CHAPTER XIX
In which the Chase is Kept up and the Captain Promises Himself a Kill
THE number of whales was less than the captain of the Viking had thought. When the vessel came up with the school, however, there were twenty or more fin-backs to pick and choose from. They lay on every hand, wallowing at the surface of the sea and spouting thick, low streams of water with evident delight: whales far and near, big and small, in pairs and threes, rising and gently sinking, blowing and hon-g-king, and, at last, arching their broad, finned backs for the long dive.
The breathing spell was of two or three minutes' duration, the dive of five or ten, and might last much longer. Billy was told that as the whales went thus, rising and diving, they travelled in a circle, feeding on young caplin and herring, squid and crustaceans. He had never thought to admire the grace of a whale; but his admiration was compelled: the ponderous, ill-proportioned monsters were so perfectly adapted to the element they were in that the languor and grace with which they moved was a delight—particularly when they arched their glistening black backs and softly, languidly vanished.
But meantime the Viking was lying silent and still; and—
"Hon-g-k!" from off the port bow.
"Ha!" exclaimed the captain.
A big whale had risen. The long "Hon-g-k!" as he had inhaled a small cyclone of breath was sufficient to tell that. He was big and he was near.
"Full speed!" quietly from the captain in Norwegian.