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<h3>Chapter Ninety Four.</h3> <h4>A “School” of Sperm-Whales.</h4> To all appearance the hour had arrived when they were to look their last on the embarkation that had safely carried them through so many dangers. In a few minutes their sail would be spread before a breeze, that would impel their boat at a rapid rate through the water; and in a short time they would see no more of the Catamaran, crawling slowly after them. A few miles astern, and she would be out of sight,—once and forever. Such was their belief, as they proceeded to set the sail. Little were they thinking of the destiny that was before them. Fate had not designed such a sudden separation; and well was it for them that the Catamaran had clung so closely upon their track, as still to offer them an asylum,—a harbour of refuge to which they might retreat,—for it was not long before they found themselves in need of it. As stated, they were proceeding to set the sail. They had got their rigging all right,—the canvas bent upon the yard, the halliards rove, and everything except hauling up and sheeting home. These last operations would have been but the work of six seconds, and yet they were never performed. As the sailor and Snowball stood, halliards in hand, ready to hoist up, an exclamation came from little William, that caused both of them to suspend proceedings. The boy stood gazing out upon the ocean,—his eyes fixed upon some object that had caused him to cry out. Lalee was by his side also, regarding the same object. “What is it, Will’m?” eagerly inquired the sailor, hoping the lad might have made out a sail. William had himself entertained this hope. A whitish disk over the horizon had come under his eye; which for a while looked like spread canvas, but soon disappeared,—as if it had suddenly dissolved into air. William was ashamed of having uttered the exclamation,—as being guilty of causing a “false alarm.” He was about to explain himself, when the white object once more rose up against the sky,—now observed by all. “That’s what I saw,” said the alarmist, confessing himself mistaken. “If ye took it for a sail, lad,” rejoined the sailor, “you war mistaken. It be only the spoutin’ o’ a sparmacety.” “There’s more than one,” rejoined William, desirous of escaping from his dilemma. “See, yonder’s half a dozen of them!” “Theer ye be right, lad,—though not in sayin’ there’s half a dozen. More like there be half a hundred o’ ’em. There’s sure to be that number, whar you see six a-blowin’ at the same time. There be a ‘school’ o’ them, I be bound,—maybe a ‘body.’” “Golly!” cried Snowball, after regarding the whales for a moment, “dey am a-comin’ dis way!” “They be,” muttered the old whalesman, in a tone that did not show much satisfaction at the discovery. “They’re coming right down upon us. I don’t like it a bit. They’re on a ‘passage,’—that I can see; an’ it be dangerous to get in their way when they’re goin’ so,—especially aboard a craft sich as this un’.” Of course the setting of the sail was adjourned at this announcement; as it would have been, whether there had been danger or not. A school of whales, either upon their “passage” or when “gambolling,” is a spectacle so rare, at the same time so exciting, as not to be looked upon without interest; and the voyager must be engrossed in some very serious occupation who can permit it to pass without giving it his attention. <ANTIMG src="images/waifs344.jpg" alt=""> Nothing can be more magnificent than the movements of these vast leviathans, as they cleave their track through the blue liquid element,—now sending aloft their plume-like spouts of white vapour,—now flinging their broad and fan-shaped flukes into the air; at times bounding with their whole bodies several feet above the surface, and dropping back into the water with a tremendous concussion, that causes the sea to swell into huge foam-crested columns, as if a storm was passing over it. It was the thought of this that came into the mind of the ex-whalesman; and rendered him apprehensive,—as he saw the school of cachalots coming on towards the spot occupied by the frail embarkation. He knew that the swell caused by the “breaching” of a whale is sufficient to swamp even a large-sized boat; and if one of the “body” now bowling down towards them should chance to spring out of the water while passing near, it would be just as much as they could do to keep the gig from going upon her beam-ends. There was not much time to speculate upon chances, or probabilities. When first seen, the whales could not have been more than a mile distant: and going on as they were, at the rate of ten knots an hour, only ten minutes elapsed before the foremost was close up to the spot occupied by the boat and the abandoned raft. They were not proceeding in a regular formation; though here and there four or five might have been seen moving in a line, abreast with one another. The whole “herd” occupied a breadth extending about a mile across the sea; and in the very centre of this, as ill-luck would have it, lay the cockle-shell of a boat and the abandoned raft. It was one of the biggest “schools” that Ben Brace had ever seen, consisting of nearly a hundred individuals,—full-grown females, followed by their “calves,”—and only one old bull, the patron and protector of the herd. There was no mistaking it for a “pod” of whales,—which would have been made up of young males just escaped from maternal protection, and attended by several older individuals of their own sex,—acting as trainers and instructors. Just as the ci-devant whalesman had finished making this observation, the cachalots came past, causing the sea to undulate for miles around the spot,—as if a tempest had swept over, and was succeeded by its swell. One after another passed with a graceful gliding, that might have won the admiration of an observer viewing it from a position of safety. But to those who beheld it from the gig, there was an idea of danger in their majestic movement,—heightened by the surf-like sound of their respirations. They had nearly all passed, and the crew of the gig were beginning to breathe freely; when they perceived the largest of the lot—the old bull—astern of the rest and coming right towards them. His head, with several fathoms of his back, protruded above the surface, which at intervals he “fluked” with his tail,—as if giving a signal to those preceding him, either to direct their onward course, or warn them of some threatened danger. He had a vicious look about him,—notwithstanding his patriarchal appearance,—and the ex-whalesman uttered an exclamation of warning as he approached. The utterance was merely mechanical, since nothing could be done to ward off the threatened encounter. Nothing was done. There was no time to act, nor even to think. Almost on the same instant in which the warning cry was heard the whale was upon them. He who had uttered it, along with his companions, felt themselves suddenly projected into the air, as if they had been tossed from a catapult, and their next sensation was that of taking “a tremendous header” into the depths of the fathomless ocean! All four soon came to the surface again; and the two who had best retained their senses,—the sailor and Snowball,—looked around for the gig. There was no gig in sight, nor boat of any kind! Only some floating fragments; among which could be distinguished a cask or two, with a scattering of loose boards, oars, handspikes, and articles of apparel. Among these were struggling two youthful forms,—recognisable as little William and Lilly Lalee. A quick transformation took place in the tableau. A cry arose, “Back to the Catamaran!” and in a score of seconds the boy-sailor was swimming alongside the A.B. for the raft; while the Coromantee, with Lilly Lalee hoisted upon his left shoulder, was cleaving the water in the same direction. Another minute and all four were aboard the embarkation they had so lately abandoned,—once more saved from the perils of the deep! <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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