him amidships,
and strike him fearful blows on the ribs with their bony heads. Round
and round, in ever-narrowing circles as his strength fails, the tortured
humpback swims, sometimes turning on his back or side, but failing,
failing fast.

'He's done for, lads. Pull up; stand up, Jim.'

The boat dashes up, and Jim, the man who is pulling bow oar, picks up
his harpoon. A minute later, it flies from his hand and is buried deep
into the body of the quivering animal, cutting through the thick blubber
as a razor would cut through the skin of a drum.

'Stern all!' and the harpooner tumbles aft and grips the steer oar,
and the steersman takes his place in the head of the boat with his
keen-edged lance. But 'humpy' is almost spent, and though by a mighty
effort he 'ups flukes,' and sounds, he soon rises, for the killers
thrust him upwards to the surface again. Then the flashing lance, two,
three swift blows into his 'life,' a gushing torrent of hot, dark blood,
he rolls over on his side, an agonised trembling quivers through his
vast frame, the battle is over and his life is gone.

And now comes the curious and yet absolutely truly described final part
that the killers play in this ocean tragedy. They, the moment the whale
is dead, close around him, and fastening their teeth into his body,
by main strength bear it to the bottom. Here--if they have not already
accomplished it--they tear out the tongue and eat about one-third of the
blubber. In from thirty-six to forty hours the carcass will again rise
to the surface, and as, before he was taken down, the whalemen have
attached a line and buoy to the body, its whereabouts is easily
discerned from the lookout on the headland; the boats again put off and
tow it ashore to the trying-out works. The killers, though they have had
their fill of blubber, accompany the boats to the head of the bay and
keep off the sharks, which would otherwise strip off all the remaining
blubber from the carcass before it had reached the shore. But once the
boats are in the shallow water the killers stop, and then with a final
'puff! puff!' of farewell to their human friends, turn and head seaward
to resume their ceaseless watch and patrol of the ocean.

The killers never hurt a man. Time after time have boats been stove-in
or smashed into splinters by a whale, either by an accidental blow from
his head or a sudden lateral sweep of his monstrous flukes, and the
crew left struggling in the water or c