“You know, of course, Captain Daggett, that this is my whale,” said Gardiner.  “I was fast to him regularly, and was only waiting for him to become a little quiet to lance him, when your whale crossed his course, fouled your line, and has got you fast in an unaccountable way, but not according to whaling law.”

“I don’t know that.  I fastened to a whale, Captain Gar’ner, and am fast to a whale now.  It must be proved that I have no right to the crittur’ before I give him up.”

Gardiner understood the sort of man with whom he had to deal too well to waste words in idle remonstrances.  Resolved to maintain his just rights at every hazard, he ordered his men to haul in upon the line, the movement of the whale becoming so slow as to admit of this measure.  Daggett’s crew did the same, and a warm contest existed between the two boats, as to which should now first close with the fish and kill it.  This was not a moment for prudence and caution.  It was “haul in—­haul in, boys,” in both boats, without any regard to the danger of approaching the whale.  A very few minutes sufficed to bring the parties quite in a line with the flukes, Gardiner’s boat coming up on the larboard or left-hand side of the animal, where its iron was fast, and Daggett’s on the opposite, its line leading out of the jaws of the fish in that direction.  The two masters stood erect on their respective clumsy cleets, each poising his lance, waiting only to get near enough to strike.  The men were now at the oars, and without pausing for any thing, both crews sprung to their ashen instruments, and drove the boats headlong upon the fish.  Daggett, perhaps, was the coolest and most calculating at that moment, but Roswell was the most nervous, and the boldest.  The boat of the last actually hit the side of the whale, as its young commander drove his lance through the blubber, into the vitals of the fish.  At the same instant Daggett threw his lance with consummate skill, and went to the quick.  It was now “stern all!” for life, each boat backing off from the danger as fast as hands could urge.  The sea was in a foam, the fish going into his “flurry” almost as soon as struck, and both crews were delighted to see the red of the blood mingling its deep hues with the white of the troubled water.  Once or twice the animal spouted, but it was a fluid dyed in his gore.  In ten minutes it turned up and was dead.

Chapter XII.

  “God save you, sir!”
  “And you, sir! you are welcome.” 
  “Travel you far on, or are you at the furthest?”
  “Sir, at the furthest for a week or two.”

  Shakspeare.