't add to my
beauty, anyhow. Well, it was cut for cut, messmate; I just took one
look at the beggar, and I drove my cutlass into his skull, just as he
was rising up, and he never rose again. That's my story."

"I suppose you took the craft?"

"Yes; and her consort too. But many lost the number of their mess, and
I lost all my beauty. Just hand me the 'baccy, messmate; and, Jack, go
for the next pot of beer."

I found them both smoking in silence when I returned; but, after a few
minutes, my father said, "Messmate, as I have told you how I got this
chalk, suppose you tell me in return how you got that nose of yours
fixed so hard a starboard? That's fair play."

"Exactly so," replied Ben. "Why, d'ye see? I sarved most of my early
life in the whaling line. I was three voyages to the north; but taking
the black whale counts for nothing; you must go south arter the
sparmacitty if you wish to see sport."

"I never was in that line," replied my father; "but I've heard fellows
spin the devil's own yarns about it."

"And so they may, and tell the truth, that's sartain, shipmate. You
see, the sparmacitty don't take the harpoon quite so quietly as the
black whale does; he fights hard to the last, and sometimes is very free
with his jaws. The very large ones are the most easy to kill; so we
always look out for them when we can, as they give less trouble, and
more oil: the most dangerous are the half-grown, which we call
`forty-barrel bulls,' as that's about what oil we get out of them."

"Well," said my father, "I'm blessed if ever I knew whales were called
bulls before this night."

"Yes, that's our term," replied Ben; "and now to my story. We were down
off the coast of Japan; when, about one hour after daybreak, the man
looking out at the masthead gave the usual word when he sees a whale
blowing--`There she spouts.' And this he repeats every time the fish
rises. We had a clean hold at the time, for we had but just come to our
fishing-ground, and we were mighty eager. The boats were down in a
jiffy, and away we pulled. We were within a quarter of a mile of the
whale, when, to our disappointment, he peaked his flukes--"

"What's that, messmate?" inquired my father.

"Why, you see, it's the right term after all, for the tail of
sparmacitty is like the flukes of an anchor; and, of course, now you
understand me."

"Yes, you mean to say he went down, I suppose."

"Of course; for how could he go down head-f