The harpooner obeyed, and away they went after the whale like a rocket, with a tremendous strain on the line and a bank of white foam gurgling up to the edge of the gunwale, that every moment threatened to fill the boat and sink her.  Such a catastrophe is of not unfrequent occurrence, when whalemen thus towed by a whale are tempted to hold on too long; and many instances have happened of boats and their crews being in this way dragged under water and lost.  Fortunately the whale dashed horizontally through the water, so that the boat was able to hold on and follow, and in a short time the creature paused and rose for air.  Again the men bent to their oars, and the rope was hauled in until they came quite close to the fish.  This time a harpoon was thrown and a deep lance-thrust given which penetrated to the vital parts of its huge carcass, as was evidenced by the blood which it spouted and the convulsive lashing of its tremendous tail.

While the captain’s crew were thus engaged, Saunders, the second mate, observing from the ship the accident to the first mate’s boat, sent off a party of men to the rescue, thus setting free the third boat, which was steered by a strapping fellow named Peter Grim, to follow up the chase.  Peter Grim was the ship’s carpenter, and he took after his name.  He was, as the sailors expressed it, a “grim customer,” being burnt by the sun to a deep rich brown colour, besides being covered nearly up to the eyes with a thick coal-black beard and moustache, which completely concealed every part of his visage except his prominent nose and dark, fiery-looking eyes.  He was an immense man, the largest in the ship, probably, if we except the Scotch second mate Saunders, to whom he was about equal in all respects—­except argument.  Like most big men, he was peaceable and good-humoured.

“Look alive now, lads,” said Grim, as the men pulled towards the whale; “we’ll get a chance yet, we shall, if you give way like tigers.  Split your sides, boys—­do—­that’s it.  Ah! there she goes right down.  Pull away now, and be ready when she rises.”

As he spoke the whale suddenly sounded—­that is, went perpendicularly down, as it had done when first struck—­and continued to descend until most of the line in the captain’s boat was run out.

“Hoist an oar!” cried Amos Parr, as he saw the coil diminishing.  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!”