Well, ’twas him as my friend hooked. He’d put his bit of bait over the side, and was a-waiting for a nibble, as innocent as a lamb, when the reptile happened to come along. In a couple of shakes he’d swallowed hook, and bait, and line, and then he riz out of the ocean as high as the truck of the foremast, with a mane like a lion, and shiny scales like soup plates, and bulging eyes and a forked tongue like a dragon. Well, there! My friend Bill, being a family man, thought it his duty to get under hatches, and had to swallow a stiff glass of ginger-beer to steady his nerves and all. Eh? What became of the snake? Well, that Bill never told me, and so I won’t deceive you. He’d no particular wish, hadn’t Bill, to cultivate its acquaintance. No, most of my fishing has been done without bait, Master Charles, for it ain’t any manner of use to show snails, or, for the matter of that, worms, to a whale— he’d only smile.”
“Why, yes,” said Charlie, reflectively. “I suppose whales are ever so big. I saw the bones of one once, and it must have been a whopper. But how do you catch them, Ben, and what do you do with them after they’re caught?”
“I’ll just tell you about the very first whale as ever I caught, Master Charles, for ’twas an adventure I ain’t likely to forget.”
“Adventure, Ben? Oh, do tell!”
“Well, we'd been a-cruising off the Greenland coast, Master Charles, in the neighbourhood of Scorsby’s Island and Smith’s Sound, when one morning the mariner at the mast-head sings out, ‘There she spouts!’”
“What did he mean?” asked Charlie.
“Why, you see, whales don’t live all their time under water, but have to come to the surface every now and then for a mouthful of fresh air. It’s then they spout or throw up the water from their noses, and that was what this one was a-doing of. The boats were hanging from the davits ready for launching, and in less than no time four of them gave chase. I was in the first along with the mate, who stood in the bows, harpoon in hand, ready to strike when we got near enough. They do tell me that nowadays the harpoon is fired from a gun; so you may lie on your sofy on the quarter-deck a-smoking your weed, and take your fishing easy. But ’twasn’t so when I was a nipper; whaling then was real dangerous work, and no mistake.
“Well, by-and-by we came up with the leviathan, which was having a snooze. The mate took careful aim; away went the harpoon, with line attached, and buried itself deep in the whale. Then the mate
