ued to
contract for twenty minutes after it was taken out and pierced with a
knife.

I would not have believed this had I not seen it with my own eyes. In
case some of my readers may doubt its truth, I would remind them how
difficult it is to kill some of those creatures with which we are all
familiar. The common worm, for instance, may be cut into a number of
small pieces, and yet each piece remains alive for some time after.

The skin of the shark is valued by the whalemen, because, when cleaned
and dry, it is as good as sand-paper, and is much used in polishing the
various things they make out of whales' bones and teeth.

When the last piece of blubber had been cut off our whale, the great
chain that held it to the ship's side was cast off, and the now useless
carcass sank like a stone, much to the sorrow of some of the smaller
birds, which, having been driven away by their bigger comrades, had not
fed so heartily as they wished perhaps! But what was loss to the gulls
was gain to the sharks, which could follow the carcass down into the
deep and devour it at their leisure.

"Now, lads," cried the mate, when the remains had vanished, "rouse up
the fires, look alive, my hearties!"

"Aye, aye, sir," was the ready reply, cheerfully given, as every man
sprang to his appointed duty.

And so, having "cut in" our whale, we next proceeded to "try out" the
oil.

CHAPTER V

A STORM, A MAN OVERBOARD, AND A RESCUE

The scenes in a whaleman's life are varied and very stirring.
Sometimes he is floating on the calm ocean, idling about the deck and
whistling for a breeze, when all of a sudden the loud cry is heard,
"There she blows!" and in a moment the boats are in the water, and he
is engaged in all the toils of an exciting chase. Then comes the
battle with the great leviathan of the deep, with all its risks and
dangers. Sometimes he is unfortunate, the decks are clean, he has
nothing to do. At other times he is lucky, "cutting in" and "trying
out" engage all his energies and attention. Frequently storms toss him
on the angry deep, and show him, if he will but learn the lesson, how
helpless a creature he is, and how thoroughly dependent at all times
for life, safety, and success, upon the arm of God.

"Trying out" the oil, although not so thrilling a scene as many a one
in his career, is, nevertheless, extremely interesting, especially at
night, when the glare of the fires in the try-works casts a deep-red