"What in hell—" But it might have been the devil himself who stopped Hardy's mouth then, for even as he spoke the ship struck something soft, and slided away from it points off her course, so blubbery was the thing, proper for the "ways" of a launch.
"It's up the spout this time," said Hardy. "Jump to the side, Julia; report what you see. There you go, to starboard—to windward, to windward!"
He held the wheel, and the girl shrieked, "I can't see for the smell."
"Hold your nose and skin your eyes, and tell me what you see."
"A great deal of fire, and a black mass in the midst of it lined with foam, and oh, what a horrible smell!"
She came staggering to her lover's side in revolt of sickened senses.
"A dead whale," said Hardy, whose nose was not entirely fastidious.
"Hold the wheel, dear," and he sprang to the quarter and saw the thing; that is, he saw the shadow, it loomed so that it might have been a little island. The fire of the sea played about it as the reflected lightning of the hidden storm winks and flashes in the soft indigo of the ocean recess. The sea caressed this floating dunghill with those same white, cruel fingers with which it casts the mutilated corpse ashore.
"The air sweetens," said Hardy, returning to the wheel. "Go below for a nip of brandy, and bring me one, dear."