battery of eager eyes.  Only three days elapsed after our arrival when whales were seen.  For the first time, I realized how numerous those gigantic denizens of the sea really are.  As far as the eye could reach, extending all round one-half of the horizon, the sea appeared to be alive with spouts—­all sperm whales, all bulls of great size.  The value of this incredible school must have been incalculable.  Subsequent experience satisfied me that such a sight was by no means uncommon here; in fact, “lone whales” or small “pods” were quite the exception.

Well, we all “waded in,” getting, some two, some one whale apiece, according to the ability of the crews or the fortune of war.  Only one fell to our lot in the cachalot, but it was just as well.  We had hardly, got him fast by the fluke alongside when it began to pipe up from the north-east.  In less than one watch the sea was fairly smoking with the fierceness of the wind.  We were unable to get in anywhere, being, with a whale alongside, about as handy as a barge loaded with a haystack; while those unfortunate beggars that had two whales fast to them were utterly helpless as far as independent locomotion went, unless they could run dead before the wind.  Every ship made all snug aloft, and hoisted the boats to the top notch of the cranes, fully anticipating a long, hard struggle with the elements before they got back to the cruising ground again.  Cutting-in was out of the question in such weather; the only thing possible was to hope for a shift of wind before she got too far out, or a break in the weather.  Neither of these events was probable, as all frequenters of South New Zealand know, bad weather having there an unhappy knack of being as persistent as fine weather is brief.

Night drew on as our forlorn and heavily handicapped little fleet bore steadily seaward with their burdens, the angry, ever-increasing sea, battering at us vengefully, while the huge carcasses alongside tore and strained at their fastenings as if they would rend the ships asunder.  Slowly our companions faded from sight as the murky sky shut down on us, until in lonely helplessness we drifted on our weary way out into the vast, inhospitable Southern Ocean.  Throughout the dark and stormy night our brave old ship held on her unwilling way right gallantly, making no water, in spite of the fearful strain to which she was subjected, nor taking any heavy sea over all.  Morning broke cheerlessly enough.  No abatement in the gale or change in its direction; indeed, it looked like lasting a month.  Only one ship was visible far to leeward of us, and she was hull down.  Our whale was beginning to swell rapidly, already floating at least three feet above the surface instead of just awash, as when newly killed.  The skipper eyed it gloomily, seeing the near prospect of its entire loss, but he said nothing.  In fact, very little was said; but the stories we had heard in the Bay of Islands came back to us with significant force now that their justification was so apparent.