fter revenge. And
if he hits the Scarboro _right_, we're likely to have a nice time rowing
ashore, boys--you can take my word for that!"

CHAPTER XX

IN WHICH OUR CHAPTER OF BAD LUCK IS CONTINUED

That old bull was sure a fighting whale. The annals of whaling do not
lack records of such old rogues, as witness the sinking of the Kathleen,
of New Bedford on the "12-40 ground" east of the Barbadoes in 1901. A
bad whale can do a lot of damage besides smashing whaleboats. Thus far
we had suffered no loss from the monsters which the Scarboro was
hunting; but as this old bull shot like an arrow for the scarred side of
the bark, which was hove to less than half a mile away, it did look as
though she was due to get a bad bump.

We were on a short line, however, for the bull had not sounded deeply.
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 snatched 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 bumped 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
ejaculated.

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