stening a rope to our prize, we commenced towing it to the ship, which
operation occupied us the greater part of the night, for we had no fewer
than eight miles to pull.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

DEATH ON THE SEA.

The whale which we had taken, as I have related in the last chapter, was
our largest fish of that season. It produced ninety barrels of oil, and
was worth about 500 pounds sterling, so that we did not grieve much over
the loss of our boat.

But our next loss was of a kind that could not be made up for by oil or
money, for it was the loss of a human life. In the whale-fishery men
must, like soldiers, expect to risk their lives frequently, and they
have too often, alas! to mourn over the loss of a shipmate or friend.
Up to this time our voyage had gone prosperously. We had caught so many
fish that nearly half our cargo was already completed, and if we should
be as lucky the remainder of the voyage, we should be able to return
home to Old England much sooner than we had expected.

Of course, during all this time we had met with some disappointments,
for I am not describing everything that happened on that voyage. It
would require a much thicker volume than this to tell the half of our
adventures. We lost five or six fish by their sinking before we could
get them made fast to the ship, and one or two bolted so fast that they
broke loose and carried away a number of harpoons, and many a fathom of
line. But such misfortunes were what we had to look for. Every whaler
meets with similar changes of luck, and we did not expect to fare
differently from our neighbours. These things did not cause us much
regret beyond the time of their occurrence. But it was far otherwise
with the loss that now befell us.

It happened one forenoon. I was standing close to the starboard gangway
early that morning, looking over the side into the calm water, for there
was not a breath of wind, and talking to the first mate, who was a
gruff, surly man, but a good officer, and kind enough in his way when
everything went smooth with him. But things don't go very smooth
generally in whaling life, so the mate was oftener gruff than sweet.

"Bob Ledbury," said he, "have you got your cutting-in gear in order?
I've got a notion that we'll `raise the oil' this day."

"All right, sir," said I, "you might shave yourself with the
blubber-spades. That was a good fish we got last, sir, wasn't it?"

"Pretty good, though I've seen bigger."