I found them both smoking in silence when I returned; but, after a few minutes, my father said, “Messmate, as I have told you how I got this chalk, suppose you tell me in return how you got that nose of yours fixed so hard a starboard?  That’s fair play.”

“Exactly so,” replied Ben.  “Why, d’ye see?  I sarved most of my early life in the whaling line.  I was three voyages to the north; but taking the black whale counts for nothing; you must go south arter the sparmacitty if you wish to see sport.”

“I never was in that line,” replied my father; “but I’ve heard fellows spin the devil’s own yarns about it.”

“And so they may, and tell the truth, that’s sartain, shipmate.  You see, the sparmacitty don’t take the harpoon quite so quietly as the black whale does; he fights hard to the last, and sometimes is very free with his jaws.  The very large ones are the most easy to kill; so we always look out for them when we can, as they give less trouble, and more oil; the most dangerous are the half-grown, which we call ’forty-barrel bulls,’ as that’s about what oil we get out of them.”

“Well,” said my father, “I’m blessed if ever I knew whales were called bulls before this night.”

“Yes, that’s our term,” replied Ben; “and now to my story.  We were down off the coast of Japan; when, about one hour after daybreak, the man looking out at the masthead gave the usual word when he sees a whale blowing—­’There she spouts.’  And this he repeats every time the fish rises.  We had a clean hold at the time, for we had but just come to our fishing-ground, and we were mighty eager.  The boats were down in a jiffy, and away we pulled.  We were within a quarter of a mile of the whale, when, to our disappointment, he peaked his flukes—­”

“What’s that, messmate?” inquired my father.

“Why, you see, it’s the right term after all, for the tail of sparmacitty is like the flukes of an anchor; and, of course, now you understand me.”

“Yes, you mean to say he went down, I suppose.”

“Of course; for how could he go down headforemost, without peaking his tail in the air?”

“One lives and larns as long as one lives,” observed my father.  “Heave ahead again, old boy.”

“Well, as you can’t know what you haven’t heard anything about, I must now tell you that these animals be as regular as the bells in a man-of-war; and whenever they goes down to fed, they always stays exactly about the time allowed for dinner in a comfortable ship; that is, seventy minutes exactly.  An hour, you see, is the regular time allowed, and the other ten minutes are by favor of the officer of the watch, or first lieutenant.  We knew that we must wait that time for him, so we tossed up our oars, and laid by.”

“I suppose them sparmacitty chaps have a watch in their pockets,” said my father, smiling.

“It’s a true bill, nevertheless, messmate, and they never alter:  how and why they keep to their time, the Lord who gave them the sense to do so only knows.  It is one of the wonders of the deep, which they only who go on the great waters can bear witness to.”