"Well, gather in as fast as you can. Spring hard, us! Spring! I want to grease a lance in that fish! There he is up!" he shouted as the tortured monster broke water, shoving his whole head out in his agony, and started to windward.
Fisher had bent on his craft again, and was about two ships' lengths from the whale when he rose.
"Haul quick, my lads!" said the mate, "and get this stray line in! There's Mr. Dunham going on, and the old man will be with him in a minute. There he brings to!" as the whale suddenly stopped short in his mad career, and lay swashing up and down, as if rallying his strength for a fresh effort.
"There's 'stand up' in the waist-boat! There he darts! Hurrah! two boats fast! Haul lively, us, and get this line in!"
The whale seemed staggered by this accumulation of cold iron in his system, and lay wallowing in the trough of the waves. It was a critical moment for him; for Mr. Dunham was getting his lance on the half-cock, ready for darting, and, as the whale suddenly "milled short round" to pass across the head of his boat, the young man saw his advantage, and cried:
"Pull ahead! Pull ahead, and we'll get a 'set' on him! Lay forward, Fisher! Lay forward hard, my lad! right on for his fin! Pull ahead! So, way enough—hold water, all;" and, driven by a strong arm, the sharp lance entered his "life," its bright shank disappearing till the pole brought it up.
"Hold her so!" said the second mate. "Way enough! just hold her so till he rises again!" as the whale hollowed his back under the sea, now crimsoned with his life-tide, and again rising, received the lance anew in his vitals; but the first "set" was enough, and the gush of clotted blood from his spiracle told how effectually it had done its work.
"There," said Father Grafton, who had just got his line gathered in, and was ready to renew the assault, "there's the red flag flying at his nose! Blacksmith, we may as well put up our lance, we sha'n't want it to-day. Well done, Mr. Dunham! Thick as tar the first lance! Hold on line, Bunker! heave on a turn!" as the whale, making a dying effort, started up to windward, passing among the Pandora's boats within easy hail.
"Give us your warp, Pitman, if you want a tow," said Bunker in passing to Mr. Ray's boatsteerer.
"Every dog has his day," growled Pitman, in reply.