Year: 1877

tFrom the Forest and Streaml


1t was some time before we could dis
t,nglish the speck, rising and falling
with the self, which had attracted the
old whaleman's attention. Soon he pro-
nonnced it "fish," and, after putting
us on the other tack to run down
down partly to leeward of it, went below
to bring up the irons. When we had
worked perhaps mile before it, we lay
to for our final instruction, the skipper
took the wheel to keep her head on If
yer can," and the one who held the air
tight barrel was told When y're sure
I've struck him. over with it. %


He was as cool as a cucumber as he
took the harpoon and cutting spade for
ward, eoiling the line Zone end of which
was fast to the hafpooh, the other end to
the barely carefully on deck, with the
caution, "Ware when it flakes cut, -
and taking only enough with him to his
roost on the bowspirt end to give him
ample elbow room. His station reached,
he fixed the spade in the support ready
to receive it, laid the iron in front of him
across the cage, waved his hand, and we
filed away, close hauled. Never was a
mile more slowly sailed by the little
group in the pit of the White Cloud.
Never had our hearts beaten faster than
as we neared the fifteen feet fish, rolling,
asleep, in the trough of the sea. Now
the pilot is almost over him; slowly he
raises the iron, braces himself. and
hurls it with oil the strength of both
sinewy arms. The iron sinks deeply
into the sleeping fish; there is a mighty
surge, the line flakes overheard as
quickly as thought, the float splashes as
it disappears beneath the water,
then all is still. We 1uff and
wait. Presently up bobs the float
The fish finding the strain of the air.
tight barrel too severe is coming to
the surface Now the water bubbles
| and boils just under our lee, and the
swordfish breaches half his length out
of his element, shakes himself savagely,
and sWims at lightning speed for the
barrel. He strikes it agait1 aid again
with his sword, bnt it rests SO lightly on
top of the water that he cannot I'M ure it.
Then he stops, looks at us an instant,
and darts toward the boat. We have
not time to bring her head around, and
if he strikes it will be atnidsi1ips. The
pilot comes quickly aft, bringing his
long handled, three -cornered spade, and,
as the fish comes within striking dis





full at his forehead. The terrible sword
drops harmless, the, upper muscles at
it's base are severed, and he passes
under us, jarring the boat and splash
ing US with water as he sounds.


Again the float goes undcr and is out
of sight longer time than before.
Again the fish throws himself out of
water, showing his sword hanging down
o. <1a f.ff <,-Ax Il l.
swims once or twice arout'd the barrel
then starts to windward at too furious a
speed to last with the float plowing be-
hind DIM. When we beat up he is
feebly fighting it. He sounds for a
short time, but comes up exhausted.
Once or twice he rolls over on his side,
but RECEIVERS himself and swims ON in
short tacks We press him too closely,
and he charges us again, but we make
no effort to avoid him, knowing that now
he is powerless to injure us, nor does
he try to strike, apparently realizing
that his weapon is useless, but goes un-
der, coming up the other side.


And 80 he sounds and swims, fights
and runs, until at last he succumbs to
exhaustion and lies still We work up
alongside, and, as we luf, the pilot puts
a lance into his very life There is a
shudder along his whole body, his fins
work convulsively a moment, and then
he lies motioriess and dead. We rig a
tackle to our mainmast, and after con-
siderable labor get him aboard, where
we can examine at ot1r leisure his pc
culiar shape, and admire his graceful
clipper build" Our Nantucketer es-
Inmates his weight at between 500 and
600 pounds. His sword is over three
feet in length, its broken point and
nicked edges proving that its owner was