“What men?” he asked. “Any of our men overboard? Don’t seem so. If any of those yellow pirates are overboard, the junk can pick ’em up if she wants to. What we do is the Cap’n’s business, not yours or mine, Tim.”
I looked at Captain Nelson. He was standing under the after house, gazing forward absently, as if nothing had happened. He did not see any men overboard, nor did Mr. Baker, nor any other of the officers. At that moment Captain Nelson called me, and I went to him.
“Take the guns below,” he said.
When I came up there was nothing to be seen except a junk, a quarter of a mile to leeward, going before the wind.
CHAPTER XXXI
We reached the Japan grounds in May of 1874, and cruised thereabouts until August. Then we stood to the southward, loafing past the Volcano Islands, the Ladrones, Carolines, Solomon and Fiji Islands, always on the lookout for whales, and taking a number of them. We were on the New Zealand grounds early in November. We had only average success on the Japan grounds and our cruise to the southward; pulled in many a fruitless chase, and most of the whales we did get made no fight worth mentioning, for which the men were thankful. Two of the whales, however, did seem to think their lives worth fighting for, and one of the two fights was successful from the whale’s point of view.
The first of these fights occurred about the middle of the northern summer. We were off the coast of Japan a hundred miles or so, and it was blowing hard from the southwest, when we raised this lone spout to windward. I was standing by the weather fore rigging, having escaped work in the cabin—the officers were rather lenient as to my duties in the cabin in view of my work in the boat, but I tried not to be conspicuous when I was loafing—I stood by the fore rigging, with arms folded upon the rail. So far as I can recollect, I was thinking of nothing at all, but letting the wind blow on my face, and enjoying myself. Suddenly there came a spout about a mile off, and just before my eyes, a perfect plume. I had not seen the whale rise, and even after the spout I saw nothing of his body. The cry came down from the masthead immediately, and I moved, expecting that my boat might be called upon.
The call did not come, however. We were to leeward of the whale, and the ship was manœuvred for half an hour, trying to get to windward of him, and waiting for him to sound. We did not succeed in getting a windward berth, for he was moving slowly to windward, and kept his advantage. He did go down when he got good and ready, his flukes going into the air until he seemed to be standing on his head, half submerged, and he disappeared, apparently going straight down.
Mr. Brown and Mr. Tilton then lowered, but they did not hurry about it, for the whale had gone down less than a mile from the ship, and it was likely that he would stay down for an hour. We pulled to the spot we had chosen as the most likely, and waited, occasionally pulling a few strokes to hold our position. Mr. Tilton was a quarter of a mile away. While we waited, the ship worked up past us, and got about a quarter of a mile directly to windward of us. Mr. Tilton guessed nearer than Mr. Brown. The whale rose beyond Mr. Tilton’s boat, coming up on a half-breach. We heard the tremendous splash of it, and saw Mr. Tilton’s men begin to pull; then we began to pull, and I saw no more of what was going on except the oars and the backs of the men directly before my eyes, and Mr. Brown’s unexpressive face, as he stood at the steering oar.
We chased that whale for nearly two hours before Azevedo had a chance to strike. Then I saw Mr. Brown’s face light up.