Morning broke cheerlessly enough. No abatement in the gale or
change in its direction; indeed, it looked like lasting a month.
Only one ship was visible far to leeward of us, and she was hull
down. Our whale was beginning to swell rapidly, already floating
at least three feet above the surface instead of just awash, as
when newly killed. The skipper eyed it gloomily, seeing the near
prospect of its entire loss, but he said nothing. In fact, very
little was said; but the stories we had heard in the Bay of
Islands came back to us with significant force now that their
justification was so apparent.
Hour after hour went by without any change whatever, except in
the whale, which, like some gradually filling balloon, rose
higher and higher, till at nightfall its bulk was appalling.
All through the night those on deck did little else but stare at
its increasing size, which when morning dawned again, was so
great that the animal's bilge rode level with the ship's rail,
while in her lee rolls it towered above the deck like a mountain.
The final scene with it was now a question of minutes only, so
most of us, fascinated by the strange spectacle, watched and
waited. Suddenly, with a roar like the bursting of a dam, the
pent-up gases tore their furious way out of the distended
carcass, hurling the entrails in one horrible entanglement
widespread over the sea.
Pages:
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468