hing. Grim
observed the signal of distress, and encouraged his men to use their
utmost exertions. "Another oar!--another!" shouted Parr, as the whale
continued its headlong descent. "Stand by to cut the line," said
Captain Guy with compressed lips. "No! hold on, hold on!"

At this moment, having drawn down more than a thousand fathoms of rope,
the whale slackened its speed, and Parr, taking another coil round the
loggerhead, held on until the boat was almost dragged under water. Then
the line became loose, and the slack was hauled in rapidly. Meanwhile
Grim's boat had reached the spot and the men now lay on their oars at
some distance ahead, ready to pull the instant the whale should show
itself. Up it came, not twenty yards ahead. One short, energetic pull,
and the second boat sent a harpoon deep into it, while Grim sprang to
the bow, and thrust a lance with deadly force deep into the carcass.
The monster sent up a stream of mingled blood, oil, and water, and
whirled its huge tail so violently that the sound could be heard a mile
off. Before it dived again, the captain's boat came up, and succeeded
in making fast another harpoon, while several additional lance-thrusts
were given with effect, and it seemed as if the battle were about to
terminate, when suddenly the whale struck the sea with a clap like
thunder, and darted away once more like a rocket to windward, tearing
the two boats after it, as if they had been egg-shells.

Meanwhile a change had come over the scene. The sun had set, red and
lowering, behind a bank of dark clouds, and there was every appearance
of stormy weather; but as yet it was nearly calm, and the ship was
unable to beat up against the light breeze in the wake of the two boats,
which were soon far away on the horizon. Then a furious gust arose and
passed away; a dark cloud covered the sky as night fell, and soon boats
and whale were utterly lost to view.

"Waes me," cried the big Scotch mate, as he ran up and down the
quarter-deck wringing his hands, "what _is_ to be done noo?"

Saunders spoke a mongrel kind of language--a mixture of Scotch and
English,--in which, although the Scotch words were sparsely scattered,
the Scotch accent was very strong.

"How's her head?"

"Nor'-nor'-west, sir."

"Keep her there, then. Maybe, if the wind holds stiddy, we may overhaul
them before it's quite dark."

Although Saunders was really in a state of the utmost consternation at
this unexpec