Part 18 (1/2)

Ben Gibson sprang up with the bomb gun and tried to put a lance in the beast at that distance. It only scratched him, I suppose, but it _did_ seem to swerve him from his course.

Instead of striking the Scarboro, he ran past her stern and circled around her. We were s.n.a.t.c.hed after the whale at racing speed and saw the fellows aboard hanging over the rail grinning at us--like spectators at a horse race.

”Them sculpins wouldn't grin so broad if the critter had b.u.mped the Scarboro,” declared Tom Anderly.

The beast lay quiet for a bit and we pulled up on him. Before Gibson could get him with the lance gun again, he sounded.

”Now, by gravy!” exclaimed old Tom, who had a wealth of expletives in him when he was excited, ”look out for squalls.”

”He's been squally enough already, hasn't he?” demanded our young officer.

”You ain't seen the end yet, sir,” returned the old man.

”Well, I bet I _do_ see the end----”

He broke off with a sharp intake of breath. Then: ”Stern all!” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

Up through the green sea came a huge shadow. We could not shoot the boat back in time to clear the monster. The whale had turned and shot up under the boat!

The boat jarred as the prolonged lower jaw of the bull whale struck her keel forward. There was a mighty rush of waters, like a cataract; the whaleboat was flung aside, and Ben Gibson shot over the bow and fell right into the open mouth of the whale!

I know I screamed something--I don't know what I said. The boat was shooting back under the impetus of the oars, and we escaped overturning.

But I had seen Ben fall and saw him disappear into the cavern of the creature's mouth. I saw, too, the jaws come together once, and I swear our second mate was in the bull's mouth when it closed!

But the next moment the maw of the beast opened and in the swirl of foam and blood-streaked water I caught sight of the senseless Gibson.

”Pull!” I yelled.

And although I had no business to give a command, the men obeyed me and the boat shot forward again. I seized our second mate by his s.h.i.+rt collar. In a moment I had lifted him into the boat.

At the same moment Tom Anderly got forward, seized the gun which poor Gibson had dropped, and sent a bomb-lance into the whale at so short a distance that it seemed as though we might have touched him by putting out a hand.

But that fighting whale died hard. It leaped after the bomb exploded and again we were almost overturned.

”Cut loose! Let the beast go!” cried some of the men.

But Tom Anderly would not lift the boat hatchet. To cut a whale free, unless it becomes absolutely necessary, is ”against the religion” of any old whaler. As for myself, I was bending over the injured second mate, trying to revive him.

Ben Gibson had been through a most awful experience. Old Cap'n Wood, of Nantucket, had been in the mouth of a whale, and lived to tell the story. I remembered of reading about his experience. But it was a most awful accident and I feared indeed that the young officer was dead.

Therefore I was not really cognizant of what was going on until half the crew of our boat began to shriek a mult.i.tude of commands and advice.

Then I looked up and saw that the bull whale for a second time was charging the Scarboro.

It was plain the old fellow realized that the bark was his enemy. He paid no attention to the boat that was tearing through the sea behind him. And we was so near the bark now that nothing could be done to swerve the the fighting whale!

Straight on dashed the big bull, at a speed that snubbed the whaleboat's nose under water, for we were close up to the beast.

Straight on, with tremendous headway and a fearful, gathering momentum, headed for the grimy, battle-scarred broadside of the old Scarboro.

Those aboard of the bark could do nothing. She was still hove to. The fighting whale had missed her by a hand's breadth once before, but this time he did not swerve.