“Sure,” replied his older brother confidently. “I reckon a whale is no tougher than a grizzly, and we’ve got them.”
“Not with a harpoon,” remarked Jeems Howell. “You won’t be more than able to tickle the leviathan with that weapon.”
But Jim scoffed at his prophecy, for there was this about James that helped him in a crisis like the present, that he had perfect confidence in himself which had been fortified by several narrow escapes. But here was an occasion where his good luck in danger was apt to be thoroughly tried out.
“Whales are something like elephants, it seems to me,” said Jeems Howell. “They are big, dangerous and very intelligent.”
“The elephant beats the whale when it comes to ears,” remarked Juarez.
“But makes it up with his tail,” laughed Jeems.
“Now, boys,” warned Jim, “be careful; no more talking. We will soon be within range.”
A strained, intense silence settled over the boat. All was expectation and suppressed excitement. I do not suppose that the gentle reader can realize the feeling of the boys at this moment, as he has probably never stalked a whale in the open ocean, but perhaps he can imagine something of what they felt.
One thing favored the young whale hunters, and that was the fact that the whales were taking things very softly and slowly, their big bodies barely moving through the water. They seemed to be enjoying the calm of the clear morning, and were taking an ocean stroll as it were.
The bull, some sixty feet in length, was in the lead; at some little distance to the east was the cow and a young whale near her side. It was a wonderful sight to see the big black fellow forging slowly in advance, his head a long, square promontory rising from the water, and his body a half-submerged island.