“That’s what he’s up to,” agreed Tom Anderly; “he’s after revenge. And if he hits the Scarboro right, we’re likely to have a nice time rowing ashore, boys—you can take my word for that!”
Chapter XX
In Which Our Chapter of Bad Luck Is Continued
That old bull was sure a fighting whale. The annals of whaling do not lack records of such old rogues, as witness the sinking of the Kathleen, of New Bedford on the “12-40 ground” east of the Barbadoes in 1901. A bad whale can do a lot of damage besides smashing whaleboats. Thus far we had suffered no loss from the monsters which the Scarboro was hunting; but as this old bull shot like an arrow for the scarred side of the bark, which was hove to less than half a mile away, it did look as though she was due to get a bad bump.
We were on a short line, however, for the bull had not sounded deeply. Ben Gibson sprang up with the bomb gun and tried to put a lance in the beast at that distance. It only scratched him, I suppose, but it did seem to swerve him from his course.
Instead of striking the Scarboro, he ran past her stern and circled around her. We were snatched after the whale at racing speed and saw the fellows aboard hanging over the rail grinning at us—like spectators at a horse race.
“Them sculpins wouldn’t grin so broad if the critter had bumped the Scarboro,” declared Tom Anderly.
The beast lay quiet for a bit and we pulled up on him. Before Gibson could get him with the lance gun again, he sounded.