In the meantime all the crew are busy clearing the line of the harpoon, and we are still in doubt whether we have hit him; but the suspense does not last long, as immediately a ‘Look out!’ is shouted by the captain, and the line runs out with terrific speed and a great noise. ‘Full speed ahead,’ is shouted below; but the ship is running double her highest speed, such is the strength of the whale which has her in tow. The animal is fleeing at the top of its speed, and we follow right through the breaking seas. Ten minutes pass by—they seem ten hours—when suddenly a blood-streaked column of water is seen on the horizon. It is our whale! Another moment, and a clear one is seen. It is his companion, which follows her wounded mate. Both go down; the line does not run out so fast; the wounded whale appears once or twice more, when he sinks. The whale is dead. After a while, the hauling-in begins very carefully, and finally the great body rises to the surface, the ship heeling over. After a few hours’ hard work in securing the monster to the vessel with chains and ropes, the course is shaped for home.
‘What do you think of it, captain?’ I ask.
‘Not bad,’ he answers simply.—‘Steward, give the crew a drink all round! And let us have something to eat.’
The whale measured more than eighty feet in length.
Once more his widowed mate takes a turn round the ship, when she stands out to sea; whilst we, with our noble spoil in tow, slowly make for the whale-station in South Varanger.
A GOLDEN ARGOSY.
A NOVELETTE.
CHAPTER III.
Mr Carver of Bedford Row, in the county of Middlesex, was exercised in his mind; and the most annoying part of it was that he was so exercised at his own trouble and expense; that is to say, he was not elucidating some knotty legal point at the charge of a client, but he was speculating over one of the most extraordinary events that had ever happened to him in the whole course of his long and honourable career. The matter stood briefly thus: His client, Charles Morton, of Eastwood, Somersetshire, died on the 9th of April in the year of grace 1882. On the 1st of May 1880, Mr Carver had made the gentleman’s will, which left all his possessions, to the amount of some forty thousand pounds, to his niece, Eleanor Attewood. Six months later, Mr Morton’s half-sister, Miss Wakefield, took up her residence at Eastwood, and from that time everything had changed. Eleanor had married the son of a clergyman in the neighbourhood, and at the instigation of his half-sister, Mr Morton had disinherited his niece; and one year before he died, had made a fresh will, leaving everything to Miss Wakefield. Mr Carver, be it remarked, strongly objected to this injustice, seeing the baleful influence which had brought it about; and had he been able to find Eleanor, he hoped to alter the unjust state of things. But she disappeared with her husband, and left no trace behind her; so the obnoxious will was proved.
Then came the most extraordinary part of the affair. With the exception of a few hundreds in the bank at Eastwood, for household purposes, not a single penny of Mr Morton’s money could be found. All his property was mortgaged to a high amount; all his securities were disposed of, and not one penny could be traced. The mortgages on the property were properly drawn up by a highly respectable solicitor at Eastwood, the money advanced by a man of undoubted probity; and further, the money had been paid over to Mr Morton one day early in the year 1883. Advertisements were inserted in the papers, in fact everything was done to trace the missing money, but in vain. All Miss Wakefield had for her pains and trouble was a poor sum of about eleven hundred pounds, so she had to retire again to her genteel poverty in a cheap London boarding-house.