When the boat pushed off, those who were left on board the Pilgrim made their way slowly to the bows, from which the most extensive view was to be gained.
The captain’s voice came from the retreating boat—
“A sharp lookout, Dick; a sharp lookout; one eye on us, one on the ship!”
“Ay, ay, sir,” replied the apprentice.
By his gestures the captain showed that he was under some emotion; he called out again, but the boat had made such headway that it was too far off for any words to be heard.
Dingo broke out into a piteous howl.
The dog was still standing erect, his eye upon the boat in the distance. To the sailors, ever superstitious, the howling was not reassuring. Even Mrs. Weldon was startled.
“Why, Dingo, Dingo,” she exclaimed, “this isn’t the way to encourage your friends. Come here, sir; you must behave better than that!”
Sinking down on all fours the animal walked slowly up to Mrs. Weldon, and began to lick her hand.
“Ah!” muttered old Tom, shaking his head solemnly, “he doesn’t wag his tail at all. A bad omen.”
All at once the dog gave a savage growl.
As she turned her head, Mrs. Weldon caught sight of Negoro making his way to the forecastle, probably actuated by the general spirit of curiosity to follow the manoeuvers of the whaleboat. He stopped and seized a handspike as soon as he saw the ferocious attitude of the dog.
The lady was quite unable to pacify the animal, which seemed about to fly upon the throat of the cook, but Dick Sands called out loudly—
“Down, Dingo, down!”
The dog obeyed; but it seemed to be with extreme reluctance that he returned to Dick’s side; he continued to growl, as if still remembering his rage. Negoro had turned very pale, and having put down the handspike, made his way cautiously back to his own quarters.
“Hercules,” said Dick, “I must get you to keep your eye upon that man.”
“Yes, I will,” he answered, significantly clenching his fists.
Dick took his station at the helm, whence he kept an earnest watch upon the whaleboat, which under the vigorous plying of the seamen’s oars had become little more than a speck upon the water.
VIII
A Catastrophe
Experienced whaleman as he was, Captain Hull knew the difficulty of the task he had undertaken; he was alive to the importance of making his approach to the whale from the leeward, so that there should be no sound to apprize the creature of the proximity of the boat. He had perfect confidence in his boatswain, and felt sure that he would take the proper course to insure a favourable result to the enterprise.
“We mustn’t show ourselves too soon, Howick,” he said.
“Certainly not,” replied Howick; “I am going to skirt the edge of the discoloured water, and I shall take good care to get well to leeward.”
“All right,” the captain answered; and turning to the crew said, “now, my lads, as quietly as you can.”
Muffling the sound of their oars by placing straw in the rowlocks, and avoiding the least unnecessary noise, the men skilfully propelled the boat along the outline of the water tinged by the crustacea, so that while the starboard oars still dipped in the green and limpid sea, the larboard were in the deep-dyed waves, and seemed as though they were dripping with blood.
“Wine on this side, water on that,” said one of the sailors jocosely.
“But neither of them fit to drink,” rejoined the captain sharply; “so just hold your tongue!”
Under Howick’s guidance the boat now glided stealthily onto the greasy surface of the reddened waters, where she appeared to float as on a pool of oil. The whale seemed utterly unconscious of the attack that was threatening it, and allowed the boat to come nearer without exhibiting any sign of alarm.
The wide circuit which the captain had thought it advisable to take had the effect of considerably increasing the distance between his boat and the Pilgrim, whilst the strange rapidity with which objects at sea become diminished in apparent magnitude, as if viewed through the wrong end of a telescope, made the ship look farther away than she actually was.
Another half-hour elapsed, and at the end of it the captain found himself so exactly to leeward that the huge body of the whale was precisely intermediate between his boat and the Pilgrim. A closer approach must now be made; every precaution must be used; but the time had come to get sufficiently near for the harpoon to be discharged.
“Slowly, my men,” said the captain, in a low voice; “slowly and softly!”
Howick muttered something that implied that the whale had ceased blowing so hard, and that it was aware of their approach; the captain, upon this, enjoined the most perfect silence, but urged his crew onwards, until, in five or six minutes, they were within a cable’s length of the finback. Erect at the stern the boatswain stood, and manoeuvred to get the boat as close as possible to the whale’s left flank, while he made it an object of special care to keep beyond the reach of its formidable tail, one stroke of which could involve them all in instantaneous disaster.
The manipulation of the boat thus left to the boatswain, the captain made ready for the arduous effort that was before him. At the extreme bow, harpoon in hand, with his legs somewhat astride so as to insure his equilibrium, he stood prepared to plunge his weapon into the mass that rose above the surface of the sea. By his side, coiled in a pail, and with one end firmly attached to the harpoon, was the first of the five lines which, if the whale should dive to a considerable depth, would have to be joined end to end, one after another .
“Are you ready, my lads?” said he, hardly above a whisper.
“Ay, ay, sir,” replied
