“There go flukes,” cried the look-out, as the whale dived and tossed its flukes—­that is, its tail—­in the air, not more than a mile on the lee-bow; “she’s heading right for the ship.”

“Down with the helm!” roared the captain.  “Mr. Bolton, brace up the mizzen-top-sail!  Hoist and swing the boats!  Lower away!”

In another moment three boats struck the water, and their respective crews tumbled tumultuously into them.  Fred and Singleton sprang into the stern-sheets of the captain’s boat just as it pushed off, and, in less than five minutes, the three boats were bounding over the sea in the direction of the whale like race-horses.  Every man did his best, and the tough oars bent like hoops as each boat’s crew strove to outstrip the others.

CHAPTER IV.

The chase and the battle—­The chances and dangers of whaling war—­Buzzby dives for his life and saves it—­So does the whale and loses it—­An anxious night, which terminates happily, though with a heavy loss.

The chase was not a long one, for, while the boats were rowing swiftly towards the whale, the whale was, all unconsciously, swimming towards the boats.

“Give way now, lads, give way,” said the captain in a suppressed voice; “bend your backs, boys, and don’t let the mate beat us.”

The three boats flew over the sea, as the men strained their muscles to the utmost, and for some time they kept almost in line, being pretty equally matched; but gradually the captain shot ahead, and it became evident that his harpooner, Amos Parr, was to have the honour of harpooning the first whale.  Amos pulled the bow-oar, and behind him was the tub with the line coiled away, and the harpoon bent on to it.  Being an experienced whaleman, he evinced no sign of excitement, save in the brilliancy of his dark eye and a very slight flush on his bronzed face.  They had now neared the whale and ceased rowing for a moment, lest they should miss it when down.

“There she goes!” cried Fred in a tone of intense excitement, as he caught sight of the whale not more than fifty yards ahead of the boat.

“Now, boys,” cried the captain, in a hoarse whisper, “spring hard—­lay back hard, I say—­stand up!”

At the last word Amos-Parr sprang to his feet and seized the harpoon, the boat ran right on to the whale’s back, and in an instant Parr sent two irons to the hitches into the fish.

“Stern all!” The men backed their oars with all their might, in order to avoid the flukes of the wounded monster of the deep, as it plunged down headlong into the sea, taking the line out perpendicularly like lightning.  This was a moment of great danger.  The friction of the line as it passed the loggerhead was so great that Parr had to keep constantly pouring water on it to prevent its catching fire.  A hitch in the line at that time, as it flew out of the tub, or any accidental entanglement, would have dragged