Let
any man pull with might and main for hours and hours together, under
a burning sun; and if it do not make him a little peevish, he is no
sailor.
The taunts of the seamen may have maddened the Mowree; however it was,
no sooner was he brought up again, than, harpoon in hand, he bounded
upon the whale's back, and for one dizzy second was seen there. The
next, all was foam and fury, and both were out of sight. The men
sheered off, flinging overboard the line as fast as they could; while
ahead, nothing was seen but a red whirlpool of blood and brine.
Presently, a dark object swam out; the line began to straighten; then
smoked round the loggerhead, and, quick as thought, the boat sped
like an arrow through the water. They were "fast," and the whale was
running.
Where was the Mowree? His brown hand was on the boat's gunwale; and he
was hauled aboard in the very midst of the mad bubbles that burst
under the bows.
Such a man, or devil, if you will, was Bembo.
CHAPTER XX.
THE ROUND ROBIN - VISITORS FROM SHORE
AFTER the captain left, the land-breeze died away; and, as is usual
about these islands, toward noon it fell a dead calm. There was
nothing to do but haul up the courses, run down the jib, and lay and
roll upon the swells.
