th the killers. And for more than
twenty years this business partnership has existed between the humans
and the cetaceans, and the utmost rectitude and solicitude for each
other's interests has always been maintained. _Orca gladiator_ seizes
the whale for the Davidsons and holds him until the deadly lance is
plunged into his 'life,' and the Davidssons let Orca carry the carcass
to the bottom, and take his tithe of luscious blubber. This is the
literal truth; and grizzled old Davidson, or any one of the stalwart
sons who man his two boats, will tell you that but for the killers, who
do half of the work, whaling would not pay with oil only worth from L18
to L24 a tun.

Let us imagine a warm, sunny day in August at Twofold Bay. The man
who is on the lookout at the old lighthouse, built by Ben Boyd on the
southern headland fifty years ago, paces to and fro on the grassy sward,
stopping now and then to scan the wide expanse of ocean with his glass,
for the spout of a whale is hard to discern at more than two miles
if the weather is not clear. If the creature is in a playful mood and
'breaches,' that is, springs bodily out of the water and sends up a
white volume of foam and spray, like the discharge of a submarine mine,
you can see it eight miles away.

The two boats are always in readiness at the trying-out works, a mile
or so up the harbour; so, too, are the killers; and the look-out man,
walking to the verge of the cliff, looks down. There they are, cruising
slowly up and down, close in-shore, spouting lazily and showing their
wet, gleaming backs as they rise, roll and dive again. There's 'Fatty,'
and 'Spot,' and 'Flukey,' and 'Little Jim,' and 'Paddy,' and 'Tom Tug.'
Nearly every one of them has a name, and each is well known to his human
friends.

Presently the watchman sees, away to the southward, a white, misty puff,
then another, and another. In an instant he brings his glass to bear,
'Humpbacks!' Quickly two flags flutter from the flagpole, and a fire is
lit; and as the flags and smoke are seen, the waiting boats' crews at
the trying-out station are galvanised into life by the cry of 'Rush, ho,
lads! Humpbacks in sight, steering north-west!' Rush and tumble into the
boats and away!

Round the south head sweeps the first boat, the second following more
leisurely, for she is only a 'pick-up' or relief, in case the first is
'fluked' and the crew are tossed high in air, with their boat crushed
into matchwood, or me