The masterly manner in which this was done called forth shouts of admiration from the entire fleet, and it greatly surprised Leo himself, for it was the first time he had attempted to use the harpoon.
“It must have been chance,” he muttered to himself as he again lay on his oars awaiting the whale’s reappearance, “a sort of happy accident. I feel convinced I could not do it so well a second time.”
The fish took a longer dive on this occasion, and when he retained to the surface for another breath of air, was at a considerable distance from all parts of the fleet. The instant he was seen, however, every paddle flashed into the sea, and the kayaks darted away in pursuit. They soon came up with their victim, and another spear, with its accompanying sealskin buoy, was fixed in its side. Down it went a third time, and reappeared in quite an opposite direction from that in which it had been looked for.
This uncertainty in the movements of the whale was a matter of small moment to the occupiers of the light kayaks, but it told rather heavily on Leo in his clumsier boat. He therefore resolved to paddle gently about, take things easy, watch the progress of the chase, and trust to the chapter of accidents giving him another chance.
“You see, Oblooria,” he said in the Eskimo tongue, which he was picking up rapidly, “it’s of no use my pulling wildly about in all directions, blowing myself for nothing; so we’ll just hang off-and-on here and watch them.”
As this remark called for no direct reply, Oblooria merely smiled—indeed she more than smiled—but said nothing. It is just possible that Leo’s rendering of the phrase “off-and-on” into Eskimo may have sounded ridiculous.
However this may be, the two sat there for some time, absorbed and silent spectators of the chase.
“How long will they take to kill it?” asked Leo when he saw Grabantak thrust somewhere about the thirty-fifth spear into the victim.
“All day,” answered Oblooria.
“All day!” repeated Leo in surprise.