For what
seemed a period of about twenty minutes we dodged him as he made
the ugliest rushes at us. I had not yet changed ends with
Samuela, as customary, for I felt it imperative to keep the helm
while this game was being played. My trusty Kanaka, however, had
a lance ready, and I knew, if he only got the ghost of a chance,
no man living would or could make better use of it.
The whole affair was growing monotonous as well as extremely
wearying. Perhaps I was a little off my guard; at any rate, my
heart almost leaped into my mouth when just after an ugly rush
past us, which I thought had carried him to a safe distance, he
stopped dead, lifted his flukes, and brought them down edgeways
with a vicious sweep that only just missed the boat's gunwale and
shore off the two oars on that side as if they had been carrots.
This serious disablement would certainly have led to disaster
but for Samuela. Prompt and vigorous, he seized the opportune
moment when the whale's side was presented just after the blow,
sending his lance quivering home all its length into the most
vital part of the leviathan's anatomy. Turning his happy face to
me, he shouted exultingly, "How's dat fer high?"--a bit of slang
he had picked up, and his use of which never failed to make me
smile.
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