry was heard the whale was upon them. He who had uttered it, along with his companions, felt themselves suddenly projected into the air, as if they had been tossed from a catapult, and their next sensation was that of taking “a tremendous header” into the depths of the fathomless ocean!
All four soon came to the surface again; and the two who had best retained their senses,—the sailor and Snowball,—looked around for the gig. There was no gig in sight, nor boat of any kind! Only some floating fragments; among which could be distinguished a cask or two, with a scattering of loose boards, oars, handspikes, and articles of apparel. Among these were struggling two youthful forms,—recognisable as little William and Lilly Lalee.
A quick transformation took place in the tableau.
A cry arose, “Back to the Catamaran!” and in a score of seconds the boy-sailor was swimming alongside the A.B. for the raft; while the Coromantee, with Lilly Lalee hoisted upon his left shoulder, was cleaving the water in the same direction.
Another minute and all four were aboard the embarkation they had so lately abandoned,—once more saved from the perils of the deep!