All of a sudden we noticed a blur of white to the westward, and Frisbow immediately went below for the glasses. Garnett sung out again from forward and pointed at the blur, then, thinking we could not see anything, he came aft to where we stood.
By this time both the skipper and Frisbow had their glasses, and were just in the act of focussing them upon the object when it suddenly vanished.
Captain Brown began to mutter something about people who saw so many strange things, and Garnett removed his cap to wipe the perspiration from the dent in his head.
“What kind of vessel can it be?” asked Frisbow.
“I’ll be hanged if I know,” I answered.
“Might be the Flying Dutchman,” suggested Garnett, with his usual gravity.
This was too much for the skipper, and he warned Garnett that such jokes were out of place among intelligent men and liable to be followed by disastrous consequences, and then added that “Most people knew a whale when they saw it.” Suddenly the blur appeared again. This time it lasted for over a minute. It was not a “blow,” and I was just about to ask the skipper what he made it out to be when he quickly shoved his glass into my hand and told me to “look quick.”
I did so, and saw that the blur was a great cloud of spray and foam thrown up from the sea. Instantly a large gray object rose from the churned water, then fell again in the thick of it, and I recognized the form of a huge thresher-shark. He appeared to land heavily upon the whale, for that animal, after lashing the sea furiously, sounded, and presently the disturbance subsided.
After breakfast we saw a blow half a mile to windward, and the skipper said it was the same whale we had noticed in the early morning.
We didn’t stop to argue the question, but hauled the whale-boat, that was towing astern, alongside and made haste to get the gear into her.