“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.
“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.
