it, a “school” of porpoises, are round the ship.  There is another favourite station which is speedily filled on these occasions; I mean, alongside of the slight-looking apparatus projecting perpendicularly downwards from the end of the bowsprit.  This spar is not inaptly called the dolphin-striker, from its appearing to dash into the waves as the ship pitches; perhaps it may have acquired its name on account of its being so capital a position from which to strike that fish.  The lower end of the spar is connected with the outer end of the jib-boom, by means of a stout rope, which, after passing through its extremity, extends to the ship; and it is upon this guy that the fortunate wielder of the harpoon fixes himself.  The harpoon is a triangular, or rather a heart-shaped barbed weapon, somewhat larger than a man’s head, and in the centre about as thick as his knuckles.  Its point and edges are made of iron so soft that they can easily be brought to a rough edge by means of a file.  This javelin-head, or, as it is technically called by whalers, the “mouth,” is connected by a slender arm or shank, terminating in a socket.  The barbed head or mouth is eight inches long, and six broad; the shank, with its socket, two feet and a-half long.  The shank is not quite half an inch in diameter; and as this part is liable to be forcibly extended, twisted, and bent, it requires to be made of the toughest and most pliable iron.

A piece of small, but stout line, called, I think, the foreganger, is spliced securely to the shank of the harpoon.  To the end of this line is attached any small rope that lies handiest on the forecastle, probably the top-gallant clew-line, or the jib down-haul.  The rope, before being made fast to the foreganger, is rove through a block attached to some part of the bowsprit, or to the foremost swifter of the fore-rigging; a gang of hands are always ready to take hold of the end, and run the fish right out of the water when pierced by the iron.

The harpooner has nothing to attend to but the mere act of striking his object; and there are few exploits in which the dexterity of one person is more conspicuous over that of another than in delivering the harpoon.  I have heard Captain Scoresby say, that, when a whale is struck, it is an object of importance to drive the weapon socket-deep into the blubber, or outer rind, of the floating monster; but in the case of the porpoise the true point of skill appears to lie in the aim alone:  for the mere weight of the instrument, with its loaded staff, is sufficient to lodge the barbs in the body of the fish, and in many cases to carry it right through to the other side.