"Which meant, of course, that the whales had sounded. There was nothing to do except to wait for them to come up again. They staid down a pretty long time, which proved that they were big ones, and then they came up half a mile dead to leeward of us. We set our little boat sail, there was a fairly good breeze, and we went dancing over the waves toward the whales at a good pace. The first mate of the Two Cousins had the weather-gage of us, and he had the smallest whale. The one we were heading for was a regular old leviathan.
"'Get in your sail,' whispered the boat-steerer.
"It was done with great caution.
"'Now a good stroke, starboard, to pull her round.'
"We were now in a position to go up to his whaleship without being seen; so the boat-steerer says:
"'Now, lads, give way with a will. Jump her; jump her!'
"We dashed our oars, and the boat sprang forward.
"'Now!'
"The iron was thrown with a whiz, and as quick as a flash—yes, as quick as a mouse could dart into his hole—the whale went down into the sea. The line ran out of the tub fast enough to make you dizzy. All of a sudden—how, I never could tell—there was a kink in the line, and it fouled for a second in the bow chock. Such a thing meant destruction to the boat, and as quick as thought I, being bowman, grabbed the axe and cut the line.
"'Blast you!' yelled the boat-steerer; 'what did you do that for?'